#meant to do this earlier | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ghouljams · 8 months

Note

god pls tell me medieval ghost gets readers parents approval or imma throw up in sadness i need them to be happy forever

You take a moment to collect yourself after your disastrous meeting with the duke. Your eyes are hardly watering but Ghost hands you a handkerchief at the slightest sigh, dutiful as always. You often wonder what he thinks of you for being so emotional over these little sorrows. It's hardly worth getting worked up about, a less than ideal man, a practically perfect knight. Yes, hardly worth the sniffles.

"I'm alright," you tell Ghost, glancing up at him. His gaze is fixed on you, watchful as you dab your eyes with his handkerchief, press the soft fabric against your lips and imagine him doing the same, before holding it out to him. He holds a hand up in refusal. You settle it in your lap, fingers playing with the hemmed edges of the fabric, you can't bear to look at him like this. "I should tell my mother that the Duke's fled," you stand, hear the shift in Ghost's armor behind you.

"Pathetic fool," Ghost grumbles.

"Agreed," you hum, swiping your hands over your skirts to be sure they've fallen back into place, "I hope I never marry if that's the sort of men I have to look forward to." Ghost hums, deep and dissatisfied. It's not him you're talking about, you hope he knows that. No, you hope he doesn't know, it's worse if he knows. He mustn't know.

"Queens have ruled before," he says. Ghost follows a step behind you as you exit the sitting room. You're sure your mother is in her quarters, if she hasn't already heard word of your prospective suitors hasty exit.

You spot her in the foyer, your dissatisfied guest walking away from her. You turn on your heel to avoid the shit show and nearly bump into Ghost. His hands grip your shoulders to keep you from bouncing off his armored chest, and you wince a little at the picture you two must make. Your mother's voice calls to you and Ghost spins you to face her. She looks cross.

She motions for you to follow her and the three of you make your way to her drawing room. She holds a hand up to stop Ghost from entering. He gives a short bow and moves to the side to stand with the other guards. So, it's going to be that sort of conversation.

Your mother pulls your aside as the doors close firmly behind you, eyes searching yours. You feel significantly smaller than you are under her gaze. "The Duke left in a hurry," she says plainly, "apparently he was concerned about-" a sigh "-living up to your expectations."

"Should I not expect anything of my future husband?" Sarcasm drips from your voice, you know you're pushing it. The queen's voice seems more steeled when she speaks next, a tone that makes you flinch.

"He had other concerns about you and your knight. Concerns which seem to be shared by many, I'm told." Her voice softens, falls gently into your mother's, not the queen's, questions. "Tell me honestly, have you and him..." she winces, her gaze darts to your skirts. You feel your anger boil at the insinuation, not for yourself but for Ghost.

"No! No, he would never-" You try to swallow the bitterness rising in your throat, the painful truth of your situation, "Ghost would never touch me."

Your mother looks relieved, you wish you could feel the same. "Good," she nods, "good."

"Is that what people are saying? What people think? That he would-" you can't stop the anger that bleeds out of you, the shock on your mother's face as you raise your voice, "Ghost is an honorable man, he has been loyal to me for years. How dare you- How dare anyone even think to imply that he would be such a- a brute! That he would ever do anything to harm me or my reputation as your-" you spit the words at her, "-perfect princess."

"Oh," your mother's face falls, understanding written clear over her features, "oh my sweet child, you love him."

"Of course not," you look away from her, "what would be the point? He wouldn't lay a finger on me even if I did."

"If you said that he-"

You cut her off quickly, quietly, "I won't sully his reputation for my own selfish desires." Your stomach clenches, your throat scratching hot as you swallow down the lump in it. A princess does not let her emotions get the best of her, especially when it comes to trivial ones like love.

Your mother turns your chin with gentle fingers so you're facing her again, and leans forward to bump her forehead against yours. You take a deep shaky breath as her hand cups the back of your neck, warm and comforting in a way she could never be outside of her private rooms. You close your eyes and enjoy it, enjoy the shared space, the joint inhale and exhale. It calms you.

"I'll stop the suitor meetings," she tells you finally. You pull back, shocked.

"That's not-" She raises a hand to stop your refusal.

"There are no suitable candidates currently on the list anyway, it would be a waste of your time to meet them all." She speaks with the conviction of a queen, waving off the roster of well established gentleman with the affection of your mother. You smile, weakly.

"Thank you, I'll- I'll try to quell the rumors in the meantime."

"Why? I see no reason to bother with petty falsehoods, continue as you were." You nod, and your mother cups your face, her eyes sad, almost nostalgic. You wonder what she's thinking, you know better than to ask.

Ghost stiffens when you exit the Queen's rooms, the other guards snapping to attention as well. For all the yelling you'd done, you hardly look upset. Though that was nearly two hours ago. Since then a maid had been in and out with afternoon tea and you'd been much quieter in your conversation.

Honorable you'd said. Honorable. As if the thoughts of you that ran through his head were so... honorable. Though you were right, he wouldn't lay a finger on you. In his dreams he holds you tightly in his arms, spreads you with both hands, caresses you with his mouth. One finger is nothing, he needs all of them. Needs to run his hands over you, hold your face between his palms, feel the give of your soft skin where he touches and God if he didn't need every point of contact he could get. He wants to feel your breath against his lips, taste the last sip of wine on your tongue. He wants to hear you say his name, his real name, with such desperate wanting it would make an angel blush. He wants, and it is not an honorable thing.

An honorable man. How highly you must think of him. If you knew how he thinks of you late into the night you'd shun him in the morning.

"Ghost are you still here?" You ask, peaking your head out of your changing room.

"Always, my lady," he answers on instinct, watching your smile with growing unease. You nod and brush off your maid's entreating hands to exit the safety of closed doors.

He is just a man, worse than a man, really. The way his breath comes short seeing you in your dressing gown, the soft white fabric hanging so delicately off of you, your silhouette illuminated through the linen by the flickering candlelight. You bend to pick a novel off your table. A dog. He's no better than a dog. His eyes rake over your exposed flesh, his fingers itch to grab, to touch, to ruin you for anyone else.

"I thought you might like this one. I know its not your usual fair, but-" You come too close to him, hold out your book too innocently. Youre too warm, too tempting, tried too hard to defend him. His fingers grip the back of your head, tight in your hair, tipping you back as he leans down before he can stop himself. Your eyes are wide with something he doesn't recognize --he knows all of your expressions but this one it seems-- his breathing comes heavy, panting in the short distance between your lips.

"Simon," you whisper, soft, honest, questioning. Is it fear in your eyes? He's worked so hard for so long to keep you from ever feeling that, and now you can only turn it on him. He hasn't heard you say his name in years, he doesn't want to hear it like this.

Ghost all but throws himself away from you. His own disgust with himself giving purpose to his actions. Your face falls, lips downturned and brows furrowed. This expression he knows, you're upset, and it's his fault.

"What's wrong?" You ask, he can't look at you, can't stare down his own shame. "I'm sorry, did I- I shouldn't have called you that." It twists like a knife in his chest to hear you apologize. You're right, you shouldn't have called him that, all you ever do is fill his head with delusions of something better than this daily torture.

"Nothing, I- that was a mistake," he growls, not even bothering to look at you. Your heart pulls so tight you think it might stop. A mistake, is that all it was? You reach out to touch his armor, to beg him to say it wasn't, and he jerks away from you again. "Forget that ever happened," his hand is tight on your door, "please."

Your heart jumps in your throat, you can see your maids watching you from the doorway in your perifery, watching it all unfold. You pull your hand back. One must always remain poised when observed by gossips. Even when they want nothing more than to fall apart. A mistake. "Of course," you steel yourself behind the voice of a princess, "its forgotten." You turn back to your maids, back to being dressed for dinner, "You're dismissed, see if you can't find someone to check your head. We wouldn't want you making any more mistakes."

"My lady," you hear the creak of his armor as he bows, the open and shut of your quarters' door. You're a fool to think he'd fight for you. To think you're more than just his duty. His mistake. Of course you are. Ghost wouldn't lay a finger on you.