Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter out here! I had a lot going on over Christmas and I've only just found the time to sit down and write.
Hope you all had a fantastic New Year and I hope you enjoy this latest part!
...
Princess Henrietta attends her royal duties whilst her mother is away in Germania on state business.
Duty and Yearnings
Princess Henrietta looks out of the window of Albion's palace throne room. Her eyes are distant and her thoughts are anywhere but in the present.
Clutching a hand to her chest, she breathes a deep sigh and turns around to face Miss Miranda.
The elderly attendant bares a thoughtful expression.
"You don't appear to be your usual upbeat self today, Highness. Dare I ask what troubles you?"
Henrietta forces a thin smile and lets out a second, deeper exhale.
"It is really so obvious, Miranda?"
The older woman cracks a small, knowing smile.
"My dear lady, I have been at your side since you were an infant, have I not?"
"You certainly have," the princess solemnly confesses. "I must confess it would be impossible for a woman like you not to."
Not for the first time that morning does Henrietta wish she was anywhere but there in the throne room with Miranda. Or even in Tristain, for that matter.
For the thousandth time that morning, she wishes Prince Wales was here with her.
Unable to voice any of this to the elder, she bites her tongue and fights back the emotional tears she knows must be building at the corner of her eyes.
At this, Miranda places a gentle hand upon her charge's shoulder.
"...Do you wish to retire to your chambers for a time, My Princess?"
Henrietta shakes her head before she can think better of it.
"Please, that won't be necessary. I am simply fatigued, that is all." Again, Henrietta forces herself to smile: A thin protective veil for her aching heart. "Being honest with you, Miranda, I do not know how my mother rules as she does, being so stoic and hardly ever displaying any of her true emotions. I fear my nerves are not so hard as hers are."
While Miranda's expression remains understanding, Henrietta worries the older maid does not believe the lie. After a long moment, she speaks.
"...In truth, I worry for my beloved Wales. Pray tell, has word concerning the Albion war reached you recently? By now surely the Royalists must have gained some ground..."
Saying as much tightens the vice around the girl's heart. Her father, the former king had dedicated much of his reign to stopping Albion's royalists from stoking conflict's flames.
And while he had successfully done so between Albion and Tristain, Henrietta knows this newest band of rebels, not unlike the Holy Order of days past, would see war wage between the two nations.
Miranda nods faintly.
"A messenger arrived by skyship this morning, sire."
Now her stomach is twisting.
"...And? Do the royalists see progress?"
Miranda shakes her head solemnly.
"None that I am aware of, Highness. Rebel forces surround the last Tudor stronghold in Newcastle. What's more, King James has ordered young Wales into hiding..."
Nearly lightheaded, Henrietta releases a pent-up breath.
A small win.
The less Albion's Nationalists know where Wales is, the better.
"May the goddess watch over him," she finds herself saying, finding resolve in Miranda's earlier steadfastness. "Oh, how I wish he and I could be wed so that all of this might stop."
Miranda smiles the smallest bit. It's wane, yet a genuine one at that.
"Of that, I believe only good fortune will come."
Henrietta gives a curt nod.
"I can hope, Miranda. I can hope."
"Sometimes hope is all we have, Highness."
Henrietta clutches her chest just the smallest bit tighter and nods her head.
"Indeed...You are right, Miranda."
Silence falls between the two. Neither speak until it is Henrietta who cuts through the quiet.
"...What other news do you have for me today? Are there letters for me, or other matters I must yet attend whilst mother visits Germania on state business?"
"Yes, My Princess. You have a letter from Miss Vallière, and Sir Andrew, a noble knight residing in Lenore, awaits an audience with you."
The princess nods in understanding.
A letter from her dear Louise is always a treat. Royal business, sometimes less so.
"Very well then, please send Sir Andrew in. I shall see him now before reading Louise's letter." Despite her best efforts to the contrary, her exhaustion still permeates the princess's voice.
Thankfully, Miranda either does not pick up on this or ignores it.
"As you wish, Highness. I shall summon him for you now."
Miranda crosses the room and, when reaching the far end, opens the door and summons the noble for an audience.
Not a minute later, she is bowing and backing from the room. The noble knight Sir Andrew, short of stature, follows in her wake.
The young man, probably around twenty, wears a silver breastplate of Tristainian steel. Light brown, shoulder-length hair a neatly styled, short beard. In his possession, a longsword tucked into a thin scabbard, strapped at his belt.
The moment Sir Andrew locks eyes with his monarch the youthful boy dips into a deep bow.
"You honor me with your presence, Your Majesty. It is both an absolute pleasure and privilege to serve the Tristain royal family in protecting our wonderful kingdom."
And not a moment too soon after giving his introduction does the fellow finally rise from his bow.
He shows a proud smile.
Henrietta smiles for him in return, seats herself on the small throne beside her mothers, and folds one leg over the other.
"You may relax, Sir Andrew," she tells him and rests her hands within her lap, resting her right atop her left. "You are welcome here, good knight. But please, might I inquire as to what reason it is that you ask for an audience today?"
"Yes, if that pleases you, Your Highness." The knight nods his head.
He clasps a white-gloved hand about his right wrist. "As you know, Highness, my family has served as noble protectors of Lenore Township for three generations. We both ensure that what respect should be afforded to the peasantry, is given and that they in return devote themselves to you."
Unable to deny as much, the princess merely nods.
"This is correct."
"Of course." Here the knight glances at Miss Miranda. She meets his gaze.
He turns back to the princess and keeps his eyes on her when he says, "As such, I think it important that you, Your Majesty, be aware of what transpires in the people's affairs. That said, several business owners in Lenore township have come to myself and my family in great distress."
Her heartbeat picking up the slightest bit at this concerning slither of news, Henrietta laces her hands more tightly.
She says nothing, and the knight does not let the silence linger.
"Their complaints center around a noble tax collector who takes more than is due, and suppresses any peasant that objects with threats of force."
"That cannot be." Sitting up a little straighter, Henrietta shuts her eyes. Behind the lids, her thoughts swirl.
She can't even consider how her mother would react to such news. "We did not increase taxes this season so that the people may benefit from recent trade with Germania. To have one of our own stealing from them in such a manner will simply not do."
"Agreed, Your Highness. May I continue, then?"
"Yes, you may," Henrietta answers with a nod.
The knight immediately continues a stern frown across his handsome features.
"This is not an isolated incident, my princess, I regret to inform you. And, to this end, I would beg you to consider a way in which we may root out this bad actor before Lenore's peasantry becomes overcome with unrest."
Sitting there, considering the situation and unable to disagree with Sir Andrew's words, Henrietta sighs deeply and nods her head.
Then she stands and bares her palms to the knight to indicate her preparedness.
"Very well then," she intones. "I thank you for bringing this matter to my attention."
"Of course, Your Majesty." As if sensing their conversation is finished, Sir Andrew gives a final, low bow. Then turning on the spot, he marches across the throne room's wooden floors.
He exits with the same sense of self-assured confidence that he entered with.
With the door falling shut behind the knight, the princess eases down into her seat and watches quietly as Miss Miranda approaches to take her stance at her charge's side.
From atop her silken dress, the young woman casts the old woman a careful look.
"And what thoughts do you have, Miranda, on this trouble in Lenore?"
Miranda responds to the question without missing a beat. She dips her head. "It is certainly troublesome, my young charge. Troublesome indeed. What's more, we have seldom a man spare to investigate this matter at present. Which means we may have to be creative in dealing with this."
Brows furrowing, Henrietta tightens her legs' folded position atop her smooth, silken dress.
She ponders quietly to herself.
What exactly should she do for Lenore, she wonders, and its people?
When the answer eludes her and fatigue nips at her mind, Henrietta knows there is but one person she can truly rely on for both comfort and support.
"...We will return to this matter later, I think," the royal decides in a tired tone. "For now, might I read the letter from Louise?"
"As you wish, Majesty." Miranda seems to expect as much.
From beneath her collar, the woman retrieves a small folded piece of parchment and a silk ribbon from where it binds the parchment closed. She extends the ribbon and then the letter forward toward her charge.
Smiling softly, Henrietta raises a delicate hand and receives the item before Miranda.
Gentle fingers immediately begin unfolding the document as Henrietta's focus goes nowhere else.
'My dearest Henrietta,
I am pleased beyond all else to inform you that my idiot familiar has awoken and is in good health. What's more, he and I shared our feelings and kissed, though I would prefer you keep such a happening as a closely guarded secret between us. My eldest sister Éléonore would not be pleased by such news.
Moving onto an entirely more wholesome topic, I must again thank you for all that you did to aid the Academy in the wake of Fouquet's cowardly attack: This includes the great lengths you went to ensuring Michael's recovery. While his and my relationship may be arduous to navigate in the long term - due to his status and my betrothal - I can enjoy the time he and I have together at the Academy because of you.
Therefore, should you ever need my support or aid in the future, then know that I will be the very first and very last standing at your side should that day ever come. This is a promise, and one I give you without hesitation.
I look forward to the day you and I speak again, and just as eagerly await a time when you would once more visit the Academy as an honored guest.
P.S. - I have also taken one of the Academy's maids into my service. Siesta, the one I mentioned to you in my prior letter concerning Count Mott.
She is a kind enough girl, for a peasant: Though I must confess to sometimes wishing that my stupid Michael's affections remain fixated squarely on me as opposed to her.
As ever, do keep well and I shall write to you again soon.
Your fondest friend and humble servant,
Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière.'
By the time Henrietta has finished reading the parchment, she has a wide smile on her face.
Despite being exhausted, the news in this letter serves not only to comfort her but to rally her spirits.
"Oh, Louise..."
She rests a hand over her gently beating heart and gazes down at the letter, a gracious tear running down her cheek.
"Thank you."
Without knowing, the young lady of Tristain lifts the parchment close to her breast and breathes a deep, relieved sigh.
"Good news I hope, Highness?" wonders Miranda as the princess gives a small smile.
"Yes, excellent news. And to that end, I would have you extend an invitation to Miss Louise and her familiar to stay at the royal palace this coming weekend. Miss von Zerbst and Miss Galia too, should the latter have awakened."
To this, Miranda frowns.
"As we discussed before, Highness, Miss Vallière's familiar must remain confined to his quarters whilst visiting, being of common birth and all," Miranda presses, sounding a little hesitant.
Rising to stand, Henrietta de Tristain cracks the smallest smile and nods. "Of course, Miranda. I have not forgotten. Michael DeSilva will stay within his room unless specifically escorting Louise."
"Very well then, Highness. I will send word for two extra rooms to be prepared, also. For Miss von Zerbst and Miss Galia," the older attendant adds with a second bow of her head.
"You are very much appreciated, Miranda."
"It is my pleasure, Highness. However, concerning Miss Vallière and her familiar..."
"Yes?" Henrietta inquires a little confused. "What about Miss Vallière and her familiar...?"
Miranda's cheeks redden the slightest bit as though embarrassed.
"Might Miss Vallière and her familiar do share a room whilst here, Highness?"
Flushing on a similar level, the younger woman shrugs and offers her attendant a weak, lopsided smile.
"I... well, you refer to the old rule of only direct relatives may share a room while visiting the palace when not married, don't you?"
The older woman nods stiffly in agreement.
"I do, my princess."
At this, Henrietta smiles coyly, her blush deepening.
"I thought my father did away with that decree toward the end of his rule. Was I mistaken...?"
"No, my lady, you were not."
"Then why concern, may I ask?" follows the princess.
"...Because I regret to inform you that I overheard the conversation you and young Miss Louise shared when she visited your chambers in the Academy," the old woman states in a hushed whisper, her shoulders hanging as if she cannot believe herself.
Her blush worsening, Henrietta clasps her hands behind her waist and turns a gait around the royal floor.
"You mean the one concerning her feelings for Mister Michael, and her betrothal to Viscount Wardes?"
"The same one, Highness," confirms Miranda quietly and dips her head in something akin to shame.
With a deep breath, Henrietta begins to speak.
"It is true that Louise harbors... romantic feelings for her familiar." Pausing to sigh, she lifts a fine fingertip and runs it over her breast. "For my part, I do not wish to spoil the happiness of my dearest friend by allowing you to separate her and her familiar whilst here."
"...Your mother would-"
"Respectfully, my mother is not here, Miranda," Henrietta says, an edge to her voice.
For a moment she takes to ponder further.
After a short while, the princess continues and breaks the silence. "Please, have the servants prepare a room for both Miss Vallière and her familiar. If any further trouble should arise, I assure you I will find a suitable excuse to appease Mother, should she return from Germania before their visit."
The attendant gapes, and only when met with Henrietta's level stare does Miranda nod solemnly.
Henrietta offers her elderly caretaker a grateful smile and once more breathes a relieved sigh.
Despite knowing how sinful placing Louise and Michael in the same room together might be, the princess cannot find it in her heart to feel ashamed. No, not at all.
Love is a truly beautiful thing.
And, should Louise's marriage to Viscount Wardes soon be enforced by her mother, Dutchess Karen, well...
Why not allow her dearest friend a brief moment of joy before its inevitable end?
Blushing all the while, the young royal again closes a delicate hand about her chest.
The thought of her and Wales sharing a bed on their wedding night, the things they might do together...
How he will hold her in his arms and trail kisses down the small of her neck, causing her skin to burn with every touch of his lips...
Oh yes, how very beautiful love can be indeed.
"Highness, are you daydreaming?" asks Miranda, clearing her throat.
"It's nothing." Smiling and far too kindly, Henrietta returns the letter to her attendant and pats her thigh, anxious for something that can ease her mind.
And the warmth thrumming betwixt her legs.
As a means of distraction, the princess eventually excuses herself.
"...I will return to my room now I think, Miranda. T-To lay down and nap," she declares through an almost sheepish smile and blushing cheeks. "Please do not disturb me until dusk."
Then, brushing past her elder, the princess finally takes her leave.
...
Slipping off her shoes and falling against her wide four-posted bed, Henrietta heaves out a sigh.
The heat of her daydream still has her flushed, and what would she give for Wales to hold her.
To kiss her.
To lift her dress and...
A short, almost pained rasp of a moan rumbles in the girl's chest, the image of her beloved in her mind is near maddening. Her legs squeeze together the more she imagines.
"Oh goddess, forgive me..."
Slowly, one hand draws toward the hem of her dress and pulls it up to reveal her flushing thighs. One slender finger runs atop the thin, white panty covering her femininity.
With it, she brings aside the fabric and runs the digit over her the thick patch of womanly hair covering her lower lips, before dipping along the soft, warm folds. A long moan parts her lips, a twitching shock running through the woman.
"Ohh, that feels so..."
Unbidden her hips lift a little from the mattress, pushing more of her fingers against her wet sex. A long shudder racks through her and another, quiet moan leaves her lips.
One eye closes as another finger slips over her throbbing, little clit. "Ooh, right there!"
This is such a terrible, lecherous act.
But she can't bring herself to care.
Here in her room, no one will disturb her or lay eyes upon her body, after all. So, as the young royal slowly toys with herself and spreads her knees wider apart to push her dress fully off her pale, flushing legs, she can relax into the sensations.
The Princess's moans increase in fervor, and so does her frantic fingering. A needy finger probing over her hood and giving it little pokes has her whining, as a second toy's with the petals of her entrance and circles her swollen gemstone.
The palm of the royal's free hand massages a perky mound atop her breast and plays with a nipple, the digits running and squeezing and twisting the little nub as a low heat rises between her hips.
"Nnhhh~ Oh, oh, goddess... yes." The young woman bites her bottom lip. A third finger sinks deep and buries within her wet slit. "There, right there... Mmmhhaa~"
Heat pulsates between her thighs. A coiling, growing sensation that rises the harder she fingers and the faster she moves. The pink of the woman's nether regions glistens. The wet, almost squelching sound as she does, plays like a symphony as she gives herself over to her lewd needs.
"Nghh, a-aah... I can't, I-"
The woman whines as a searing, delightful, overwhelming fire explodes over and throughout her body.
"...! F-Forgive me!"
Shaking like a leaf, the princess collapses against her mattress, heaving with exhaustion and soiling the cloth of her bed beneath her bare lower half.
Heavy breaths turn to even more heavy breaths, the royal still whining from her incredible release as her quivering legs collapse together and her hands return to her sides.
The young woman takes to laying her body flat, breathing and resting from such a lewd endeavor.
Reaching a trembling hand to the corner of her mouth, the young royal forces a weak smile and shuts her eyes.
How can such urges be sinful if they feel so very, very good?
Swallowing against the strain against her throat, the exhausted woman smiles and pants as she relaxes beneath the comfort of her bed sheets.
At this moment she is a woman first, and a princess second.
And, as a woman, she is sadly left unsated far too often.
Clutching a hand about her chest, Henrietta exhales softly.
Within her beating heart awakens the faintest feeling of sadness. Of envy, even.
Lifting her head from her pillow, the woman then glances out the nearest window and gives the countryside far below her a soft, almost forlorn look.
All alone and unbidden, her thoughts again return to Louise.
To how she and her familiar will share a bedchamber whilst visiting the palace.
And with it, the envy within her swells.
"Please be happy, my dear," Henrietta whispers, a longing sigh escaping her.
A princess' duty is to her country first, and herself second.
To be continued...
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