She's a Rebel // Ben Finn x Princess

Chapter 8

No hypnosis, no hot drinks, no melatonin could ever even slightly match up to the immense sleep-inducing power of Hobson's fucking voice. It was becoming increasingly more difficult to keep my eyelids open, especially with the warm beams of sunlight shining through the large stained glass windows and onto my face. As he droned on, and on, and on, my ears refused to focus on any specific words, my limbs struggling to stay alert. Such days without actually interacting with any unhappy citizens were the exact opposite of what I hoped my job would be and what I dreaded would become the norm. I thought back to that morning, my mind drifting through daydreams of smiles and blue eyes and felt a longing to be back there.

"And, now, in regards to the request from Lord Beckett in Knothole Glade, your majesty..." I bolted awake, though being one of only 5 people in the courtroom, and the only one not absorbed in Hobson's trifling nonsense, I got away with it. I dimly remembered the letter I had seen that morning. "Knothole Glade, of course, pertaining to the village, not the island, as I have found referring to their homeland incorrectly can lead to rather... violent outbursts. I trust you read the letter I left on your desk, my queen?"

"I may have glanced at it, yes," I replied, keeping my voice as monotone as possible to avoid any accusation of indifference towards court matters. "Do you have the specific details, Hobson?"

"Of course, your grace," he sneered, "the candidate is the son of the cheiftain, a master of archery whose clan can be traced, quite tenuously, to a companionship with your own royal and Heroic ancestors. He offers a mutually beneficial marriage, for lack of a better term, in order to bring together the western isles of Witchwood with mainland Albion yet again. The request, however, is that you meet him in person, in order for a formal proposal in the village square." I nodded, realising that this was possibly mandatory. "And might I add, many of the women in Bowerstone have reported the Lord having rather... exotic features, which one can only interpret as a positive. And, if I may point out, you are not getting any younger."

"Thank you, Hobson, but I think I'm more in tune with my maternal clock than you are." I sighed, not yet awake enough to muster up enough actual anger. I would, no doubt, consult with my more trustworthy servants on the matter of any 'beneficial' marriages. "Couldn't we just, I don't know, draw up a trading agreement or something, with Knothole Island?"

"I'm unsure, your majesty." Hobson replied, almost entirely ignoring my statement. "It is easy to see that, for the good of the kingdom, yourself, and, of course, your image as monarch, a marriage would do wonders for morale, not to mention your own happiness. There hasn't been as much as the aroma of romance in the castle your entire reign! A marriage - arranged, legitimate or not - and especially one that could bear heirs, would be absolutely wondrous for the kingdom."

"My emotional well-being is none of your concern. I managed to orchestrate an entire revolution and consequently make all the decisions in order to keep the kingdom afloat, all while keeping most factions of Albion on my side and raising enough money to fight off the worst threat we have ever faced, while also losing a dear family member," I took a breath, before standing up and stalking over to him, "so maybe, just maybe, my romantic affairs and how happy you think I am are not topics to be discussed in a courtroom. Have you got that all down, Hobson?"

Before he could actually respond with anything more than an astounded look, my outburst was punctuated by the slam of the heavy wooden doors. I took a moment to pause and attempt to regain some degree of composure before ascending the stairs to my chambers. All of this, it just felt so mechanical, heartless - not at all the way it should be. How I had imagined it. The isolation within the walls was already prominent, without adding the politicisation of love. Love, for Avo's sake, how could I love a man that describes a potential marriage as "beneficial"? I had wanted, as every other princess wants, to be perused, wooed, courted and ultimately loved. Surely I would want to marry somebody that made it impossible for me to think anything other than beautiful thoughts, that could set my heart on fire with only a glance, that I had no doubts about. Someone like Ben.

But it was pointless. The demonstration of my adviser's interest in the arrangement only served to prove how, even if he could ever like me back, never mind like me enough to be with me, Ben Finn would not be favoured amongst the people as a romantic partner. He wasn't any kind of royalty; he wasn't special, at least not to most people. At least, not compared to Lord freakin' Beckett. So what was the point in all the daydreaming and butterflies? It wasn't likely he'd pick me over Page anyway; it wasn't likely I'd ever admit it to him anyway.