Thread: Veiled Affair [Reserved]

Given the choice and the time to break the habit, William would love to call Victoria by her first name. Not only was it a nice name, and her name, but it would let him feel like there wasn't an oak tree growing between them, pushing them further and further apart with time. He did take the opportunity to mentally chide himself again she had mentioned this preference of hers in the past. The one time he had called her Victoria in the presence of her mother, though, he was swiftly reminded of his place on the totem pole. Anything less than 'Princess Victoria' in public, and he was liable to be strung up. But this wasn't public. And as she whispered his name when he held her, he became shamefully aware of this. He painted her lips, just barely parted with his name slipping out, in his mind. He knew it would haunt his lonely dreams and quiet fantasies for weeks to come. She halfheartedly struggled against his pull, her fear of the horse was much deeper than he had originally considered. He quit forcing her forward, and released his grip from the horse's reigns, allowing the beast to calmly saunter off for a few steps. He wouldn't make her do anything she was so adamantly opposed to. He would have to find something else for them to do. Something that would take the right amount of time, energy, and be somewhere hidden, so nobody would be able to reveal the fact that they weren't doing as they had been instructed. He was trying to think of the solution when she made a sudden burst. It took him a moment to realize just what 'him' she meant. He struggled to get his words in order. Love, has nothing to do with it, he wanted to say, for it was the truth. Nobles married for land, or power. Not love. Love is something for snaring people like William, who wish only for their princess, but know can never have her. Realizing his pause, he continued, Is nothing I am fit to offer advice upon. Though if you have reason to believe his honor isn't intact, perhaps such is something to bring up with your father. It pained him to imagine Victoria caught in some loveless marriage to a man who views her as but one of many bedmates. If this Charles weren't a prince, the knight wouldn't hesitate to address the matter himself, but such wasn't the case, and a knight had to know his place. More than the urge to run off and protect the princess from external problems, though, was his urge to hold her close, comfort her, feel her. He had never really considered how difficult it must be for her to go through this latest set of trials. As they had grown up in each other's presence, he always knew it was difficult for her to express herself from behind her father and her mother. But he never considered how uniquely challenging it must be to have even your marriage decided. As a knight, romance and marriage were the last things William was permitted, and he always figured that she would be happy to finally find one to be betrothed to. Indeed, he had assumed that she had loved him, in some way, on some level. That she didn't filled him with a unique mixture of sympathy and guilt and, worst of all, desire. He desired to hold and caress her, to warm her and breathe her in, and to love her. He exhaled sharply and tried to catch up with time. In an absent sort of way, he realized he was still holding her hand, loosely, carefully, beautifully. Of course, without the horse there, without the pretense of taking her hand for an explicit reason, this fact exciting him in strange ways, stirring his stomach with feelings and ideas, and in fear, he loosed his fingers and turned away, knowing that blood was slowly rushing to his cheeks. Come, let us walk. If we aren't to ride, the horses need to be turned into their stables. Or, if you would rather spare the short hike, to their hitches.. Besides, he considered, a chance to walk and to breathe should help him regain a hold upon his nerves, and his imagination.