#artistr | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rosyrosethings · 8 months

Text

Prince Harry

Summary: y/n finds out Harry is a prince and that he lied to her.

Part 1

The day of the anticipated royal banquet dawned, cloaking the palace in an air of exhilaration. Y/n, having already established herself as a virtuoso in the art of dessert-making, arrived at the palace's grand kitchen with her mind brimming with recipes and her heart tangled in thoughts of Henry. The time they spent together had been sparse due to her burgeoning career, but each visit he made to her little shop was etched in her memory, kindling a flame she couldn't ignore.

As the kitchen buzzed with activity, staff members flitted about like diligent bees, their conversations a blend of duty and hushed excitement. Among them, Charlotte, a fellow staffer, shared the latest whispers floating through the palace halls with Y/n and Kelly.

"Rumor has it Prince Harry's renounced his notorious dating spree. They say there's a new object of his affection," Charlotte divulged with a conspiratorial wink.

"He was a notorious dater?" Y/n inquired, the question slipping out despite her.

"Oh, the prince was an absolute heartthrob. Charisma in spades and a smile to die for," Charlotte remarked, and Kelly chimed in with a dreamy sigh, "And those dimples...utterly divine."

Their chatter took a dramatic turn as Charlotte leaned in closer, her voice a mere whisper, "But the most riveting tidbit? There's talk of an engagement with Princess Emily."

"A royal wedding!" Kelly squeaked, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Imagine, we'd be in the thick of the preparations!"

Their excitement was infectious, and Y/n couldn't help but chuckle along, though her heart panged with an emotion she couldn't quite place.

As the hours whisked by, the kitchen transformed into a symphony of scents and flavors under Y/n's skilled direction. In the midst of this orchestrated chaos, Prince Harry made his entrance. Known for his genuine gratitude toward the palace staff, he embarked on his routine of personally thanking the kitchen team, believing in the profound power of simple appreciation.

His presence seemed to electrify the air, and a hush fell over the staff as he made his rounds. Y/n, however, was so engrossed in perfecting her lemon meringue tarts that his arrival went unnoticed, her focus unwavering even as her spatula clattered to the ground.

"Y/n, stand up; he's nearly here," Kelly hissed urgently, nudging her.

Scrambling upright, Y/n's head shot up just in time to lock eyes with the man she'd known as 'Henry'. In that suspended sliver of time, revelations dawned, and worlds collided.

"Y/n..." Harry breathed, the word laced with a cocktail of emotions.

Their connection was palpable, a tangible current in the air. Kelly, sensing the depth of the moment, attempted to bridge the sudden chasm. "Your Majesty, Y/n is our lead baker. Her creations are nothing short of culinary poetry."

But Y/n was anchored in place, her voice barely a whisper, "You're Prince Harry?"

The prince's confirming nod was heavy, burdened with unsaid words and uncharted feelings.

Kelly, ever the protocol expert, interjected, "Y/n, remember, it's 'Your Royal Highness' or 'Your Majesty'."

Betrayal, sharp and unyielding, pierced Y/n's heart. Was she just another nameless face in a sea of admirers? A fleeting fancy before royal duty beckoned?

As Harry opened his mouth to explain, a stern voice cut through the thick tension. "Prince Harry, you are required to dress for the occasion immediately!"

"But I need to—" Harry protested, his plea desperate.

"The Queen will not tolerate tardiness, Your Highness. What importance could this baker possibly hold?" the attendant dismissed, a note of disdain in her tone.

Torn between duty and desire, Harry cast a longing look at Y/n before resigning to his royal obligations. As he strode away, Y/n stood amidst the whirlwind of preparations, her heart a tempest of confusion and disbelief.

As the event unfolded in its regal splendor, Y/n immersed herself in her culinary artistry, a silent storm brewing beneath her calm demeanor. The staff around her exchanged knowing glances, intuitively aware of the unspoken tension between her and the prince, yet they respected her privacy.

The time for the dessert presentation arrived, and with a deep breath to steady her nerves, Y/n emerged from behind the kitchen doors. Her smile was poised as she took her place beside the queen, an intimidating presence at the head of the table, with Harry and Emily on either side.

"Esteemed guests, I am Y/n, your head dessert chef for this evening. It is with great honor that I present to you a beloved treat from my hometown — the lemon meringue tart," she announced, her voice steady, betraying none of the tumult within her heart as the waitstaff unveiled the desserts with a flourish.

"Please, indulge," she invited with a courteous bow, her smile unwavering even as the room filled with the sounds of delighted approval.

"These are exquisite, Y/n. You must grace the royal engagement with this delicacy," the queen declared, her reference to Harry and Emily's impending nuptials causing a visible hitch in Harry's demeanor, manifesting as a cough.

The comment, though painful, didn't shatter Y/n's professional facade. "It would be my utmost honor, Your Majesty," she replied, offering a sweet, yet pained smile, all while avoiding Harry's intense gaze seeking hers.

At that moment, Prince William of Arendelle rose with an air of charisma. "Chef Y/n, I am Prince William of Arendelle. Your talents are extraordinary. I must request a private tasting of your creations," he proposed gallantly, taking her hand and pressing a respectful kiss to it, his forwardness sending a ripple of surprise through her.

"Certainly, Your Highness. Please have your aid arrange it with me," she responded, a hint of nervousness in her tone, yet maintaining decorum.

Harry's response was immediate and laced with a regal possessiveness that was hard to miss. "Prince William, I must insist you respect Chef Y/n's professional boundaries," Harry interjected, his tone courteous yet firm, his posture rigid with barely restrained jealousy.

"But Harry, while you've found your future queen, perhaps I'm in pursuit of my own," William retorted playfully, his smile charming yet impish.

Y/n's laughter was soft, a gentle chime amidst the tension. "Your Highness, your words honor me, but I must return to my duties," she excused herself, retreating to the sanctuary of her kitchen.

he vast parking lot sprawled before Y/n like an echoing chasm of memories. Gently, almost reverently, she began to collect her baking utensils. Thinking heavily about Harry, every whispered secret they shared, became a weight, anchoring her heart. 'Henry' had been a figment of simpler times, while the man before her was a prince, his life mapped out with another's. A burgeoning tide of tears clouded her vision, her emotions a tumultuous storm, each gust and tempest amplifying her despair.

"Y/n..." The timbre of his voice, deep and imbued with a yearning she intimately recognized, echoed through the vast emptiness, as haunting as a lone wolf's cry.

She hesitated, then turned, her inner turmoil palpable. The magnetic pull to seek solace in his embrace was undeniable. Yet, the stark reality of their circumstance was an unyielding barrier. "Your Highness," she uttered softly, her acknowledgment wrapped in the delicate veil of respect, her voice barely more than a whisper carried by the gentle night breeze.

"Y/n, please... Let the formality fall away. To you, I wish to be just Harry," he urged, every ounce of his being poured into the plea, his eyes awash with raw emotion, holding the universe of his feelings.

"Yet the heart I gave was to 'Henry', an ordinary man free from regal constraints," she countered, the anguish evident in her quivering voice. "How can I trust, how can I give myself to 'Harry', when our relationship was birthed from deception?"

Drawing himself to his full stature, yet with vulnerability evident in his posture, he said, "I concede, Y/n. I concealed who I truly was. My regret is immeasurable, a shadow I cannot escape," pausing as his chest heaved, "But understand, every cherished memory, every intimate moment under the guise of 'Henry' was genuine, untarnished by royal obligations. I love you with a fervor that transcends titles, as a man envisioning not just a fleeting moment, but an entire lifetime with you."

Emotion clung to every syllable, creating an unspoken bond. "And Emily?" she dared, her voice laced with the bitter taste of perceived betrayal.

"Emily is a predetermined path, a duty I'm entwined with," he replied, his face a tapestry of conflict. "But it's you who reigns over my heart, the beacon guiding me through the darkest nights. I beg, give me a chance to show my love is untethered to my lineage."

As his heartfelt confession resonated, Y/n's defenses began to crumble. She could discern the sincerity embedded deep within his gaze, feel the undeniable truth resonating in the cadence of his voice. Drawn together as if by some ethereal force, the soft luminescence of the moon bathed them, turning her tear-streaked cheeks into shimmering pathways of emotion. With a gentleness that transcended his princely status, Harry tenderly brushed her tears away, his touch as soft as a lover's caress, his eyes holding a world of promises.

"Y/n, might I be blessed with the privilege of sealing our bond with a kiss?" The very air around them seemed to hold its breath, the night itself awaiting her response. A slight, yet affirmative nod was all the confirmation he needed. Their lips met, a tender collision of souls, of destinies intertwined. It was a fleeting moment that felt like eternity, a dance of passion and promise.

Her voice, delicate yet laced with hope, broke their intimate reverie. "Wanna come home with me?"

His response, though filled with longing, bore the weight of duty. "As much as my heart yearns to, tonight, responsibilities bind me. I must set boundaries with William, especially after witnessing your amusement at his wife's playful jests," he jested, a twinkle in his eyes, cradling her face gently, her laughter echoing like a cherished melody in his heart.

"That laughter, my dearest Y/n, is a tune I wish to be serenaded with, every day, every night. Swear it's reserved solely for me?" His tone was playful, yet underneath lay a depth of emotion that was impossible to feign.

A radiant smile played on her lips, mischief sparkling in her eyes. "Are we sensing a hint of the Jealousy, Prince Harry?"

His feigned sulk was a silent confession of his feelings, but her tender kiss swept it away, leaving only the warmth of their connection. "My heart is irrevocably yours, my very own prince," she whispered, the words a sacred vow between them. A thrill shot through him as she uttered "my prince" — words so simple, yet so profound, marking the first time she had claimed him as her own. He was overwhelmed with devotion; for her, he'd move mountains without a second thought.

They reluctantly parted, their bodies separating like reluctant magnets. As he returned to the palace, Harry's heart lingered behind with Y/n. Entering the regal building, he found his father, the King, awaiting his return, an air of expectancy about him.

"The baker girl has caught your fancy?" the King inquired without preamble. Harry, ever honest, could only nod in affirmation. "I love her," he declared, his voice steady with conviction.

The King let out a disbelieving chuckle. "You're enamored with the baker girl?" he echoed, disappointment evident in his demeanor. "This cannot proceed, Harry. We have arrangements with Princess Emily's family. You're to marry her," he asserted, his voice laced with finality.

"But I don't harbor feelings for Emily. My heart belongs to—"

"Your personal affections are inconsequential!" the King interrupted, his patience fraying. "Our kingdom's welfare, our diplomatic relations, they take precedence. You believe I'd sanction a union between the heir to the throne and a commoner? Imagine the scandal, the uproar in the press. And consider the girl! The crown is a heavy burden — it brings with it relentless scrutiny, harsh judgment, even animosity. Do you believe the public will embrace her? Think of the consequences for Y/n," he argued, his words not just an order but a plea laced with concern.

Harry fell silent, the weight of his father's words, the gravity of the situation, and the potential repercussions for Y/n pressing down on him.

"See the reason, Harry. You must end this dalliance! And let this discussion remain between us; the Queen need not know," the King commanded, his tone softening before he turned on his heel and departed, leaving Harry alone with his turmoil.

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #watermelon sugar #fine line

86 notes · View notes