Chapter Text
It was cold and quiet, two things she had never gotten too familiar with. It never mattered how well layered her clothes were, the chill crept in the same as if she had been bare and exposed to the frigid night air. The wind carried the chill through the air and drizzled rain and fog onto her clothes till she was damp and cold. It was quiet and it was cold, every puff of air felt like ice against her skin. Near two hours past midnight and the only light open was the taverns.
Margret didn’t care about the lack of space, she didn’t care about the drunken singers or the shitty barstools or patronizing customers. It was a home away from home. It was warm and it was welcoming. Just as she slipped in, a man slid off his barstool and passed out on the floor.
She grabbed the seat quickly before someone else could shift and take it. He would be fine, someone would be around soon enough to move him. If he were lucky, they would leave him to sleep in the bar. Soon enough though, he was grabbed and hauled out, tossed in the back and in a barn with the rest of the men who made the mistake of falling too drunk. Another man beside her fell and the bar erupted in cheers. The heavy thump on the floor was hard enough to jostle her out of her chair.
“What’s your name?”
Drunk man’s seat now taken, a much smaller man slid into his seat with as much grace as he could muster, while climbing over the mess of bottles rolling on the floor.
“I’m Theo.” He stuck out his hand. She had been wrong, he wasn’t small by any means, maybe a bit on the leaner side but judging by the sizes and calluses on his hand, she bet he had a bit of muscle to him. His dirty blond hair caught her eye, next to his golden small hooped earrings that decorated his ears. A five o’clock shadow on his face and a hint of stubble from a day-old beard. Green eyes that took her off guard and a shapely face that would make any woman drool. Attractive enough, she’d admit but handsome men had too much confidence, cockiness that turned to arrogance.
“Hi Theo.” She wasn’t unattractive by any means, no, she had more of the “best friend’s younger sister” vibe, sweet and appealing but forbidden fruit and strictly platonic. She had that kind of face, sweet, innocent and warm. Dirty blond hair and big brown doe eyes with a smile that was always genuine. Sweet and innocent didn’t suit Margret, but she played the part remarkably well and made it fit to perfection. She didn’t stand out, she blended into the crowd of ordinary and that suited her. She wasn’t beautiful, not in the stunning way, she wasn’t striking. She was ordinary, no one would notice she was beautiful, she was cute, charming.
This man however, he was striking, beautiful and he stood out. Without a doubt a man who would have admirers, the ones that always stood out just because they were simply beautiful and could leave any place with a woman if he so wished.
“I’m a nomad. I travel across the lands.”
She hummed around the mouth of her drink, “Are you running away, or running to something during your time as a nomad?”
“To something, I am in search of meaning.” He grinned.
“Well you’re not going to find it here.”
He let out a throaty laugh, his smile wide and the gold in his ear flashed and teased the ends of his hair when he shook his head. “Where do you think I will find it?”
“Some people find it in a book, within themselves, staring at the sunset of each day having done something of worth, others find it at the bottom of a bottle or within a sin.”
“I’ve never heard that answer before.”
“We’ll you’ve never asked me before”
“That answer I have heard before.” He tipped his cup to drink. She smiled, despite herself.
“So? Do I get to hear your story and give my day meaning, knowing I’d heard a beautiful woman’s tale that has her in a place like this, so far from home?” He shifted on his seat.
“I’m getting engaged tomorrow. Or if not tomorrow, then the next day, or the day after that.” She grimaced when she said it, a foul taste leftover in her mouth. No one had proposed to her yet but it was bound to happen, and her no matter her answer, she would be getting engaged and then married.
“You don’t look too excited for a soon-to-be bride. What’s your fiancé done? Drag in mud one too many times on your nice carpet?” He chuckled behind his drink.
“As of midnight, I turned twenty-one. At twenty- one, I am of age to be wed.” She pulled out the crumpled and re-folded invitation, the original draft to the invitations she had to approve before the others were sent out. She had intended to burn it. Shred it and then burn it, set it on a dummy and use it for target practice. Just a few vulgar ideas she never really got around to. Her approval didn’t matter anyway, it was her mother who had sent it. Her parents waited patiently, they said .
“Its’ my duty.” Her parents told her, repeatedly, incessantly, desperately. She crushed it in her fist and shoved it into her pocket.
He used to be different, her fiancé, he used to care about her. He used to understand her desire the freedom. Stefan used to understand she wanted more out of her life then marriage. Not out of duty, not for the sake of the lords.
She had told him she never wanted to wed. How suffocating life under the thumb was. It was a rope around her neck, and with every pull, every demand they made of her the rope tightened.
“Well, duty is certainly… admirable in a woman. I would love to marry for duty, personally. To a woman chosen for me, with any luck, as beautiful as you.”
“You’re charming.” She accused. Charming but stupid, not for the first time, Margret wanted to be left alone.
He laughed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing!”
“Men are only charming when they want something.”
He certainly was charming enough to get something out of it, honey words that would let him flirt with the barmaid for better service, maybe spit free ale. A smile and a compliment to the baker's wife to get him a bit of honey with his bread. Margret knew her fair share of charming men, they always wanted something.
“I do want something.” He clinked their glasses together, “Conversation.” Theo winked at her over his mug.
She felt her cheeks grow warm. He was charming and handsome and he was flirting with her. She lifted her mug again to conceal her blush.
“So what kind of man are you looking for? Not a charming one, obviously, not an old friend either or one bound by duty.” He asked.
Margret paused at the question and stumbled in her answer. “I need a selfless one. I am well aware that most, if not all men want sex, but isn’t that only part of it? A small part of it. I need someone who would see me, and love me enough to put me first, to offer their heart before trying to steal mine. My fiancé, he didn’t ask for my hand, he stole it. He took away my choice and if that’s the first thing he did for us, what is the rest of my life going to look like? It’s a selfish love and I’m sick of it Charming.” She drank her ale, bitter as the feelings she suppressed with it.
Theo nodded in agreement and took a sip himself as if they were toasting a pledge.
“I would run away.” He admitted.
She almost laughed, now there was a stupid idea. One she had tried again and again, and again and again. She had made it a month, a month living in a barn with the nicest people she had ever known before the guard her parents sent after her, found her and dragged her back home. In ropes, tied to her own horse. That had been humiliating.
“That could work, if my parents weren’t so persistent.” The clock tower rang midnight somewhere in the distance.
“Happy birthday to me.” She toasted.
The door smashed open and guards flooded in. They stopped behind her. She knew what it meant. Her party was over, she had to go back to the real world. The rope on her began to pull, tugging and slipping around her like a snake, its grip becoming painful on her heart.
“Happy birthday to me.” Margret whispered bitterly.
They just wanted to drag her home. She had no desire to be dragged anywhere. Pushed around, told what to do, commanded a task she had no say in. A hand fell on her shoulder; a hand she smacked away from her.
“I’ll go with you. But don’t touch me.”
The rope stopped its tugging and lightened itself back into that twine, that easily breakable twine. It shouldn’t have made her feel better but it did. Just a bit.
Her bed never felt so tempting. It was a long night; tomorrow was going to be even longer. Exhausted by the night’s events she sunk into the mass of comfort and slowly drifted to sleep.
The guards knocked before entering the dining room.
“We found her. She was in the tavern, she is safely returned to her room and locked in for the night.” They announced. As always, so perfectly presented and perfectly uniform. They interrupted tea, the Duke perched on his chair with a game of chess he wasn’t really playing. His wife sitting as his opponent, sipping her tea with a grace her expression did not mimic. Elena, their second daughter curled up with a book in front of the fire on her lounge chair, settled and comfortable.
The guards were dismissed with a pass of the lords hand while he pretended to be occupied with the board.
“What the hell are we going to do with that girl?” Her mother sipped her tea, sighing as she shook her head.
“You’re marrying her off, soon enough it won’t be your problem” Elena turned a page in her book.
“Do not sass me child, I am your mother.” Illia scowled at her.
Elena rolled her eyes. “Do you really think this would be something she could be happy with mother, marriage?” She knew very well Margret would be unhappy.
“She will grow to love him. They are friends, the compatibility is already there.” Her father grunted in agreement, moving his bishop to block the queen’s assault on his person. A vulgar noise much like a scoff and a short accompanied the sound of Elena’s book slamming shut.
“Elena. You are barely sixteen summers and you are more settled then your sister has ever been. Margret needs stability, she needs a home she would come back to. This is shameful, the times she’s taken off on her own without a guard or any thought to social standing doing god knows what with whom. She needs a husband who would look after her. She is a flighty child with no regard or respect to her duty. She is of age and Stefan, wealthy and titled will make the perfect match.” Her mother shot her a stern glare and moved her knight to place the king in check.
“She’s had her freedom, now its time for her to get married and start a family. The duchy needs heirs, and she needs a husband. A few kids ought to steer her right.” Ilia sipped her tea.
“If she had her freedom then why did you send those guards to drag her back home the millions of times she’s taken off?”
“Can you imagine the gossip that would take over the court? No, that silly child she thinks of herself. She belongs here. At home.” Ilia paused at each point.
“With a husband she doesn’t want, children she wouldn’t like and a duchy she doesn’t need?” Elena propped open her book to the page she was reading.
She scowled at her again. “Your father and I have made our decision.”
“She won't stand for that,” Elena warned.
“Margret will do as we tell her.” The king was moved to checkmate and then there was no room left for further argument.