The rejected crown

A crown of thorns

~giovanna

The hall was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of melting wax and woodsmoke. Heavy tapestries lined the stone walls, muffling the murmurs of the gathered lords. At the far end stood Princess Giovanna, her pale hands clasped tightly before her, knuckles white with the effort to remain still. Clad in mourning black, a simple veil draped over her curly blonde hair, concealing her determination beneath a mask of sorrow. She felt the weight of her father's promise slipping away—the throne that had been her birthright now dangled just out of reach.

At the front of the chamber, her uncle, Lord Richard, addressed the nobles with the sly confidence of a man who believed himself untouchable. His silver beard gleamed in the flickering torchlight, a deceptive façade that masked the ambition roiling beneath his polished exterior.

"King Alaric was a great man," Richard proclaimed, raising a goblet in feigned sorrow. "But these times are uncertain. War brews in the east, and bandits plague our trade routes. What we need now is not just royal blood but a steady hand to lead us—a man's hand."

Giovanna felt the insult hit her like a slap. Richard's tone was smooth, but the underlying sexism was unmistakable. Her fists tightened, but she forced herself to remain still. Each word he uttered chipped away at the promise her father had made on his deathbed: "You will be queen, Giovanna. You will bring honor to our house."

The lords around the room nodded, some begrudgingly, others eagerly aligning themselves with Richard's power. The message was clear: the crown was hers by blood, but not by right. A woman could not rule, they said. And yet, the ring bearing the royal crest sat heavy on her finger—a silent symbol of her father's final wish.

Richard glanced at her, a patronizing smile creeping onto his lips, as if she were still a child needing guidance. "Of course, the princess is dear to all of us. My brother loved her greatly. For now, I will act as regent, guiding her and the kingdom until she turns 18 and then we will decide what happens ."

Giovanna's blood boiled beneath her skin. She knew exactly what her uncle intended: to seize power long enough to marry her off to some foreign lord, the crown slipping from her grasp forever. The thought made her stomach churn, but she maintained her composure—barely.

As murmurs of agreement rippled through the hall, Richard raised his goblet again, signaling the end of the meeting. The courtiers bowed, their reverence laced with conspiratorial whispers.

Giovanna knew she was running out of time. If she didn't act soon, her father's legacy—and her future—would crumble beneath her feet.

Summoning every ounce of courage, she stepped forward. "Uncle," she said, her voice clear and deliberate, cutting through the low hum of conversation. The room stilled, all eyes turning to her, some curious, others wary. Richard's smile faltered, but he quickly masked it with faux warmth.

"You say the times are uncertain," she continued, her gaze unwavering. "Then why should uncertainty be met with fear? My father did not fear naming me his heir. I intend to honor that trust—and I expect you all to honor it as well."

A stunned silence followed, heavy as the crown she had yet to wear. Richard's eyes gleamed with something dark, but his expression remained patronizing.

"My dear Giovanna," he said softly, "there is much to learn about ruling. You are young—"

"Old enough to recognize a challenge when I see one," she cut in sharply, her heart pounding. Richard's brow lifted in surprise, but she pressed on, emboldened.

The room held its breath, the tension thick as a storm cloud. Richard inclined his head, a gesture of feigned respect hiding the true battle unfolding between them—a contest of will, patience, and ambition.

With a final determined glance at her uncle, Giovanna turned on her heel and strode from the hall, her steps echoing against the stone floor. If they thought she would fade into silence, they were gravely mistaken. She had been her father's daughter long enough to know that power was not granted; it was seized. And she intended to take what was rightfully hers.

As she entered her room, she was met by Ser Edweyn, her favorite knight.

"Ser Edweyn, you're back!" she exclaimed, her heart leaping at the sight of him.

He stood immediately, his expression earnest. "Your Highness, I came as soon as I heard the news."

Giovanna rolled her eyes, frustration spilling over. "It's bad enough that I'm an orphan now, but it seems Uncle is trying to usurp my throne."

Edweyn stepped closer, his eyes filled with unwavering resolve. "But he won't. I know how stubborn you are. I believe in you."

She sighed, closing the distance between them, and looped her arms around his neck, gazing up at him. "I missed you."

He smiled down at her, warmth flooding his gaze. "I missed you too."

"You took too long this time, Edweyn. I thought you might have found another woman to warm your bed," she teased, a playful smile gracing her lips.

His expression darkened with longing as he stepped closer. "I could never stay away from you for long," he said, his hands reaching up to frame her face. "You're all I think about."

In that moment, the tension that had built up during his absence melted away. Giovanna leaned into his touch, feeling the warmth radiate between them. He pulled her closer, their bodies fitting together perfectly as if they were destined to be.

Before she knew it, his lips were on hers, capturing her in a kiss that ignited a fire deep within her. It was raw and passionate, a culmination of pent-up desire. She responded eagerly, her hands slipping beneath his tunic, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips.

"Gods, I need you," he murmured against her mouth, his breath hot and urgent. "I need to feel you."

Giovanna nodded, her heart racing with excitement. "Then take me," she whispered, the thrill of their secrecy intensifying her desire. "Now, Edweyn. Please."

With a swift movement, he lifted her into his arms, his strength enveloping her as he carried her to the bed. He laid her down gently, his eyes roaming over her as if memorizing every detail. The sight of him, rugged and intense, sent a rush of heat through her body.

"Tell me you want this," he urged, his voice low and filled with need.

"I want you, Edweyn. More than anything," she breathed, her eyes locked onto his.

He closed the distance between them, pressing his body against hers as their lips collided once more. This kiss was frantic, driven by their desire to reclaim the connection that had been put on hold. Edweyn's hands explored her body with urgency, slipping beneath her gown to caress her skin, igniting her senses with every touch.

Giovanna gasped, arching her back as he kissed his way down her neck, his warm breath sending shivers coursing through her. "You feel so good," he murmured, trailing kisses along her collarbone, his hands deftly removing the barriers between them.

The fabric of her gown slipped away, pooling around her waist as he took in the sight of her. She felt exposed yet empowered, a thrill coursing through her as he gazed at her with unmasked desire. "You're beautiful," he breathed, his voice rough with need.

"Only for you," she replied, her voice trembling with anticipation.

With fierce determination, Edweyn pressed his body against hers, their skin melding together as they lost themselves in one another. Giovanna wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him closer, craving every inch of him.

But suddenly, a rustling sound broke the spell. Giovanna opened her eyes to find a young boy standing in the doorway, his eyes wide with shock.

"Stop it, Edweyn!" she gasped, pushing him away, panic flooding her senses as she faced the unexpected intrusion. The reality of their situation crashed back down around them.