“Oh, is the high and mighty Prince Callan too good for simple peasant girls? My mistake, your highness. I had actually thought you were better than the rest of them, but I guess I was wrong,” Finley sneered. She crossed her arms and stood firm in the center of the hallway, her hair now all askew. “You’re just like your father, you coward.”
Arranged and Illegitimate // Fantasy OxO // Closed
Callan stopped at the last accusation, shoulders stiffening. "Wrong. I've never fucked someone and then let them die on the streets." his voice was icy cold now. "I promised that I wouldn't harm you, and I intend to stand by that promise. But we need to be on our way, and if I have to carry you, I will."
“Do your worst, prince. I said I wasn’t going quietly,” Finley retorted. “The only reason I’m still alive is because I could be used as a weapon and possibly to breed more with my curse to fight for your father. So drag me there, kicking and screaming, because I am definitely not going to make this easy for you.” She stuck her chin out defiantly. Finley knew her abilities could probably stop a weaker man, but Callan was as muscular as they come and most likely too powerful for her to hold off. Nevertheless, she was going to resist.
Callan shook his head a little. He came close, and picked her up, throwing her over his shoulder and starting to walk again. He made sure the gown was still preserving her modesty, though, having no wish to arrive and let everyone see her legs or worse. He knew she would retaliate, but also knew that he could take any damage she was able to make. Hopefully, anyway.
Finley fought as Callan picked her up like she weighed nothing, kicking and flailing her elbows as he continued forward. Her arm glowed as she punched her hand into the stone wall and carved deep grooves into the smooth stone, marking their path down the hallway. “I’m not. Going. Anywhere with you!” she managed through gritted teeth.
Callan glared at the grooves. "Do you want to die, Miss Finley?" He replied. "Is that what you prefer? Because I'm sure that can be arranged. Because this is your choice. Either you marry me, or you die. And yeah, it sucks balls, but there isn't nothing that either o' us can do about 't, so as such, I'd recommend you to shut up and come along quietly." A strange accent had slipped into his voice. A less refined one, less Royal. More streets and slums and "have yeh go' a penny, mistah?". Of poverty and disease. An accent that he worked hard to hide.
“Maybe death would be preferable to putting up with your smug ass,” Finley grumbled bitterly, but she stopped fighting. They both knew she’d take marriage over death any day, but that didn’t mean she was going to like it, thank you very much. She noticed the accent that slipped into his voice, and somehow, it was comforting. It was the type of voice that she heard everyday where she lived—used to live, she supposed—and it was… nice to know that not everything around her was changing.
Callan rolled his eyes. "Can I set you down and expect you to walk calmly, or do I have to carry you like baggage?" He asked, looking at her and still holding her over his shoulder. He took a deep breath, waiting to hear her answer.
“You can put me down. I won’t fight,” Finley conceded grumpily. Callan may have won this battle, but she was going to win the war. What war, she wasn’t entirely certain, but she certainly was going to be difficult to manage. “The lady can walk on her own two feet, your Highness.”
Callan set her down, looking down at her impassively. "I'm not your highness, Finley." He replied calmly. "That would be my half-brothers. I'm simply "sir"." He shrugged his shoulders a little bit, studying her. He held out his arm for her to take, and began walking when she was ready.
“Sorry I don’t have that much experience addressing royalty, sir,” Finley replied, though without much bite. As he observed her, she wilted a bit under his powerful gaze and grabbed his arm as a distraction. “So, what does the wedding ceremony entail, exactly?” she asked hurriedly, using her free hand to smooth her now-messy braid.
Callan shrugged. "It's fine." He replied. "And the ceremony will be…the usual. Vows. Wine, followed by a kiss to seal the deal, so to speak." He kept his eye focused ahead. He had put an eye patch over his stone eye, just in case. No one knew about his curse, and he intended to keep it that way. "It won't be too elaborate. My father will be there, possibly the queen as well. I am unsure of anyone else."
“Great. That’s great. Yes, totally fine,” Finley said, threads of anxiety creeping into her voice. She didn’t want to admit that this would be her first kiss ever, and in front of the king and queen no less. “You nervous?” she asked snidely, trying to cover up her own insecurity.
He blinked at the question. "For a wedding? No. The expectations of what this wedding is supposed to produce, yes." He replied calmly, still leading her through the halls. His voice was deceptively calm; in reality, he was rather nervous for this ceremony.
“I can’t say I feel any different,” she replied, though she began clenching and unclenching her free hand rapidly. “D’ya think they’ll give me a title? Finley McCain, High Witch? Or maybe High Babymaker,” Finley remarked bitterly as they approached the end of the hallway.
Callan let out a rather undignified snort. "I don't know. Lady, most likely." he replied. "High Witch is a bit too…well. My father won't want you being a witch to be common knowledge. Were you one of my half-brothers' wives, you would be a princess, but as I am not technically a prince…I don't know." he shrugged his shoulders.
Finley startled at Callan’s snort, twitching in surprise. She honestly didn’t expect him to be able to laugh. “Good point. If word got out that the King has kept a foul Witch alive in his very own castle, that probably wouldn’t be very good,” she said, still a little shocked. “What do you think my cover story will be anyway? As in how I actually made it here, other than being a Witch.”
"Probably the official story will be a whirlwind romance." Callan said with another little shrug. "They'll say some shite about how we met somehow and fell madly, desperately in love, and I told my father I'd die if I couldn't marry you, and here we are." he ran his free hand through his caramel brown hair. "Something along those lines."
“Sounds romantic. A shame that’s not what actually happened, but oh well. What is done is done and can never be undone.” She made a strange sign over her heart with her fingers curled up like a claw. Finley caught sight of a door at the end of the hallway and tensed up, accidentally digging her fingers into Callan’s arm. “Shit,” she hissed under her breath.
Callan raised an eyebrow, though he didn't seem to even react to her fingers digging into his arm. "What's wrong?" he asked, looking at her, then the door. "And as for romantic…yes." he let out a slow breath, one hand creeping towards his sword, just in case. He didn't know what she was panicking about, but he needed to be prepared. Just in case.
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Finley responded with a false pep, releasing her grip and patting him awkwardly on the arm. Truth be told, ever since those soldiers had crashed through her doorway and dragged her out in chains, she was ever more the anxious about what she couldn’t see, about what could be waiting for her in the dark. “C’mon. We have a wedding to attend, don’t we?”
He laughed a little bit. "Mhm. You ready to marry me?" he asked. He led her out and into the courtyard, then into a small, lovely little side garden. "It's being held out here, since the church isn't prepared to host a wedding right now. Still decorated in mourning colors for Lord Olby, who died recently." he explained.
“No, you twit,” Finley said, but teasingly, not cruelly. He had earned her respect when he proved he wasn’t just a stuck-up emotionless wall. She looked around the garden, and her eyes brightened at the small blooms of pink and blue. Finley had never seen anything like it. “It’s really pretty,” she murmured.
He smiled a little. "This is one of the private gardens." He replied softly. There was a priest waiting under an archway, and the king and queen stood off to the side. Callan was rather surprised to see Albion, the crown prince, standing with the king and queen. The crown prince was 26 years old, and, while not anywhere near Callan's height, he was formidable in his own right. Whip smart and cunning, he was already making quite the name for himself.
Finley looked up and noticed the priest and the royals in front of the pair, and she squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again. She was going to kill that vicious coward of a king if it was the last thing she did, but somehow, she didn’t think protesting right now would be the smartest move. Realizing the crown prince was in attendance as well, she went up on her tiptoes to whisper in Callan’s ear. “Why is he here? Doesn’t he have anything else better to do?”
Callan sighed. "I don't know." he murmured in reply. "I wasn't expecting Albion to be here either." he guided her to where they were supposed to stand, letting go of her arm to stand across from her. He took a deep breath, glancing over at his father, the queen, and the crown prince, then at the priest, then back to Finley again.
Finley felt hot anger stir up in her chest as she prepared to be wed, but not at Callan. Well, mostly not at Callan. She caught his gaze and tried for a confident smirk, but failed miserably. Her eyes burned at the thought of her thrice-damned curse and this thrice-damned kings and—
Without realizing it, her eyes had begun to glow yellow, and veins of light were creeping down her arms.
Callan inhaled at the sight. "Finley." he said softly. "Calm down, you're…glowing." he bit his lip, studying her. Albion frowned, eyebrows drawing together. The king stood straighter, hand going to the sword belted at his side. The various guards that were also there all readied for an attack.
“Huh? Oh—shit!” Finley whispered, recalling the energy and shoving it down. The guards, who she hadn’t noticed before, all had loops of iron chain on their belts, and she shivered as she remembered her capture yet again. “Sorry about that,” she muttered.
Callan nodded. "It's alright." he whispered. The priest cleared his throat.
"Are we ready to begin?" the priest asked, looking at the two of them with a rather judgemental look.
Callan nodded again. "Yes sir." he replied to the priest. "Unless Finley needs a minute, I think we're alright to start." he resisted the urge to reach up and check his eye patch.