this is my entry for my welcome to angst city™ writing challenge.
pairing: prince!ransom drysdale x fem!reader
prompts: let's add a tiara (royal au) + second floor (fake relationship) + chris's pretty boys: ransom drysdale
summary: in which two idiots get married.
word count: 2,332
warnings?: honestly this could have fit on a lot of the apartment floors but idk we'll just go with the one i put down, fake relationship, one of them caught feelings, angst, not proofread
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You eyed Ransom Drysdale, Prince of Cruorvina* and Heir to the Thrombey Throne, as he made his way to the top of the ornate staircase. He'd just left his chambers at the far end of the hallway where no one could see him unless they happened to be facing the hall, slightly disheveled, smoothing out the wrinkles in his clothes as he passed a mirror. You pretended to not notice the way one of your personal maids was sneaking out as attention zeroed in on Ransom. Instead, you gave him your most diplomatic smile, linking your arms with him as you walked down the staircase together.
"My maid?" you asked, voice low so only he could hear. "Why not harass one of Meg's? Or your mother's? Or your own?"
"Because none of them get quite as agitated as you," he said. God, you just wanted to slap the smirk right off his face. But you held back. You were not the type of woman to make a scene in public, much less at your own wedding. You still had expectations to live up to. "Remember, this is only to get my parents off my back."
"I'm aware. But this has gone further than I thought it would. If I recall, you said this would only last as long as it would take for you to find your own bride. And yet..."
"Don't complain. You are to be Queen. Any other woman would be grateful."
"Then you should've chosen another woman to have gone through with this. I wanted to marry for love. You knew that. And I thought I still had the chance, because you said it would never get this far. I was a fool for trusting you," you said. By then you reached the center of the ballroom, and Ransom pulled you close to his chest, a waltz beginning, marking your first dance as a married couple. "It matters not. How soon are we expected to produce an heir?"
"Within the year."
A year of having be in bed with him. A year of fucking him when you had wanted to save yourself for someone you loved. Well, you supposed you had. You had just always thought the man you married would love you back.
