The Misplaced Prince[COMPLETE]

Belonging

Gasps filled the theater as eyes shifted from the Prince to her. In the yawning silence, some people look consternated, many horrified and amused. Little thing she might be, but they knew she was deadly, and the Prince has obviously just signed his doom. Most wondered if the King would even allow such a slight--she was his ward, but this was, after all, a demand by his grandson. A demand he had granted, at that.

The Prince just watched her, his gaze defiant, a challenge simmering in their depths. He was angry, she realized. Something had upset him. Something she seemed to have done. Of course, no one here who hadn't been studying and memorizing his face for weeks would realize it. To them he probably seemed bored.

She lowered her hands at her knives, taking a step forward, but the King's voice stopped her.

"Select someone else." he sounded firm, unyielding. Not a voice many would cross.

The Prince glanced at the King, and in that instant, there could be no doubt who's grandson he was, or whose son. He didn't even flinch.

"I was told I could fight anyone. I choose her."

Dick and Tony were fidgeting behind him, looking slightly uncertain by this turn of events. She wasn't worried, however, that they would divulge how things had started to become between her and the Prince, even if he was their brother and their loyalties now lay unquestionably with him. She could trust them with her life.

The King's voice was soft. "She is not an option, boy." he murmured, "Now. Or ever."

The Prince regarded the king, something flaring in his eyes as he absorbed that.

"Ask anything else of me." The King added, his voice clear, final, "and it's yours. But my ward is under my protection."

There was a collective intake a breath. An offer to ask anything from the King--the power of such a statement the Prince couldn't possibly comprehend. The King had never been known to utter such a promise, and it was a testament to how far he was willing to go for his grandson.

The Prince gaze flicked back to her. They were burning now, and he looked at her for a long, consuming second. Her breath stilled in her chest. He had never looked at her quite like that. Having just been in the fledgling of a relationship, everything between them had previously been tentative. Now she felt, for the first time, that she saw him as a man blazing with the need to capture, to pursue, to lay his claim.

God, she needed to set him straight before things got out of hand.

"Very well." The Prince's voice finally drawled softly, "You may protect her."

That he phrased it as a permission would have killed a lesser man--the shocked gasps were indication enough of that, but the King sat back, amusement flickering in his gaze.

"If it pleases you, boy." The King drawled.

"No." Kasey suddenly, her voice loud and clear. She wasn't going to be hidden and protected by the King. She had to show the Prince herself that she wasn't going to be messed with. Now if only she could stem the desire to be messed with, they would be fine, "I will fight."

"Child..." The King looked at her gravely.

"I accept the challenge. Please allow me to fight, Your Majesty." she fixed her eyes at him fiercely, willing him to accept, wanting him to remember that she wasn't a delicate flower to be protected, but a warrior. She had learned to fight alongside the likes of Dick and Tony--Shrader himself had overseen most of her training, finding her so often with his sons as he had. She might not be the most brutal fighter in the castle, but she was damned if she wasn't one of the best. She could certainly best most of the fighters lining to fight the Prince.

After a long period of considering her, he finally nodded.

"Very well. I allow it."

She turned back to the Prince, who was watching her broodingly. She stepped around the King, and then jumped off the platform before slowly making way to him.

Down below without the added height of the platform, he towered over her, looming taller as she drew closer, and he straightened as the distance lessened between them, studying her with shadowed eyes. It was darker down here, his eyes didn't glitter nearly as much as she came closer, instead fixing on her with muted longing that she was certain only she could detect.

She stopped before getting too close, maintaining an  informal distance. Her hands tightened on her knives. Holding his gaze, she deliberately lowered herself in a courtesy. "Your Highness."

She saw his chest lift in a breath at the address. "...Highness?" he repeated in a murmur. Then studying her carefully distant expression, he murmured, "Forgive me. I'm not used to such an address."

She inclined her brow. It was certainly what she would think of him as now. She had stopped thinking his name three days ago, in a bid to distance herself from him inside just as she did outside. Names had power.

"And who am I speaking to?"

"You know me from the trip." she said meaningfully, before adding in a steely voice, "I'm The King's Ward."

He watched her face, "That is certainly not an impression I was left with." he mused.

"I was not under the impression that you're our Prince...and yet that's precisely who you are." she said coolly.

She could see her message was received. He watched her with a stiffening face, his eyes glinting with an emotion. His eyes roamed over her face as if searching for any give in expression, any hint that she might soften, and when he found none, a muscle ticked in his jaw. His eyes returned to hers, ruthless.

"Be that as it may," he said softly, too softly for their craning audience to hear, and her shoulders drew back wearily, "I distinctly recall you saying you believe you belong to your Prince, King's Ward... Am I mistaken in that?"

She couldn't prevent a stuttering sharp in take of breath, or a slight widening of her eyes. He watched her closely, the blazing expression in his eyes seeping on to his face so that even the people watching would know they were talking about more than the upcoming fight.

It was what she had always believed. Her life had always seemed a price for his. The King had protected her instead of bringing is grandson back. To her, the quest to bring the Prince back had been the payment for that life, and in that, she felt like her life, her purpose, her very being had belonged to him.

Never had it had such carnal undertones as it did while watching the intent, painfully beautiful face of their Prince.

Her knives flipped out soundlessly, glinting in a wordless challenge.

His gaze automatically followed the movement, and after a sharp look at her face he tensed, his hands tightening in fists in response. Inclining his face slightly, he nodded in grim acceptance.

The theater quieted down in anticipation of the fight.

Her hands raised, and she saw him bracing in anticipation of the deadly sharp knives, before she twisted her hands, letting the knives drop. She wasn't going to fight with knives against a weaponless man. Before he could react, his gaze flicking to the knives in surprise, she went for him, crashing into him, sending both of them flying to the ground.