𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐘𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐋 | [Royal!Sycamore/Hybrid!Reader] | POKÉMON

III

𝐈𝐈𝐈
𝐩𝐨𝐯.: 𝐲/𝐧

The dining hall is enormous, which shouldn't have come as a surprise to you. Everything in this castle seems to have the need to be enormous, be it a single hallway, the bathroom, the prince's ego, or well- now this hall.

Three rows of tables stretch all the way to the back and they're enveloped in red and white cloth. Chandeliers hang every few meters, shedding warm light.

The chairs are made of Aspear wood and look quite uncomfortable. You cast your gaze across the room, looking at different pictures of dead men at the walls, then stare upwards at the tall ceiling.

Ornaments hang everywhere. Gold is glittering. You scrunch up your nose at how pompous everything is. Your chains rattle as you walk on polished floor.

You're served food once you're sitting flat on your ass, ten knights circling you as one proceeds to take off your muzzle.

The knight infront of you looks to be on edge. Now that you notice, most of the knights eating here have stopped chatting and watch what's happening in anticipation.

The muzzle is off.

Immediately, you snap your slightly opened mouth shut, teeth clattering against eachother. Your body makes a slight jerk forwards. The knight stumbles back in fear, almost trips over his own feet, the others lift their spears.

You couldn't help it. You laugh at their reaction, barking laughter ringing through the hall. What was supposed to happen? Your teeth can't just magically grow into fangs, despite popular belief.

"You should've seen your faces!" You laugh. They grumble, hiss, but it doesn't matter to you.

You just want to get this over with.

And you ate. And ate and ate and you ate so much, their fearful gazes eventually turned into somewhat impressed ones. It didn't matter that you couldn't properly eat with your hands bound together,— where there is hunger, there is a way. And even two disabled hands can function as a pretty good spoon.

Plates tower into the air, your belly growing fat from the goods, and only the wet, growling burp that leaves your mouth is the indication you had finished your meal.

"Aah," you sigh. "What a feast."

You arch your back, as much as you could in your shackles at least, then turn towards the waiting knights.

"Well, go on. Put the nuzzle back on. I'm tired, I want to sleep."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

What follows— another walk through these empty halls. They are starting to grow tiring already. So much glitter, yet so little style. Hoards of knights walk behind you, are keeping you in check, or that's what they're led to believe. The major problem is this stupid torso vest after all.

The room you are brought to is almost completely dark. The full moon shines through the wide windows, granting enough light to see him. You freeze upon seeing him wait infront of the tall glass, hand busy correcting the hem of his sleeve.

Behind you, the door is closed, leaving the two of you on your own.

"Come over here," the prince orders with gentle voice, and your feet take you to him almost on their own. He only looks up after adjusting his clothing.

The bedroom is giant, you notice how long it takes you to reach him, and yet, there's only a double bed and a few drawers in here.

You halt infront of him, and your gazes battle for a long moment. He may have been studying you, but you're too busy doing that yourself. A prince is no rarity. There are countless out there, each one step away from ruling their own land. But he must be the first prince to actually suit the cliché of one.