The Crowned Captive

Rowan tried not to laugh as Morana stared at the training leathers, utterly flustered. The dress she had been stuffed into was far from appropriate for the training field, and she now had no way out of it without assistance. A hue of red was starting to creep up her neck, and he didn’t particularly want her to lose her temper before he got her onto the training field.

“If you wish, I can help you undress,” Rowan began. He realised it was the absolute wrong thing to say as the red flush crept up to her cheeks too. He tried to hide his smirk as he continued. “I will look at nothing but the laces of your dress, you have my word.”

“Just hurry up,” she spat, and Rowan could not hide the grin that spread across his face. He was careful to be as respectful as possible, quickly loosening the laces, and then clearing his throat. He was out of the small dressing room before Morana turned.

It was a long minute before Morana finally walked from the room, the tight leather clothes hugging her body in ways that were not princess-like. He had judged her size perfectly he thought, unable to help but grin down at her as she looked up at him, still utterly furious. He doubted his look helped that much.

“If you are ready, we can head out onto the field. It is usually rather empty this time of day, but we may have some people watching. Is that okay?”

“That is fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

Rowan nodded, a smirk still on his face, as he led them out of the barracks and into the round training field. The soil of the ring had been freshly turned after a few too many broken bones amongst the guards, making it softer for their session today. The sun was relentless and hot overhead, likely to make this all the much harder on Morana. He watched carefully as she walked into the ring, eyeing the trees which bordered the perimeter. He sent a silent prayer up that she did not attempt to escape today and undo all that he was attempting to fix. He quickly noticed how pale she still was beneath the relentless rays, and sent another prayer to the Gods.

“Alright, we have two choices,” he began, watching as her attention snapped from the tree line. “First option is to start with the very basics and work up from there as you prove competence. Second is to go hand to hand and then start your training based on your success.”

“The second,” she snapped before he could even get the words out.

“Very well then, fighting stance.”

Her stance was shoddy, her feet too narrowly planted and her body too square on as he circled her, prodding to see what she would do when she felt she was left open. Consistently, she shuffled around, her right foot always leading.

She was the first to react, her anger getting the better of her as she stepped forward to meet him and then whirling around in a valiant attempt to slip past his guard. He grinned as her fist met his forearm, eliciting a yelp from her. She danced back, shaking the pain from her hand. She was quick on her feet at least, but her technique left a lot to be desired. It was better than he would have hoped for an elf raised in a human village, though.

He leapt forward then, teasing at a punch as he ducked around her retaliation, instead snaking a foot out and attempting to take hers out from underneath her. Much to his surprise, she managed to balance as he yanked her right foot away from her, and he stepped back and let her recover from the blow. She had natural grace then, and speed, but her fighting still lacked severely.

Her anger was another issue. Unbridled rage rolled off of her in waves at the offence of him holding himself back. Her face was red, not just from exertion, and her footwork had become even more sloppy. She practically threw herself at him then, and he let her slip past his guard slightly to see what would happen when she connected a punch. Her fingers cracked against his jaw, the result of a poorly placed blow, and he grinned at her as tears sprang to her eyes. He knew that would hurt her for a few days yet, and made a note to push it when he wanted more from any sessions.

Having seen enough, his arm snapped out and caught hers on the inner elbow. Her eyes flew wide as his narrowed and he grinned. His other arm snaked out then, grabbing her wrist and pulling hard as his left foot took both of hers out in a wide arc. He allowed her weight to pull him down as his hand found her other wrist, pinning them in the dirt. She lashed out with her legs then, attempting to throw him with her body weight, and he pinned them together with his own. Her chest heaved under him, her sparkling eyes wide and alight with fury. He couldn’t help himself as he looked down at her with lowered eyelids, the fact that he was completely and utterly in charge written over his face. Prone like this, it was far too easy to imagine all the things he could do with her.

“Are you done?” He mocked, watching her mouth carefully as those perfectly pouty lips pulled back over her perfect white teeth. She hissed at him, her anger palpable, but something sweeter lay under that. The heady scent of her wanting was music to his senses. He tried not to let her body’s response get to him, knowing she had little control over it, but it did such wicked things to him.

“I will not be done until I can no longer breath,” she hissed, and he laughed at her sheer determination. It was a good quality to have, a great one even, in anybody other than a woman meant to be a demure princess. If he was lucky, he may make a partner in crime from her yet. He leaned down over her, his face basically against hers, her heady scent encasing him.

“I am more than willing to indulge you further, but I do not know if you wish for anything else I want to do to you to be seen by the public,” he whispered, his breath tickling her skin. She bucked wildly beneath him, her body pushing against his in ways that threatened to have him standing erect in the middle of the training grounds. He centred himself once more, breathing deeply as he rode it out. When she was finally done struggling, he smiled again.

“Whenever you wish to stop, simply say the word,” he said again, his voice gravelly as he leaned down over her once more.

“Stop,” she practically whispered as his mouth was nearly against her neck, and he let go of her and stood up, trying to hide the pang of disappointment that washed over him.

“Overall, you have strong potential to work with,” he started, watching as she stood and brushed herself off. “You are quick on your feet, unafraid of throwing the first punch, and your balance is good. However, due to your lack of previous training, you are sloppy. Any real attempt against you is nearly sure to succeed.”

Her face blazed crimson as she took in the words, her hands clenching and unclenching at her sides. Her short fuse was surely something to work on too, but that may take years to school. Most other fae of her age were much the same, he reminded himself. But most weren’t heir to a throne that didn’t particularly want them.

“And I suppose you think you are to teach me all of this?” He knew it was meant to be an insult, but he only smirked. If she knew exactly what he was capable of, would she be quite so brazen with him?

“Feel free to choose anybody you feel would be more capable.” He challenged, opening his arms wide. Her eyes darted past him, scanning the crowd as she slowly began to smile. His eyes narrowed at that, wondering exactly what mischief she was up to now.

“What about Cordan? Surely he must be capable if he has been assigned to guard me?”

Rowan could not help it, his eyebrows rose at the mention of his best friend. He turned, and sure enough, the tall elf prowled across the field towards them as if to gain a prize. So that was how they were going to play, it then, both of them attempting to win the princess over. He hoped that their reasons differed wildly, or he would have to have a long conversation with his best friend. He likely would regardless.

“Well well, Rowan, you do seem to have lost your touch.” Cordan’s smirk was enough of a message of his intentions as he walked around to stand behind Morana, who had her nose upturned in a look of disdain.

“Only those who do not know you would decide to choose you,” Rowan threw back, his grin wide as Cordan laughed in reply. Between them, Morana frowned, obviously concerned about what she had gotten herself into.

“It is true, Princess. Rowan is much more lenient with his training regime. It’s why he is so much flabbier than me, you see. Whereas he has time to laze around on his ass, I must train before dawn to make sure you are watched at all hours of the day. So I guess that is when you will have to rise to train with me.”

Rowan could not help to laugh as well as Morana frowned up at Cordan, her face nearly looking as if some great betrayal had occurred. She turned that frown on him too, it sharpening into an outright glare.

“If you wish, Princess, you can change your mind,” Rowan said, a genuine smile breaking across his face.

“I do not wish,” she snapped, turning away from him and storming for the barracks. Cordan only shrugged as he walked past Rowan, grin still plastered across his face as he followed the Princess’s footsteps.

Rowan did not envy his Fae friend currently. He only questioned whether Morana was going to walk the castle halls in her borrowed training leathers, or whether she was going to order Cordan to assist her in dressing once more. A genuine laugh erupted from him again as the thought came to mind.