Summary: Prince Dean and Y/N have been betrothed since birth. Desperately in love, neither can wait to make it official once Y/N finally becomes a woman. But for some reason, womanhood is taking its time finding her. The day eventually comes, but it’s not quite the fairytale Y/N had been sold.
Chapter Tags: nerves, fluff, arranged marriage, mild suggestions of sex, flirting, teasing, think that’s about it…
Chapter WC: 2519
A/Ns: Just to let you know, the reader doesn’t stay this age for long! 🙂
The King’s Blessing Masterlist
“Are you nervous?”
You turn your head to look at your mother, seeing the way she stares at you, a small smile gracing her lips. You’ve always thought your mother was beautiful, even as she’s aged. Tresses of dark hair frame her face as the rest is swept into a neat bun at the back of her head.
“A little,” you admit, shrugging a shoulder slightly as you feel your cheeks heat up with the confession. “I mean, it’ll be weird leaving you and Dad.”
“Don’t be,” your mother insists, reaching out to take your hand. “You’re going to be a woman any day now, and once that day comes, you’ll marry a handsome prince and one day you’ll be his queen,” she tells you, smiling at her own words.
“How do you know he’s handsome?” you ask, smirking slightly.
“Well, if he takes after his father he will be,” she shrugs nonchalantly. “Don’t tell your father I said that.” This makes you giggle, but it dies again as you remember what’s about to happen. “The Winchesters are adored in their kingdom, Y/N, do you know how special it is that you’re betrothed to their eldest?”
“What if I don’t like him?” you wonder.
“I’m sure you’ll learn to love him.”
“Did you learn to love father?” you ask, looking at her.
“I didn’t need to, I fell in love with your father the moment I arrived here.” Your mother squeezes your hand. “This has been your destiny since you were born, Y/N. You were always meant to be the queen of Lawrence.”
“Not yet,” you remind your mother. “King John and Queen Mary are still alive.”
“Well until then you’ll be a beautiful princess, wed to a handsome prince. But one day you and Dean will take the throne.”
“If I ever become a woman,” you grumble, your cheeks burning in embarrassment at the very reminder that you’re still seen as a little girl.
“It’ll happen soon enough. You’re only fifteen. I was around your age,” your mother reassures you. “That’s why we’re sending you to Lawrence.”
“You’re sending me to Lawrence because everyone is getting impatient and doesn’t want to wait much longer,” you bitterly remind her.
“Princesses don’t use that tone, Y/N,” your mother scolds you sternly.
You want to roll your eyes but think better of it, instead taking a deep breath and biting your bottom lip. “Will you visit me?” you ask.
“Sure,” your mother nods, letting go of your hand and returning her own to her lap. “One day.” Your mother rises to her feet. “So are you ready?”
Lawrence is more beautiful than you’d imagined it to be, bigger too. Vast land surrounds the castle grounds, and when your carriage arrives, guards open the tall gates and grant you access. Stone steps lead to a grand entrance to the castle, and you can count maybe twenty of them before you lose where you got to. The weather is nice too, not too hot, but not dull or dreary, and you can hear horses nearby, no doubt in the stables not far from the gates.
The door to your carriage opens once you’ve stopped, and you’re greeted by an older man, a hat on his head, hiding what looks like grey hair matching his beard.
“Princess Y/N of Elming, welcome to Lawrence.”
He holds out his hand and you take it as you descend from the carriage and to the foot of the stone steps. The steps and the castle both seem so much larger and daunting from down here, and your heart starts to beat a little faster as your stomach begins to knot. If you thought you were nervous on the journey to Lawrence, you’re definitely nervous now.
“My name is Robert, your highness,” the man explains, “I shall take you to the king, please follow me.”
You lift the skirt of your dress as you follow Robert up the stone steps, and to try to calm your nerves, you decide to count all thirty three of them before you reach the top. Robert walks you through the inner grounds of the castle, as you pass gardeners and other staff going about their duties, minding their own business, and just a little further down the grounds, you watch as a boy around your age dismounts a horse, flicking his head to remove some of his longer hair from his eyes. He catches you looking and stares back, and for a moment you pause, wondering if that’s Dean. Is he the man you’re about to spend the rest of your life with?
Robert doesn’t let you linger, he ushers you closer to another set of tall double doors that open as if by themselves as you approach, and you’re led inside the castle, down a long grand hallway and towards what looks like a large chamber. This castle is nothing like the one you grew up in. Yours had been much smaller than this, and you’re starting to realise just why it has always seemed so important to your parents that you’re betrothed to someone from this family. This castle and its entire kingdom are beyond anything in your wildest dreams.
Until today, you’d never left your home, you’d never seen the world or travelled with your father. You’d always stayed home and been schooled or taught how to become a good queen by your mother and her aides. You didn’t even know places as beautiful as this could exist beyond the daydreams your fairytales sometimes conjured up in your mind’s eye.
You realise as you snap out of your thoughts, that Robert is about to lead you into the chamber you had been approaching, and once you’re inside, you’re greeted with the sight of a man sitting in a throne at the centre of the raised platform directly ahead of you, a woman sitting at a smaller throne to his left.
“Your Majesty,” Robert bows. “Princess Y/N of Elming.”
Once Robert has introduced you, you curtsey, making sure to keep your head low. “It’s an honour to meet you, your majesty,” you tell him politely. “Your home is beautiful.”
You hear a creak of wood, and then footsteps on the stone ground, shuffling and then stepping, as it gets louder and louder. You can sense the king towering over your curtsied frame, but you hold your posture until you feel a hand reach under your chin, tilting your face up to meet his.
Your mother hadn’t been too wrong in saying that the king is handsome. He is clearly an older gentleman, but he has aged well and gracefully as you imagine any king would. His eyes are a soft brown, maybe green too, and his beard is dark but speckled with greys much like Robert’s. He grins a wide grin, his teeth a dazzling white as he looks down at you.
“The honour is all ours, little lady. Stand, please,” he orders softly.
You can’t deny that your worries are eased just a little by the warm welcome the king has given you, and you offer him a nervous smile as you return to standing at your full height, now suddenly feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze. Especially when he starts to inspect you, his eyes roaming over what feels like every part of you. The hand of his that had touched your face once before does so again, turning it left to right.
“You’re rather beautiful,” he compliments, which makes you relax.
“Why thank you, your majesty,” you fluster, feeling your cheeks heat up.
“She’ll do quite nicely for our son, don’t you think, my love?” he asks, not taking his eyes off of you, but clearly directing his question at the queen still seated in her throne.
You realise as you look to her for any sign of her response, that she’s not smiling, she’s just staring. Her blonde hair is tied back, much like your mother often wore hers, yet her dress looks far more expensive than anything your mother owned, and anything you would ever dream of wearing. Especially the one you’re wearing now. While it had been specially made for this very occasion, tailored to fit you in every single way, crafted to impress your new king and his family, it paled in comparison to the dress the queen is wearing.
“I’m sure Dean will be very happy,” the queen gives her reply, though her tone doesn’t sound as enthused as her words make her out to be, and you notice that her eyes are furrowed slightly as she looks at you. This puts you at a little more unease once again.
“Well, talking of our son, would you like to meet your betrothed?” the king asks you, grinning.
“Of course, your majesty, I’ve waited fifteen years for this moment,” you tell him, forcing a smile through your nerves.
“Us too,” he smirks, and then he turns and makes his way back to his throne, sitting in it and throwing one leg over the other. “Dean?” he calls behind him.
You take a deep breath and ensure your dress is in the correct place, trying to smile in a way that is friendly and welcoming, without seeming too friendly or welcoming, because you don’t want to give him a bad first impression of his future wife. You want him to like you.
The man that steps out from a door to the left of the thrones is not the man you’d seen with the horse moments before. This man is a little older, and a hell of a lot more handsome. His hair is shorter, a softer shade of brown that is only slightly longer on the top of his head than elsewhere, pushed back but flopping to the side a little. As soon as his green eyes meet you you find yourself holding your breath, feeling the weight of his gaze. He’s perfect, he’s better than any prince you’d ever imagined, he’s better than anything anyone could ever describe to you in any book.
His smile is as dazzling as his father’s as he readjusts the belt around his waist holding his sword and makes moves to approach you, and once he ends up in front of you, you try your best to resume breathing.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he beams, his eyes unashamedly raking over you.
“You’ll have to excuse my son, he’s forgotten his manners,” the king speaks up through gritted teeth from behind Dean.
“Of course,” Dean nods, holding out his hand. You instinctively give him your own, feeling him take it and bring it to his mouth. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Princess Y/N,” he tells you softly, before kissing your hand.
You swallow hard, losing your voice for a moment. Your heart is beating so hard in your chest that you think it might come out, and your mouth feels dry like you haven’t had a drop of water in weeks.
“Prince Dean, the pleasure is all mine.”
You begin to curtsey, but Dean stops you, smirking softly. “Don’t go giving me ideas, sweetheart.”
You have no clue what ideas Dean could be referring to, but before you can ask any questions, the king is speaking up.
“Dean, why don’t you show your betrothed around her new home?”
“Sure,” Dean agrees easily, flashing you another dazzling smile. “Right this way.”
Dean links his arm, which prompts you to link your own through his, a little flustered by the familiarity of the gesture, but not wanting to displease your future husband so soon. You’re too nervous to speak as Dean leads you from the hall the way you’d come in, and you wait for him to say something first, which doesn’t take long. You’re barely down the hallway when he finally speaks up.
“So, Y/N, I bet you’ve heard a lot about me.”
“Only what my parents have told me,” you confess. “I look forward to getting to know you more.”
“Oh, I’m looking forward to doing a lot of things with you, getting to know you is far down on that list.”
Dean flashes you a wink, which only makes you feel more flustered. This is not the way you envisaged your first meeting with your future husband and king-to-be. You’d witnessed the way your older brother, Erik, had greeted his wife, and it was a lot more chivalrous than this. But Dean is your prince, soon to be your husband and king, so you must accept however he wishes to greet you.
“Do you know what I’m talking about, sweetheart?” he asks with a slight chuckle.
“Not entirely,” you admit, afraid he’ll think you dumb.
“I’m talking about what we get to do once you’re my wife,” he smirks, turning his whole body to face you, stepping a little closer to you. “I mean, we could cross one of those things off the list right now. We have been waiting fifteen years for this moment.”
You realise just in time what Dean is referring to as his eyes glance down to your lips.
“I believe that moment should be saved for our wedding, should it not?” you ask hopefully. The idea of doing anything that only a woman should be doing with this man makes you feel nervous.
Dean scoffs but then nods his head. “Yeah, I guess. My father has to bless you first, anyway.”
He forces a smile at the comment – that much you can already tell without knowing him – and then steps back, turning his body back to face forwards. He doesn’t offer his arm for you to link with this time, though, and you fear you’ve already upset him somehow. You don’t want to reject your prince – your mother reminded you a million times how bad that would be for you to do – but you also don’t want to displease the current king, or God, and try to act like a woman before your due time.
“Bless me?” you ask, confused by the statement Dean had just made as you replay it in your mind.
“So, when do you think you’ll come of age, anyway? How long must I wait?” he asks.
“Mother assures me it’ll be any day now,” you tell him, hoping that this news will at least appease him a little.
“Good,” Dean nods. “Let’s pray that she is right.”
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