Scorn and Devotion

Chapter 1

WARNING - This Fanfiction is not for the faint of heart. It will be dark from start to finish, I'll list all the things I can think of but basically think Sarah J Maas type beat. So far there's 51 chapters and I am not done yet. I will try to post one chapter a day if I can. Things I can think of that may triggers - Smut, abuse from parent and establishments, torture, cannibalism, incest (not depicted in a good light), injury, violence, gore, murder, alcohol, and mentions of religion. That is all I can think of right now, but I will put a warning or each specific chapter before I post. ALSO. I started writing this two years ago, so Timothee's age will be off, it would be too much editing to fix it, so sorry about that. Also in the first chapter Timmy will be out of character, but there's a reason for that.

Specific warnings for chapter 1 - Whipping, institutional abuse, mentions of alcohol, parental abuse, vomit, mentions of a panic attack

The carriage bumped and jostled me around, making me feel extremely nauseous. When I felt sick it made my temper was very short. Thankfully, I was headed toward someone I could unleash my annoyance on without feeling guilty.

Prince Timothée Hal Chalamet, the boy I most despised. Or, a man now I suppose. The last time I'd seen Timothée, I had been fifteen years old and he'd been sixteen.

I flashed back to the painful memories of us playing with wooden swords, racing horses, laughing so hard we fell on top of one another, sneaking whine from the royal kitchens, and drinking under the stars.

We'd grown up together, had bassinets next to each other in fact. My father had saved the king's life and he had been promoted to the king's advisor. My mother came from a poor family but was renowned for her devastating beauty. My father had fallen in love with her almost immediately once he'd set eyes upon her. They were wed a week after meeting. I was never quite sure if my mother actually loved my father or if it was his power and wealth she admired. Regardless, they remained loyal to one another to this day.

I'd grown up practically a princess, though my official title was Lady Y/N Starfell. Normally, someone with my title would be just barely allowed to attend the events of the elite and mostly looked down upon by some of the more powerful personages. However, due to my father's friendship with the king and queen, I had a much more fortunate upbringing.

That was how it came to be that Timothée and I had grown up together and become fast friends. I was an only child, as was he. Since we were so close in age, we'd grown up side by side.

We'd done absolutely everything together, people often cruelly called me the Prince's dog, because wherever he was, I was right there next to him. We had our lessons, meals, and training together. Then at fifteen, my life had all changed. I'd been sent away through Timothée's own deeds. It had broken my heart beyond compare. I remember the first three months I was away, I barely said a word to anyone. I was just hoping and praying that I'd wake up back in my room at the palace and that Timothée betraying me had just been a bad dream.

I'd been taken to finishing school, Accomplished Ladies Academy, to be exact. It had been a living Hell. Hours and hours of painful labor, sewing until I could hardly feel my fingers, but probably the worst part was the loneliness. The ladies who taught us were haughty and cruel. They hardly let us speak, telling us that good women stay quiet unless they were spoken to. This was cited as a way to get a husband. Men didn't want our opinions, provocations, or questions. If you were silent and pure, you were sure to secure the finest of gentlemen.

This is where I had struggled the most. I had been used to laughing as loud as I wished, of saying whatever came to my mind and having my opinion respected by most people. There, I meant less than nothing. It didn't help that steadying my tongue had never been a talent of mine. I had the scars of whippings on my back to prove my penchant for speaking my mind.