Royal love

Chapter 17

"She needs to marry, Charolette." My father sounded frustrated. He was speaking to my mother. I was standing outside the thick door, they hadn't closed it all the way and I heard them talking as I walked by. Curiosity took over and I desired to stay and listen.

"She is sixteen," my mother said.

"We need an heir." My father had not always been so cold. He used to throw me up in the air and catch me. He used to chase me around the big, empty castle. It was years since I had felt that kind of fatherly love. Years.

"We will get our heir," my mother retaliated. "When the time is right." My father sighed. I could hear him lean back in his seat.

"Alexander would have—"

"Alexander is dead," my mother interrupted quickly. "We have Adeline. Only Adeline. You must stop comparing her to her brother. She is not him, he is gone. She is not." I could hear my father begin to weep.

"My son," he sobbed. I heard my mother walk to him, sit with him. Maybe even pat him on the back.

"Focus on your daughter now," she said.

"We cannot have a female ruler. Her son must be the king. We cannot have a lone standing queen, she will look weak," he said.

"Have you met our daughter?" My mother laughed. "She will not look weak."

________

Levy sighs loudly. He leans forward on the bench, rests his elbows on his knees and folds his hands together. He doesn't look at me, maybe he thinks I'm asleep too.

I rustle around, trying to get comfortable and get his attention at the same time. It works.

"Can you be quiet over there?" He asks harshly. Angrily.

I'm taken back by his tone. I never thought of him to be a mean type of person.

"Why are you so angry?" I ask with a hint of disgust in my voice, maybe some disappointment as well.

Levy turns his head and as if realizing who he's talking to he apologizes. He sits back up and runs a hand through his messy, (white looking) blond hair. He sighs.

"I'm sorry I just— I'm tired," was his excuse.

I'll allow it.

"It's okay," I say. Words like those make me feel weak. Pathetic. But they help others not feel upset about something they had to apologize for. 'It's okay' is a word the receiver finds comfort in and the deliverer does not. In most cases, in mine, at least.

"It's not. I shouldn't talk to anyone like that," he says. Another sigh. He leans fully back on the backrest of the bench and he closes his eyes.

"So, Sam." A change of subject. I've already forgiven him. No need to do it again.

"What about her?" He asks as if he has no connection to her. As if I didn't see them rubbing up on each other every second they get. I think they think they're sneaky. Laughable.

"She's pretty, and really nice too," I say to keep the conversation going. He seems to want to shut it down but I want information. And I get what I want.
(daddy wants what daddy gets) I'm sorry.

"Yeah, I guess." He doesn't bother to open his eyes.

"Okay, no. Im getting frustrated and I want details. I already know you like her, she likes you. Everyone else is asleep. TALK."

At that, he laughs. He opens one eye, squinting the other one shut so he can, and eyes me. His dark blue eyes remind me of a blue crayon.

"We might have a little," he falters. "Spark? I don't know. I don't like you for making me do this," he says.

"Yeah, yeah," I laugh. "Since you can't be specific I'll just ask, is she nice all the time, behind the scenes? Or is it all an act?" I ask.

"She's the nicest person I've ever met in my entire life," he says. He pushes for a half a second so I can say something if I want to but I don't and he continues. "One time after," he coughs and I know what he's talking about immediately. "She felt bad because she thought she was too quiet." My eyebrows raise in concern. He gives me a knowing smile.

"She thought if she couldn't moan loud enough I wouldn't be turned on by her," he says practically face-palming himself.

I smile, she really is sweet. I wonder where her concern for that kind of thing comes from. If she's not loud enough he won't be turned on? Sounds like something a rape victim would say.

Instantly I feel bad. Sam is the nicest out of all of us and I'm making assumptions that she was rapped because of it.

Sorry Sammy.

The seconds pass quietly. Until they can no longer pass quietly.

"Have you popped your cherry yet?" Levy asks me. I think about lying, to look cool, but decide against it. Who cares what he thinks.

"No. Being the princess has its downsides," I say.

"Elaborate."

"I am automatically being preserved for marriage because no good man wants a used woman." I'm sick. They think it's so attractive for a woman to act like a child. To act innocent and be preserved for her husband so he can share a bed with whoever he wants but the woman must stay pure or she is used. Im disgusted by the thought of men drooling over little kids. They're so young and innocent, they have no experience, clueless. How can a man find that attractive?

"Oh," Levy says with a sigh. "They really need to let you live, before you met us you never truly partied now you're telling me you've never had sex before? Does this list get longer?" He asks. His words spike questions in me. Questions I ask after answering his.

"Probably, you'll learn them as I do," I say. "Now, you can say the word 'sex' but why didn't you say it when you were talking about Sam? Instead you fake coughed and avoided the word. Why?" I was hoping he would give me the answer I know I want, the reason I asked in the first place even though I already knew, at least 99%.

"Oh, well," he puffs air out of his mouth upwards and it makes his hair fly up in all different directions.

He thinks for a moment, then speaks. "I don't like to think of her that way. I like that I can, you know, with her but saying it out loud, telling you—other people—makes it feel so much less of a secret, so much less of a sacred thing me and her have. If I just went around saying the word 'sex'  'me and her had sex' it would make it that much less special. It would make me feel like that's all I want her for even though it's not. Do you understand?" He asks.

He runs his hands through his hair and rearranged his luggage, pushing it away from his feet, with his feet.

Though his words are mangled and there are some things he didn't need to add, the true message is he loves Sam, on a whole different level.

A level most men cannot comprehend.

"Yes. I understand," I say.

Word count: 1226
5-23-23
It was the last day of school for me today, yay summer!
Sorry for not posting last week, I'll post an extra chapter this week ❤️
(Also it's very late at night so I'm not revising this and if you know Adelines moms actual name and it's not Charolette, now it is)