I've been sitting on this forever and I just haven't had the time to finish this. It's unedited, not really finished yet, but I guess you have been waiting long enough. I'll try to edit it etc. sometime next week and publish the next chapter a bit sooner. For now, bear with me.

Chapter 4. That's what they always do

'There was a time when there was only Beck.'

Eleanor smiled, reminiscing that time, when all had seemed so simple.

'Twysden Beckwith?' Poppy asked and Eleanor grimaced at his full name, but nodded anyway.

'He was easy,' she said. 'Back then I thought it was heartbreak and the world against me, everything that was fucked up in my life and the end of the bloody universe.'

She chuckled mirthlessly, took a swig from the bottle of vodka.

'I was stupid back then,' she said. 'Compared to last year, to what I learned in the last twelve months, compared to everything I am right now, Beck was fucking easy. A walk in the park.'

'Compared to the King?' Poppy asked. 'To Cyrus and Robert, the monarchy…'

She trailed off and Eleanor smirked.

'Compared to the murder of my father, yes,' she said. 'And Cyrus' abhorrent kingship. My brother's death and Robbie's victorious return. Ted Pryce, a man I thought I trusted. Compared to all of that Beck was nothing. Even though I once thought he was my world.'

She looked at Poppy, one corner of her mouth curled upwards predatorily.

'But also compared to Jasper. Compared to Jasper, all the shit I went through with Beck was a fucking joke.'

She swung the bottle in Poppy's general direction and was surprised when the girl managed to snatch it from the air.

'Not feeling the high yet?' she asked, but Poppy smiled.

'Good hand-eye-coordination,' she replied, bringing the bottle to her mouth. 'And not sure what I'm supposed to feel.'

'High,' Eleanor stated. 'Sexy and wanted. Horny.'

She got off the sofa, strutted towards the table, where she had a bit of coke left. Not enough for an entire line, but she snorted it all up anyway.

'Anyway,' she continued as she sat back down. 'Beck.'

'Yes, Beck,' Poppy repeated.

Every in the United Kingdom and beyond knew of the tumultuous affair the Princess had had with Lord Twysden Beckwith II. The paparazzi scene had graced many a tabloid, newspaper and internet magazine for days, perhaps even weeks. And as the paps had gone digging, soon enough it had become common knowledge as well that Eleanor and the Lord might've already had a thing when he was still married. The Queen Mother had quickly put out that fire before it had even properly ignited, but still the rumours were there.

Poppy was never one to turn down some good old gossip about that affair, especially not coming from the source. Jasper Frost could wait.

'He was my first,' Eleanor admitted, 'and for a while I hoped he'd be my last too.'

'This was before or after he got married?' Poppy asked and Eleanor chuckled.

'Et tu, brute? Don't tell me you too read D-throned?' she asked.

'All day, every day,' Poppy admitted, not an ounce ashamed. 'The grass on the other side is greener and all that shit. Plus, I love looking at your Royal Beaver.'

'Don't get cheeky,' Eleanor said, sticking out her tongue. 'You want to hear the story or not?'

Poppy held up her hands in surrender and Eleanor continued.

'For a very long time I thought Beck was everything,' she sighed wistfully. 'End game.

'I liked him since forever. Since before he married her.'

'I take it you had sex before he got married?' Poppy asked and Eleanor grinned.

'Both.'

Her grin fell.

'But not ever when he was together with her,' she said. 'Beck's too much of a gentleman to cheat. He has too much honour for that.'

'He only strung you along for however long,' Poppy added dryly. 'Such a gentleman.'

Eleanor flicked her the finger.

'I don't even know why I'm telling you this,' she growled, but there was no power behind it.

'Because you hope I'm going to tell you about Frost.'

Silence fell between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. They stared at each other, Poppy a bit too smug to Eleanor's liking. But it was good. It was honest. And truly, she wanted to know about Poppy and Jasper. Had wanted to know ever since that lunch in the gardens. She had originally thought she had set the pace, but apparently Poppy was impatient. It didn't matter. So was Eleanor.

She took a sip from the bottle, rubbed her nose where it had started to itch. Poppy mimicked her. The girl was insufferable.

'You're going to make me say it?' Eleanor asked eventually and it was nothing like her to give in first, but she just wanted to know. Desperately. And perhaps the coke and alcohol took some of her inhibitions away.

'What is going on between you and Frost?'

Better to just say it if she wanted answers. Something unreadable flashed over Poppy's face, to quick for Eleanor to catch, but she made a mental note to remember. Perhaps everything wasn't as peachy as they had made it seem. She smirked. Of course it wasn't peachy. Not after the bomb she dropped at lunch a few weeks ago. She couldn't help but feel self-contented about it. And dirty. But just a little bit.

'Define going on?'

Apparently Poppy was going to be difficult. Eleanor rolled her eyes and snorted.

'Still together or not, how did you meet, how many times has he fucked up already, does he get you off,' she summed up. 'That kind of shit.'

Poppy grinned.

Brave girl, Eleanor thought.

'You first,' Poppy said and Eleanor wasted no time.

'We were never together, he was my bodyguard, more than I can count on two hands and I regret to have to admit that Jasper is sexually proficient. Unfortunately.'

Poppy barked a laugh, almost snorted whiskey over the table and Eleanor raised an eyebrow at her.

'Your turn, darling,' she said.

'Together,' – which wasn't a lie, it really wasn't, they were together just not in the way the Princess thought – 'met through work, hasn't fucked me over' – after a slight pause she added a yet and the Princess seemed to like that – 'and yeah, he gets me to come. Multiple times a day.'

Multiple times a day. It made Eleanor's blood boil, the way she said it so offhandedly, as if it was nothing. Normal. The fuck was normal?

'He works at the same office as you do?' she asked instead.

Poppy nodded. 'We get together after work with some lads and lasses from different departments. Had seen him around of course, but never spoke to him. Then one of my mates brought him along and that was that.'

Love at first sight then. Fuck him.

Poppy looked at her, warily, and she waved a hand at her to continue.

'A few weeks after he asked me to put in for a transfer to his division. I did and now we're somewhat partners. Still hang out with the others, though. We're a big, but tightknit group.'

Jasper didn't do big. It had been Jasper and her, her and Jasper, and eventually Liam had butted in, but that was a big as Jasper got. He didn't do big and he certainly didn't do group. Except, well, apparently now he did. Eleanor took a large gulp from the vodka. She needed more, so much more, but the coke was working and she just drifted on it, couldn't stop herself.

'Go on,' she urged Poppy. 'When did you first have sex?'

'That first night my mate brought him to the bar,' Poppy answered truthfully.

'You skank,' Eleanor exclaimed and she prided herself on sounding almost playful.

'You're one to talk,' Poppy smirked back, oblivious, but for fuck's sake, she just wanted to slap that smirk off the girl's face.

'Do you live together?' she asked, but she already knew the answer to that one, providing an answer in her head even before Poppy told her that no, they didn't live together, but yes, they had each other's keys.

And Poppy was glad, because she hadn't had to lie yet, but she was certainly wasn't telling the entire truth.

And the Princess was fuming, because every word out of Poppy's mouth was like a stab in the back, but it wasn't as if the knife she was stabbing her with had any worth. The Princess didn't care about Jasper Frost anymore, except she did and the Gods damn it, it hurt.

She needed more.

'How was it?'

Poppy looked at her, pupils dilated. She was starting to feel the high and Eleanor could notice.

'I'm just curious,' she shrugged, but her white knuckles straining to hold the bottle of vodka in her hand told a different story.

'It was –'

And it didn't even occur to Poppy that it wasn't right to tell the Princess, that it would benefit no one, not her, not the Princess and certainly not Frost, but she was feeling it, feeling that high, feeling that night, their first time and for fuck's sake, his tongue lapping at her throbbing –

She whimpered and Lord have mercy, but she sounded like her. Sounded like Eleanor on that balcony, with his fingers inside of her and for the love of God, was she mad? Were they both mad.

She craved more but even less was too much. She breathed in, breathed out, and physically restrained herself.

'That good?' she eventually said, when Poppy offered no more and the other girl just smiled.

'You feel it then?' she asked, such an unnecessary question as if she hadn't heard it in that one moan, and Poppy sly smile said more than words could convey.

And this was the girl, the girl Jasper left her for. And she knew she was lying to herself, that Jasper had left her because she wanted him to, asked him to, but it was so much easier to blame someone else for her pain, then take the guilt upon herself.

So this was the girl.

How long had it been since she and Jasper had been together? Last time they had fucked. Would she taste him on her lips, in her cunt? Anger and want, drugs and alcohol. They were raging through her veins and she knew it wasn't her, but she didn't care, because this was the fucking girl. The girl.

And she wanted to know. So desperately. Always desperate when it came to Jasper.

'Do you taste like him?' she asked, moving to get off the sofa.

She slipped out of her black sweater, dropping it on the floor. She turned around slowly and smirked at Poppy. Wolfishly. Like a predator.

When Poppy smirked, she hummed, at the same time unclasping the back of her bra. She didn't cover her chest as the bra fell to the ground and Poppy arched an eyebrow, curiously.

'I wonder if I still taste like him,' Eleanor breathed, her voice low, and she prayed that he still lingered there, somewhere, because no one else had gone there after him. Not even Beck. Only him.

She ran a hand down her breasts, locking eyes with Poppy. She had a playful smile on her face, but the darkness of her eyes intrigued Poppy.

'I do wonder,' Eleanor said.

She dipped a finger inside her boxers, caressed her folds as her lips parted slightly, and she slowly moved her head back. Poppy watched her, fascinated, and licked her lips. Eleanor stepped closer to her, sank to her knees in front of her and removed her hand from her panties. She pressed Poppy's lips together with her thumb, her other fingers splayed against the girls cheek. They were sticky and smelt of her. Not him.

'What do you feel, Poppy?' Eleanor whispered in her ear. 'Because what you should feel is on fire, like all you need is another body inside of yours.'

She blew softly, lightly touched Poppy's ear with the tip of her tongue.

'You should feel fucking horny,' she repeated. 'You should feel everything your boyfriend used to make me feel.'

She laughed as Poppy pushed her away and started to make her way to her closet. She kicked off her knickers on the way, with her foot flicking them towards Poppy who gave her the finger in response.

'Go get dressed,' Poppy called after her. 'And you might want to give the Royal Beaver an extra scrub. Smells like shit.'

Eleanor smirked, sticking out her tongue, before disappearing into the closet. There was no joy behind it, though.

Not like him.

Not anymore.

The music was pounding and the lights were blinding and Eleanor revelled in it. The club was nameless, she hadn't bothered to ask or look, had just told Baker to drive them somewhere they could dance.

Because dance, she wanted to dance.

And perhaps she had popped a pill, maybe two, who knew, but the world was spinning and so was Eleanor and she fucking loved it.

She grabbed Poppy's hand, dragged her onto the dancefloor, danced way too close, but still too far away and only when she rested her nose in the crook of Poppy's neck, had one hand resting on the curve of her ass and the other lost in her hair, did she feel like it was all right.

Good. It was good.

This body was too curvy to be him – and really, really, she really didn't want to think of him anymore – and she could never mistake the two but it was good enough because Poppy had him and she wanted him. It was only fair she had Poppy as a replacement.

And it was the drugs, she knew it was the drugs, but she was content.

Her and Poppy.

Good. It was good.

'We should get something to drink,' Poppy yelled in her air and it was as if she woke. Looked around dazed.

Music pounding, blinding lights.

Dancing.

She remembered.

'Definitely,' she screamed back over the music and suddenly she was all energy again, pulling Poppy through the crowd, towards what looked like a bar, not afraid to use elbows. That wasn't necessary, though. People soon enough recognized the Princess – did you see her, it's the bloody Princess – and the crowd parted for her until they reached a black bar.

'Jäger!' she yelled and Poppy joined her, both slamming their fists on the sleek bar top. The bartender grinned, winked at them both and lined them up several shots of Jägermeister, much to their delight. Eleanor finished first, of course she did, but Poppy was close behind, and then they were off again, back to the dancefloor, back into the spotlight.

She knew people were watching; she was the Princess, they were always watching.

She was aware of the eyes as she threw her hair back, letting it cover the open back of her short dress. Was aware as she moved to the crushing beat, tangled her finger in her hair, biting her bottom lip as she did so. Purposefully let her fingers linger on an erect nipple as she slid her other hand down her body.

The almost suffocating smoke in the club swirled around her, around them, and she played with it, followed its lead.

And there he was. Tan, all legs and muscle, and with a fucking man-bun.

She smirked.

He was nothing like Jasper and exactly what she needed.

She descended upon him like a lioness on a prey. When she took his hand and started walking towards the toilets, he followed willingly.

Their kisses were feverish, hard and demanding, but it was exactly what she wanted and soon enough he had her bend over the bathroom sink.

His hands were in her panties, but she was already so, so wet and when he pinched her clit, she told him to just bloody stick it in.

He was big, not as big as Jasper, but it was still a snug fit and she revelled in it, grinding her ass into his hips. He growled and paused, his fingers tight on her hips, and she didn't have to tell him to fuck her hard – fuck me so hard I forget about him – because he slammed into her, buried himself to the hilt so deeply she wanted to scream.

And she had to clasp a hand over her mouth, biting as she did so, drawing blood, because she almost yelled out his name.

She looked at herself in the mirror. The sweat on her forehead, the boy pounding into her from behind, his eyes closed, her eyes open. And suddenly she felt disgusted, repulsed. She gripped the sink harder, shuddered.

'Get off me.'

Instead his hold on her hips tightened and he seemed to smash harder into her.

'Get off.'

She stared at herself, at him, at them and it was too much and she felt so so nauseous.

'Get off me,' she screeched. 'Get off, get off, get off!'

He dazedly opened his eyes, stopped his movement, but she was already pushing him away. Away, away and away as she hurriedly pulled up her slip, pushed down her skirt.

'Just go,' she whispered and she hated the breaking of her voice, hating herself for breaking. But she couldn't do this, didn't want to and he had to go, go, go.

'Psycho bitch,' he muttered, but he was buttoning up his pants, straightening his shirt.

'I'm sorry,' she murmured, but she didn't know what she was sorry for and who she was sorry to and he didn't hear it anyway, as he was already slamming the door shut.

She heard him yell at someone outside the toilet – 'She's just a fucking slag" – and she knew he was talking about her, but she couldn't care less as she sank to the floor, clutching her sides.

Perhaps she was a whore.

And immediately she thought of Jasper and her throat tightened. Constricted.

I'm sorry.

She whimpered and she had no idea what was happening but it felt like she couldn't breathe and for fuck's sake, Jasper.

She was not a whore and he wasn't there and nothing seemed to be right anymore.

She thought she was over it, over him, but here was the fucking weight of the world on her shoulders and she solely blamed him for putting it there.

And suddenly there were arms around her and it was him. Him.

Only it wasn't and she was never, fucking never ever using drugs again.

But she still sank to the floor in those arms, still held on to them like they were a lifeline and when the first tears came she buried her face in them, because it was too much and not enough and Oh Poppy, if only you knew.

'They always leave me,' she repeated like a mantra and she felt like she should explain to Poppy that this wasn't about the bloke, not about that random guy, but she couldn't. The words just got stuck and there was no room for them, no room beside her tears, so she just let the thought go and let the tears fall. It felt like hours, could've easily been years, but she knew they were just minutes, before she felt like she could finally take a breath without choking on it. Her sobs were dry now, unladylike – if only her mother could see her now –, but it was better than drowning in that sea of salt. She clung to Poppy, didn't care for showing weakness, because for fuck's sake, she was weak and she damn well knew it.

She damn well knew it.

'I'm in love with him,' she whispered into Poppy's sleeve, barely above a whisper, never meaning for the girl to hear. 'I am in love with your boyfriend.'

But Poppy heard and never had someone sounded this broken to her.

She spoke before she thought.

'He's not my boyfriend.'

She swallowed, held the Princess breathlessly. Kept stroking her arm, never loosening her grip. Pretended normalcy. But she could practically feel the beating of Eleanor's frantic heart slamming against her, could feel its irregular rhythm and she knew, fucking knew, that it wasn't normal. Nothing about it was. They were sitting on the dirty floor of a fucking toilet in a bloody club she didn't even know the name to. This wasn't normal. They weren't normal.

Stop pretending, Poppy.

'He's not my boyfriend,' she repeated. 'Never was.'

She wanted to say never will be but she couldn't get the words to leave her mouth.

'I'm sorry,' she said after Eleanor did not respond. 'I'm sorry for lying to you.'

They sat in silence for a long time after that, both not willing to move. So far for normal.

When they finally left the bathroom the music was still pounding and the lights were still blinding and she just didn't want to be here anymore. She couldn't bear to look at Poppy, was repulsed by her own reflection and the alcohol tasted just as sour as the high she was on. But she refused to go home, because what was waiting for her there?

She wished she could take it all back, swallow the words back in, and she wished that girl wasn't so bloody nice, but nothing ever worked out the way she wanted it to.

She'd rather stay in this club with this girl that was not his girlfriend than go home and contemplate what a fuck up she was. Everything better than to go back to that empty palace that was filled with memories of people who had left her.

And even if it did taste sour, the alcohol dulled her senses even further. And even though she didn't want to look at her, Poppy kept her sane and standing, and even though she was disgusted with herself, in the smoky mirrors of the club she could almost forget who she was.

'Don't tell him,' she said. 'I don't want him to know. He doesn't deserve to.'

She shrugged, like it was nothing – in love with Jasper bloody Frost -, but Poppy knew better. The Princess was just a broken-hearted girl, fragile and damaged, and Poppy wanted to reach out to her, wrap her arms around the girl, but she knew this was their farewell and prolonging it had no use. So she simply nodded.

'I won't,' Poppy said. 'But I think you should tell him.'

Eleanor scoffed, balancing herself against the stone wall. Baker stood a couple of meters away, waiting, next to the Range Rover.

'Why,' she snapped. 'So he can say he won?'

'I don't believe this was a game,' Poppy said.

Eleanor closed her eyes for a moment, inhaled deeply through her nose.

'It was to him.'

Barely a whisper and there wasn't anything Poppy could say or do that would make any of it better. She just sighed and pushed herself off the wall. The world spun for a moment and she briefly wondered whether she would make it home. But then clarity returned and all she wanted was to go home and get off this fucking high and start thinking straight again.

'It's okay,' Eleanor smiled softly. 'I wanted him and he left. That's what they always do. They leave.'

Poppy looked at her, but she had no words of kindness for the Princess.

'I'll be seeing you around,' she said and Eleanor smirked.

'I doubt it.'

Poppy walked away without looking back, wanted to, but didn't. It wasn't as if any of it mattered. The Princess had said so herself: she was used to people leaving her anyway.

It was late when Poppy had left the club, even later when she found herself in front of her home. The house was dark, but when she entered, she saw light coming from the small garden attic out back. She stopped in the kitchen, grabbing a beer, not that she needed much more, and took a firm swig before she joined him outside.

'Fancy seeing you here,' she said.

He barely spared her a glance.

'Had fun with the Princess?' he asked.

She sighed.

'Don't judge me.'

He made a non-committal sound.

'You know she's just using you,' he eventually said.

She didn't care.

'She needed a friend,' she replied. 'If it makes you feel better we can say she was using me.'

'But it wasn't even about you,' she said, 'Not in the way you think it was. It doesn't matter anyway. It's over now.'

He looked at her questioningly and she nodded.

'Over and done. A mutual agreement separation.'

He shook his head.

'It wasn't about me?' he questioned.

She snorted, took another deep breath.

'The world doesn't revolve around you, Frost,' she snapped. 'You're not the only one with feelings and you're not the only one lashing out. It's fucking to figure out what you're doing every damn second of the day even when it's as simple as buying you an apple or a pear.'

And she knew she wasn't making sense but she needed to push through this.

'How is anyone supposed to guess whatever you're feeling? Because feelings are creepy to you so you rather hide them far, far away. And then when someone who doesn't even know you have feelings, manages to hurt them, those fucking feelings of yours that no one knows you even have, you just, you know…'

She waved her hands around, tired, still high, so fucking high, and she sighed.

'You leave.'

She nodded, adjudged, and repeated it.

'You leave. You always do.'

He flicked her forehead, playfully, but her expression sobered him up.

'Poppy,' he started, 'I would never leave you, you do –'

But she interrupted him and groaned.

'I was talking about the Princess, you fucking asshole,' she spat and these emotions weren't hers but the high's so she reined her temper in. Brought her shaking hand to her mouth and took a swig from the bottle in it.

She felt the need to explain, to really explain.

'I used coke and you're a prick.'

His head shot her way and he was going to yell at her, she could tell, but she silenced him with a hand on his mouth.

'Shut it, let me finish.'

She shifted closer to him on the small bench, jabbed him in the side with her elbow.

'She didn't tell me everything,' she started and she thought of her promise and she would not tell him, but she just had to tell him something and dear Lord, did she want to tell him everything.

'There's a story there, between the two of you, but really Frost. You are a prick. You really are a prick.'

And she couldn't call him a prick without explaining, but she couldn't explain without telling him and she made a promise. Made a fucking promise. Her thoughts were mumbled and she struggled, took another swig from her bottle.

She felt even higher than before.

'She wanted to feel like she mattered.'

This much she could say.

There was no accusation in her voice as she leaned against him, relaxed into the heat of his body.

'She just wanted to feel like she mattered,' she repeated, her voice a whisper on the wind.

She sighed.

'She just wanted to feel like you cared.'

The stars were bright, one of those nights, and he took a sip from his beer. Poppy looked at him, her head slightly turned up. Her pupils were dilated. Her eyes fucking huge. But there was no judgement there, truly not. He could only see the stars in her eyes.

Eleanor.

'No matter what she said or did,' Poppy whispered. She sounded regretful. Wistful. Like the words tasted bitter on her lips. But when she turned to him, there was a small smile on her face and he held her, didn't flinch as she inched closer.

When she kissed him, her lips on his, his body against hers, he admitted. He already knew what she was about to say and there were so many stars and so many thoughts, and his heart beat 'Eleanor'.

'No matter what she said,' Poppy breathed against his lips.

'She only wanted you.' She breathed it against his lips, breathed it into their kiss and the words were heavy in his mouth.

They settled against each other and she flexed tiredly against him, cocooning herself beneath his chin.

'She only wanted you,' she sighed. 'And you left.'

Unwittingly, she repeated the Princess' words, whispered them against Jasper's body.

'That's what they always do. They leave.'