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The Princess Who Would Be Queen
Dynamic Drabbles — #2
The prince heaved above her, his breath coming in hot gasps against her cheek. Even some spittle dashed across her skin. All she did was stare at the canopy of his bed, tracing the shadows and wrinkles with her eyes. He did not seem to care that she was as responsive as a corpse. Perhaps that was the problem: she was simply a tad too alive for whatever measure of want he had.
Even his kiss, muddled with the retch of wine, did nothing but seek to invade. His tongue was an eel, and just as repulsive.
She could not feign sleep either because he was still jolting against her, his hips moving while she did little to encourage him.
When at last he was done, leaving behind his trail of waste, she hoped the shadows hid her disgust. “You are a gem,” he said, his lips carrying another wet kiss to her cheek.
She wished she could have snarled at him and bit him, but that would have been in poor taste. She was a lady, after all.
This was the first drabble in a project I abandoned about princesses and witches. The words I wrote for the beginning of the journal I wrote this in are transcribed below:
“Don’t call us princess, harlot, villain —
We determine the fate, the time, the tide,
And our names are ours —
Not…
