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danibee33 · 8 days

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The Queen’s Guard - Chapter 6: Promise

knight!simon riley x queen!reader

word count: 2.5k

[<<< chapter 5]

For the first time, in longer than you can remember, you don’t dread the morning sun. You watch it crest the horizon, feel its warmth radiate on your skin, bask in its dewey light- bathing you in a delightful glow.

And it feels so surreal, like you’re surely doomed to wake from this dream, like the strong arms that had held you so tightly, and the lips that kissed yours so passionately, were only figments of your imagination. Yet, when you reach out, your fingers graze over the very real, and very smooth, cold, dark surface of Simon’s helmet still sitting on your bedside table; unmoved since he had retrieved it from the balcony hours ago-

“It’s real, My Queen..” You suck in a breath at the thick rasp of Simon’s voice in your ear, earning you a sweet chuckle, the arm around your waist pulling you closer so he can bury his nose into the soft hair at the nape of your neck, “‘m sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

A deep sigh parts your lips at the way he feels, how solid and hot his body is wrapped around yours, his breath sneaking beneath the collar of your nightgown,

“Tell me,” You say, wriggling yourself even further against him, “can you read minds, Ser Simon?”

Your question riles a deep and genuine laugh from him this time, though he does his best to keep it quiet, only for your ears, and hopefully none that dare to pry-

“Why?” He asks, gently tugging you to turn over, “Somethin’ up here you wouldn’t want me to know?”

Smiles pull at both your lips when he taps your temple with the pad of his finger, and you’re not sure you’ve ever seen something as glorious as Simon’s dimpled smirk- Gods, why would he ever hide under that helmet.. it’s a fleeting thought, but one you hope to learn the answer to eventually. Hm, eventually, when is that? How much time do you really have with him? What could possibly-

“Hey..” His calloused palm settles over your cheek, thumb tracing a soft, back and forth pattern, his eyes narrowed in concern, “What is it? I lost you..”

Such a simple question, and such a simple statement, but they feel incomprehensible. That you could have given your life to man for years, and he still knows nothing of you, thinks nothing of you- but Simon, who has only been with you for a handful of months, has somehow learned you, maybe even better than you know yourself.

You rest your palm over his hand, unsure of what to say, or where it could possibly go; his promise ringing in your ears, reverberating through your marrow and bones-

“I’m goin’ to get you out of here. I swear it.”

“If we leave.. Where will we go?”

“When we leave..” His voice is steady and hardly above a whisper, the tip of his nose grazing over yours, “We’ll go wherever you like. The coast, inland, mountains, and forests- we’ll see it all.”

“But.. Simon- the King..”

So, so sweetly, you feel him pull your head forward just enough to crush his lips against yours- effectively silencing all your relentless thoughts, even if only for this glorious moment. Because it’s so easy to be consumed in him, in his power and his gentility, his brutish strength and the way he holds you as if you were made of the most precious and rare element he knew. And once again, you feel your body giving in to him- feel the tightness gather in your belly, and the ache grow between your legs. You want him, in every way that a woman can want a man- but all too soon, he’s pulling away again, his forehead pressing against yours,

“I will deal with the King, sweet girl.” He studies you, biting harshly at his bottom lip before glancing behind you towards the sunrise, “I have to dress- your hand maid will be here soon.”

You know you should let go of him, but it feels like you only just got him- and your stubborn heart wins against the logic of your mind as you lean into him again, kissing him with a little more urgency, a fervor behind your actions that he gives into, but only for a moment. He holds you back, eyes clenched shut in a silent battle all his own,

“Little Queen, you might think me a better man than I am..” He practically groans out the words, reaching down to hitch your thigh up over his hip, pushing his pelvis forward so that his want and arousal are made quite evident to you, “But, I beg of you, not here.. Not yet.”

There’s nothing in his words or his tone that could lead you to believe he doesn’t want all the same things you do, nothing about the hard length that presses against your cunt that could possibly make you believe he isn’t holding on by the thinnest of threads, trying his damnedest to be good to you- so that you’ll never, ever think that he simply wants your body and nothing else.

“Ok, Simon..” You nod, letting him press one more kiss to your lips, one so full of pining and longing, that it threatens to steal the air from your lungs as you reluctantly relent your hold on him so that you both could sit up, a little breathless and out of sorts.

But even though you’ve parted, it doesn’t stop him from planting a few more chaste kisses over your jaw and cheekbone before tearing himself away, allowing you to watch as he moves across the room. Seeing him only in his thin base layers is enough to raise your heart rate, remembering how you helped him shed his bulky armor last night- and now, you watch ardently as he picks it up and puts it back on, piece by piece- the thick muscles of his back and shoulders rippling and flexing with every practiced movement.

And, far quicker than you like, he’s sauntering towards your side of the bed, where you’ve sat so entranced by him- seeing him once more covered by the heavy steel plates, the ones that only make him larger than life, that make his already broad frame almost unnaturally bigger, his pitch black cloak billowing behind him,

“I’ll assume my post like always,” Simon says with a low tone, taking your bare hand in his gloved one just so he can place a gentlemanly kiss to the soft, pale skin, grabbing his helmet when he lets go.

You stand, looking up at him- committing every wonderful feature and flaw to memory before it’s covered again,

“And I’ll have a raven sent to Clan MacTavish, he can help us-”

But Simon shifts on his feet, your hand still engulfed by his own, “Are you sure, My Queen?”

And you can see the way his dark brows furrow behind the helmet, he doesn’t trust Johnny, but you can understand his apprehension- he doesn’t know the Scot like you do, and if what you think is going to happen, there can be no loose ends in what’s to come.

“Yes, I’m sure. There’s not a soul that we could trust more, Simon. I promise.”

This time, it’s you who lifts his hand to your lips, kissing the black leather as if to seal your own words- something a proper queen should never do, but the warmth that spreads through you when you see his eyes widen slightly makes you want to do it again and again.

He gives you a nod, not allowing himself the chance to waste anymore time, because gods know he would never leave you if given the option- but he must. There is much to plan, much to do, too many seeds of doubt to sow in far too short a time.

Johnny’s POV——

Work. That’s what it feels like for Johnny to come home. There’s no rest for the weary, no, not at the MacTavish estate, they’d never dream of allowing such a luxury-

Buncha fuckin’ dobbers they can be.. I swear.

Yet, he greets them all the same. Giving his Da a stiff, one-armed hug, exchanging the traditional three harsh pats to the back before moving down the path towards his childhood home.

“You’ll tell us about yer visit to court, won’t ye, Johnny?”

A warm smile spreads over his face as he looks down at his youngest sister, throwing an arm lazily over her shoulder,

“Well, hi to you, too, El..” Johnny teases, ruffling her dark brown curls playfully, “I’ll give ye all the juicy gossip tomorrow- after we get some shut eye, eh?” he says, nodding at the maid as they cross the grand threshold, “And I wan’ tae hear about this new constellation ye’ve discovered, my wee little genius!”

Elsie giggles and tries to escape his hold, going on about him being a numpty- all smiles and laughter until the most senior Lord MacTavish blows out a loud scoff,

“Enough o’ that, you two. Elsie, go on, need tae talk tae yer brother.”

She shies away almost too quickly, and it makes his stomach turn, seeing the flash of fear in her eyes as she gives his side one more weak squeeze before flitting off up the stairs-

“Been a long few days, Da. ‘M right ready for a bed-“

The door to the Lord’s study slams shut, cerulean eyes pinning Johnny down in an instant,

“I dinnae give two shites ‘bout how long it’s been, son. I told ya, if you were comin’ back here, ye’d better have a wife in tow.”

Johnny rolls his eyes- big mistake.

His father is a big man, and he’s never had an issue using his size against the lot of them- Johnny being the eldest, all the way down the line, and even their Ma, gods rest her soul.

Which is how he ends up with his back shoved against the closest wall,

“Mind yer fuckin’ attitude with me, boy.” He spits the words, making sure Johnny knows just how little he still in his father’s eyes, “Ye think yer someone big and important out there, huh? Think the army made ye tough, gave ye a big heid, that it? Well, dinnae forget who-“

But, see, Johnny isn’t that little boy anymore, he isn’t that frightened little teenager constantly in fear of the good Lord MacTavish’s thumb crushing him under its weight. His time in the army has treated him well, in fact. He’s bigger, taller, stronger, and faster- and too much time spent on the front lines has made his skin thick and calloused.

With a deep snarl, Johnny is quick to grab the older man by his collar and reverse their positions before he even knows what’s happening,

“Tha’s not how this works anymore, m’lord.”

If Johnny could sketch the shock and surprise in his father’s eyes, he would- hells, he might, because it’s a beautiful sight. One he thinks he’ll remember for a long, long time to come-

“And if I hear one more cross word out of yer filthy fuckin’ mouth, I’ll cut yer tongue out m’self. Is that clear?”

Matching blue eyes stay locked in a silent battle, young and old, a battle as old as times itself, father and son going head to head, a true fight for dominance.

The old lord’s lips curls in anger and disdain, his breath hot and laden with the thick scent of Scotch,

“Ah..” he coos, a chuckle bubbling from his barreled chest, “Aren’t ye a big hotshot, spent time with the little traitorous Scottish queen herself and suddenly yer invincible, that it?”

Johnny growls right back, pulling his father forward before slamming him against the solid wood even harder, “What? And yer still mad it wasn’t one of yer daughters, huh?”

The lord struggles against his hold, but turns out, the boorish old man isn’t all that strong anymore- at least not stronger than his son, which only enrages him more,

“I’m only here to settle my inheritance, ye insufferable old bastard. We’ll talk tomorrow, when ye think ye can speak to me like an equal-“

Johnny lowers his tone to something heavier, his voice dripping with malice, “and there will be none of this, ye won’t put yer hands on me, and I willnae put mine on you. Aye?”

A long silence stretches across the space between them, a heated pause, one that threatens to explode on a hair trigger- and maybe, it’s not actually that long, maybe it’s really only a few seconds, glaring daggers into his own father’s eyes before the old man gives a hateful, “Aye.”, in return.

And if Johnny just so happens to shove the self-righteous old cunt into the wall one more time for good measure, well- that’s between him and the gods he chooses to answer to. But, fuck all if it didn’t feel good to do it.

——

When he finally gets to his room, it’s a disparaging sight- dusty and stale, not a thing changed since he left years ago. And he wishes so badly to feel peace, to feel warmth and love in the place that he should feel all those things and more- in the place he did feel all those things when Ma was still alive.

Yet, it’s just sad and cold now, just how it was when he left. But, a smile does tug at his lips when he unlatches the case Sunny had sent home with him, packed to the brim with treats and fine fabrics and leathers. Some for him and each of his sisters, and an abundance of spares that would last them for a long while-

“Yer too good to us, Grianach..” he mumbles, popping a delightful, citrusy sweet in his mouth as he continues to unpack.

And it takes a while, but eventually he pulls a lone envelope from under a primly wrapped hunting vest, one of the finest he’s ever laid his hands on- the dark brown leather soft as butter in his fingers as he lays it to the side with care.

The bone white paper is thick and stiff, royal stationary that he knows well from letters and messages he’s gotten from her before; the edge sealed with a deep green wax crest- the king’s crest. It brings a disgusted grimace to his face, thinking of the last days with her, the terrible, mottled bruises on her skin- it makes him ill to his stomach to remember.

But, with a deep sigh, he gently pulls the seal apart- recognizing her handwriting right away- though, the farther he reads, the more his guts twist and wrench, the harder his heart beats and the less air it feels like he can suck into his seizing lungs-

No.. no, no, no. This isn’t right, it can’t be- not you, not my Sunny. How could you not tell me? Why didn’t you tell me how much pain you were in-

My dearest Johnny,

I pray this letter finds you well, cousin. And, I pray for your understanding in what I feel I must do, not only for myself, but more importantly, for you. Though.. I do not think you will see it that way, and I’m sorry. I am so, so sorry, Johnny. You’ve been my best friend since my first memories, never letting me forget that you’re one month and one day older than me, or that you learned to ride a horse first- remember sneaking out to the stables? I thought Mother would kill us both when you brought me back home covered in scrapes and muck. Oh, I miss the simplicity of those days, I miss it so much it hurts. That life I had for just a moment, where I was free and untethered- or well, I thought I was. And, I suppose, perception is what really matters, isn’t it?

That is what I’ve been taught my whole life, afterall, perception is key. That I must be at my best, presented in a pretty, pretty package- pleasing to the eye and well groomed enough so that the masses may never know the chaos that lies beneath the silks and jewels.

Well, my sweet Johnny, no more. I won’t do it, I will not be scruffed by the neck any longer, I will not live as a possession, an item, an object that only exists to be pretty and used. I am more than that, and I pray.. I pray you forgive me, I pray you are not disappointed, I pray that you remember me only as I was, and not what I have become. Remember me covered in scrapes and muck with a broad smile on my face and joy in my heart. That is the real me, not this fallacy that everyone thinks they know.

I have a trusted courier at the ready, the few earthly possessions I own that mean anything to me are to be delivered to the estate. They are yours. We always shared everything anyway, no need in changing that now. Be well, cousin.

All my love, your Sunny.