She's a Rebel // Ben Finn x Princess

Chapter 11

Benjamin Finn awoke to a throbbing pain in his head and a knock on the door. He sat upright, slowly, feeling that, somehow, the air was slightly heavier than when he went to sleep, and that it was truly unfair how his body punished him for virtually nothing. Granted, he couldn't remember the majority of the night before, but that didn't mean he welcomed the consequences. He attempted to smooth his hair down and wipe the tiredness out of his eyes, adjusting his shirt collar to a more respectable position before opening the door with the widest smile he could manage.

"Mr. Finn?" Ben blinked involuntarily, his expression blank, as a stranger, and a tall one at that, almost barked at him. "Escort for the Queen of Albion?" Despite his urge to make a joke, he bit his tongue, nodding silently and wishing that this interaction would end before he felt the need to throw up. God, the Knothole Island bar scene must have been insane. "I am Lord Beckett, son of the Chieftain, the heir of this entire island."

"I've heard of you, sir," Ben replied, feigning a look of interest to mask his general apathy, knowing the mess he would get himself in if he was in any way impolite to another important person, "it's truly a pleasure to finally meet your acquaintance."

"My people have spoken nothing but golden words about you, an impressive feat after being here for a singular night," Beckett smiled, his words, like his stare, were glassy and transparent, a clear attempt to amplify his perceived power. "I wish to know when the Queen is available, so that we can arrange a meeting to settle the marriage business. I've heard her attractiveness is dwindling with every passing year and I don't know if I can keep up appearances if she gets to below a 7," Ben felt his knuckles itch as the words registered in his mind - how ignorant must a person be to be proud to appear as such a prick? "You understand me, Mr. Finn, I'm sure."

The tiredness evaporated from his bewildered mind, as he evaluated the situation. The one thing Ben knew for sure was that he had to prevent this monster from marrying into Albion - a decision that he was only vaguely sure was rooted in loyalty to the crown. He could fight the man, but tactically, that was a flawed plan; he had no idea how much combat training and expertise he had. It was also extremely likely that such an important part of the town's economy and a man of such regal standing would have far more powerful devotees, and Ben's hangover and moral qualms may not hold up to a full-on brawl. It dawned on him, after a few seconds of an awkward, gawping moment that he would have to charm his way out of this one.

"Ah," Ben replied, adopting his best faux-confident tone, adjusting his stance and crossing his arms across his chest, "we have official Crown business to attend to while we're in your village. I doubt my Queen will have time to schedule a meeting with you during this particular visit."

"Really?" The other man replied, raising an eyebrow in mock-disbelief. "Jessica said..."

"Jessica is mistaken," any effort to keep his tone contained and courteous was ditched in favour of defence - though the defence of exactly what was dubious, "I've been appointed the task of maintaining the Queen's schedule while she is away from Albion and I kind of really need to prove myself, here, so you can be damn sure that I'm going to be stricter than the leader of the hollow legion," Ben moved his fringe out of his face and moved closer to the nobleman, "so, I'll let you know if we find a vacancy in the schedule, but I wouldn't hold your breath. What would Knothole Island do without its precious Lord?"

He took one last look at the other man, with a disdainful look, skirting over his dishevelled style - the type of outfit choice that has quite clearly had a lot of effort to appear like no effort has been taken - and his perfectly clean shaven cheeks, feeling the hatred rise, like a fire from far beneath the ground, burning through his bare feet. Ben shuffled backwards, closing the door swiftly and leaning his back against it.

"What are you doing, Finn?" He sighed, berating himself, "sabotaging the chance at a royal wedding, solid decision," he kicked a tankard he wasn't sure how he acquired across the ancient floorboards, "possibly even more stupid than having a crush on the Queen of Albion."