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Pirate!England x Reader
Vehemently
Part Two

You didn’t have to search very long for Naomi. She had merely retreated to a nearby tapestry to appear like she was examining it.

“What happened?” she asked as you approached her, “I just saw him walk away from you a few minutes ago! What did you do to make him leave?”

You ignored her, taking one of the new glasses from her and taking a sip out of it. “Where is he now?”

“He left the Court. He didn’t look like he was coming back. What did you do?”

You took another swig from the glass. “That, Naomi,” you said, ignoring her question again, “was Francis Bonnefoy.”

Her jaw dropped. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” she said again. After a brief pause, she asked, “Then what was he doing in Court?”

“What do you expect? He snuck in.”

“Disregarding that, how could you have let him leave? That was your chance to secure a comfortable life right there.”

“He was a bit of a paramour, Naomi.”

“You’re joking.”

“He only flirted with me because he thought of my appearance. He didn’t know who I was. I bet he didn’t care, either. I bet he didn’t want me to be a colony, just a brief…” You caught eyes with Naomi, who was smiling very slightly at your phrasing.

“Exploration,” she finished.

You groaned. “It’s such a wretched concept! Just…searching about for a bit before…before…”

“You don’t have to finish,” Naomi told you, and you nodded, thanking her. “It’s a good thing, then, that he left.”

“I feel like I should inform you that I sent him away.”

Naomi started fanning herself again. “Oh, dear. I hope you did it gently.”

“I, er… I hope I did it gracefully. I mean, I was cross, but I…” You trailed off, scanning the ballroom for no particular reason.

“I understand. We should do something to get your mind off of things. You’re clearly upset. Perhaps we could speak to the musicians on break?” Naomi gestured in their direction.

“No, I think… I think I’ve had enough excitement for one night. I’m going to turn in.”

“I’ll tag along, then.”

“You don’t have to,” you said, shaking your head, “You should stay here. Someone may approach you yet. I’ve had my caller for the evening—maybe even the year. You should stay.”

Naomi opened her mouth to protest but changed her mind. She nodded.

You bid her good night and started to make your way out of the ballroom. You turned back to Naomi, walking backwards and mouthing for her to get on with her night. You watched as she rolled her eyes and nodded again. You were about to respond in kind when you bumped into someone behind you.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” you said, turning around, “I didn’t mean to—”

“Entirely my fault,” said the spindly blond, bowing deeply with a flourish of his cape. “These things do happen.”

“So they do. Thank you, sir.”

“Good evening,” he said crisply before he strode off into the crowd, obviously having a determined purpose for the night.

Well. That was abrupt. But nice, you thought. Much nicer than that blasted France had been...

As you made your way to the secondary building, you had no doubt in your mind that your youth had not corrupted your views of the Court. It was exceedingly insufferable, and you had no intent of returning the next time. You would have to entreat Spain to let you hide away in your room at the next meeting. Perhaps, with Naomi’s influence, you could get him to cave in to your request.

You climbed up the stairs, tripping on your skirts repeatedly as you ascended. Your frustration at your ungainliness grew as you entered your quarters, accidentally knocking things over and grumbling under your breath about France and the stupid Court meetings.

You stopped in front of your mirror to take off your necklace. You tried to calm yourself, but the very idea of what France had tried to do set you off. You threw the necklace on the dresser, along with the handkerchief and door key that had been in your pocket, and went into the lavatory to draw a bath. You did your best to untangle your hair before you realised that you weren’t doing any good. You gave up and resigned to the bathwater.

You couldn’t keep your mind off of France’s actions. Your irascible thoughts eventually regressed into irked spasms, and those regressed into tears. You kept reminding yourself that you were young, and you had never been courted before. You were bound to make mistakes. You were bound to have a few thorns in order to find a rose. You were bound to die alone as a laughingstock with no allied forces, weren’t you? You were disappointed in yourself.

You tried to compose yourself, slicking your wet hair back. You would not fall for something like this again. You would never fall prey to anyone such as France. You swore to never go looking for courtship again. Courtship would have to find you—with full knowledge of your identity, of course.

You decided you wouldn’t go to Court again, whether or not Spain consented. You thought it best to write Spain about it while the emotions were still fresh on your mind, and you were to write him about your political interactions, anyway. You cringed as you realised you would have to describe the French ordeal to Spain.

Sighing, you figured you had better get started. You dressed yourself in trousers—you were allowed to wear such things under Spain’s rule, and you weren’t going to see anyone for a while. You sat at your bedside table after grabbing parchment and your quill. Slivers of your frustration grew again as you realised your penknife was missing, but you suffocated your anger.

You leapt down to look under your bed then back up to rummage through the drawers of your table. Finding only previous letters, you vaguely wondered if Naomi had taken it, but you remembered that she wasn’t much for writing, as her penmanship suffered greatly. You jogged over to your dresser and rooted through it before remembering you had left it by your windows. It was there, as expected, but your windows were unlocked. Frowning slightly, you leaned out to look outside, but, seeing nothing, you latched the window shut.

You sat on your bed again and began to compose your letter in your head, each version more childish and informal than the last, but as you wrote the actual letter, you used the tone Spain expected.

“To the country…Spain,” you muttered as you wrote, “I am writing…as you requested…to inform… you of…the political—” You dotted at an ‘i’ with a fierce jab. “—interactions at…the Spanish Court…on May…May…” You fell silent. You thought you had heard something.

The windows had opened.

You bit your lip and stood to close it. You knew you had latched it, but perhaps it had come loose. Nothing to worry about, but you felt perturbed, anyway. Trying to be as quiet as possible, you returned to write your letter.

It was hard to believe that the scratching of your quill was the only sound in the room, but it seemed to be so. You were on edge, acutely aware that something was wrong. You felt as if there were someone else in the room, but you knew that was impossible. You were the only one with your key besides Spain, and you were on the third floor. Nevertheless, you wrote your letter still, but you continued with a strong feeling of unease. Your hand shook.

You felt slight pressure on the bed behind you just as a hand clamped over your mouth. You tried to screech against it, but the sound was muffled.

“Now, now,” a smooth voice said into your ear as an arm moved to clutch your midriff to hold you still, “Behave yourself.”

You yelped against his palm and freed yourself enough to elbow the man in the chest. With a small grunt, he let go of you, and you would have bolted to the door had he not caught your wrist, holding it flat on the bed. He looked up at you, as if daring you to make the next move.

You fumbled around behind you, without breaking eye contact—he didn’t seem the sort to take one’s eyes off of—and, finding your penknife, you swung it around to cut the hand pinning yours.

You didn’t make a sizable cut, but you achieved your purpose—he let go. You backed up towards the door, keeping your eyes on him.

The blond examined the back of his hand, frowning at it. “That smarts.” He stood and walked over to your dresser, picking up your handkerchief to wipe up the blood. “But no matter.”

Your hand found the doorknob, and you desperately shook it. A new wave of panic washed over you: it was locked, and your key was next to your necklace on the dresser.

“Don’t bother,” he said, pocketing the key. Still, you attempted to discreetly jolt the lock out of place. “Everyone else is still at Court. No one will hear you.” His voice was crisp, eloquent, and somewhat familiar, but you couldn’t recall meeting him before tonight. You cringed. Tonight.

“I bumped into you at Court,” you said, feeling a bit incredulous. While you were currently petrified, you couldn’t help but marvel at the poor security at Court if it were to be such a private affair.

“Did you?” He tied the handkerchief around his hand. “I don’t recall.”

So he was that sort of person. “I guess it wasn’t you, then,” you quipped, “He had panache.”

The blond glared over at you under creased eyebrows and tsked. He pulled his timepiece out from around his neck.

You started shaking the knob again. What is this door? Bugger, bugger, bugger. He could stop me if I tried the windows. The thoughts blew through your mind so quickly you hadn’t time to think of a rational plan.

He shoved the watch back under his shirt. “I’ve wasted enough time. We’re leaving.” He strode forward and grabbed your arm, yanking you to the side and pushing you against the wall so that he could unlock the door.

You had heard of this before—stealing land from other countries—horrible things. You were not going to be taken. You were not going to become one of the statistics. You refused.

You had never fought before, but you threw the best punch you could. You saw no reaction except for a short eyebrow flash. His grip never faltered. He had definitely had toyed with you earlier when he had let you go. You were too weak to stand a chance, and both of you knew it.

The blond actually smiled. “I didn’t expect you to put up a fight.”

“Did you expect me to just go along with you?” you snapped. Bugger this man. I am not one to be taken lightly, you thought.

“Even if it’s not a fight at all,” he said, pinning you to the wall again and trying to unlock the door with one hand.

“What’s the matter with you? Have you no—”

“Silence,” he said, pushing your wrist farther into your back. You winced with difficulty, as your nose was smushed against the wall. “Hm. I didn’t bring…” He rummaged around in the many pockets of his coat. “And holding her mouth would be…” He dropped something that clinked to the floor and cursed. “…Extremely irritating.”

You kicked what you hoped was his kneecap, but there was still no reaction. You weren’t doing any good, but you were most definitely not going to just surrender. However, it was difficult to lash out against him under such constrained circumstances.

You heard him grumble under his breath. “It would be astonishingly exasperating to endure your feeble attempts at a struggle the whole journey.” The man pulled your shoulder away from the wall to hold a soporific sponge beneath your nose.

You held your breath. You wouldn’t breathe it in. He looked at your slowing blueing face, knowing you couldn’t hold out forever.

I will not. I shall not. He will not win, you thought, glancing back at him. He was glaring at you with a crooked grin on his face. You lost your concentration. Those eyes. There’s only one person with eyes that green.

You opened your mouth to speak. “Engla—”

No.

His smile grew even more twisted as your eyes rolled back into your head.