Pairing: Prince!Bucky x Princess!Reader (Royal AU)
Summary: Obedience, duty, pristine smiles—raised as the princess of an oppressive kingdom, you knew nothing else. Your father signed your life away at the ripe age of five, black ink bleeding into a contract between nations, fate cemented with the flick of a quill. So when the time came to fulfill the promises you were too young to make, you expected much of the same in the land of Brookshire. But Prince James had other plans, as did the enemies looming outside the castle walls.
Word count:5k
Warnings: Some rising tensions, corset drama, and a little more fluff <3
a/n: I love love feedback, so let me know what you think!! There’s some angst on the horizon
“Darling, have you seen the view from the east window?” Bucky called, his voice distant from the other end of the dining table.
“Prince James, this is the third morning in a row you’ve asked me that.”
“Well, this is the third morning in a row that you’ve sat so far away.”
You glanced up from your breakfast with a small smile, your brow arched. “It is customary for us to sit here,” you explained, motioning toward the chairs opposite to each other. “That’s why your staff set the table this way.”
“Customary for who?”
“Royals, Prince James.”
Bucky scoffed, his chair scraping the floor as he got up, his plate clinking against his fork as he gripped it between rushed fingers. It took about four, long steps before he reached the seat to your left, and then he pulled it out with just as much dramatism.
“Perhaps, as a pair, we do away with royal customs that have me sitting a mile away from my wife,” he concluded, plopping down on cushion and wood with a grace he certainly hadn’t learned from a court tutor. “Besides, I’m thinking that whoever created that rule must not have been married to you.”
Your face burned as it usually did when he made comments like that. Bucky seemed to love making your relationship feel like a casual affair, as if your union hadn’t been set in stone for years, the pairing a political tactic your father used to send you away. He seemed to love making you feel like he was falling for you by choice.
“We are not even married,” you reminded him. “No matter how many times you call me your wife.”
Wife—a word he used with frequency, as of late.
He hummed. “Not yet, my princess.”
His foot slid to meet yours under the table; a small brush, but a purposeful one. You lost your breath for a moment as Bucky continued to eat his breakfast, feigning indifference with a bite of bread just as his ankle brushed yours. And then his eyes turned up to yours with a knowing glint. But before you could say anything back, the dining room doors opened with an echoing boom.
“I apologize, Your Highnesses,” an unsure voice sounded. “But… well Prince James, the queen is going over a few last minute preparations for tomorrow, and she said that you insisted on being the one to confirm the guest list.”
Bucky’s eyes refused to leave yours as he replied, “Thank you, Peter. You can tell my mother that I—”
“She told me not to come back unless you were with me,” Peter interrupted, a small, apologetic smile etched onto his face.
You bit back a laugh at the vexation blooming along Bucky’s brow, his jaw ticking as he finally tore his eyes from you. He went back and forth with Peter for a while, trying to demand more time with you since he was the one that decided whether or not Peter got knighted. But the witty squire took those empty threats in stride, further insisting that the queen was still the one he reported to.
Well, until the coronation anyway. And the wedding.
“Fine,” Bucky finally huffed, discontentedly. “If my mother truly needs me at this very moment, I suppose I will miss out on my fleeting, invaluable time with the princess here.”
You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes. “I will see you tomorrow night, Prince James.”
“Yes, but there will be so many people there. And they will all want to dance with you. I hardly think I will get a moment of your time before you are whisked away in the arms of some old commander or nobleman.”
If you were being honest, the night was going to go exactly as Bucky described it. It was a ball to welcome the new princess to court; a way to introduce you to the neighboring lands and get the government of Brookshire acquainted with their soon to be queen. You would have to laugh at bad jokes and dance with old men and wear those heels that Bucky insisted you shove into the far corner of your closet.
You would have very little time with the prince, and while that saddened you, it also afforded you a sliver of unkind reality.
This night was what your entire life had been—your life before Bucky. So it would be easy to fall back into the routine, to smile when you didn’t want to and dance with those you didn’t know. You’d dance the waltzes ingrained in your muscle memory and slink back into dark corners when the men started discussing the country’s politics. And it would be okay. Because back in Hyland, you’d end these nights alone in your quarters, feeling empty and used.
But tomorrow night, you had a feeling you wouldn’t have to feel that way. That maybe, if you asked, Bucky would be there, ready and willing to make you feel whole again.
“Perhaps you would be better off finding a moment of my time after the ball then?”
Bucky’s smile was vibrant, his hands reaching out to brush your hair from your eyes as he stood from the table. He kept your cheeks between his hands for a moment longer, admiring you with your spoon still held out in front of you, an unexpecting expression on your face.
“I will,” he affirmed, leaning down to press a kiss on your hairline. You almost dropped your spoon. “I’ll see you tomorrow, darling.”
Yes—you were positive that while the ball would be draining, Bucky… Bucky would be everything you needed to fix that. Everything you needed all along.
~~
The corset pulled tighter around your ribs, Natasha wincing with each tug as she kneeled before you, lacing the shoes you surely couldn’t reach anymore. The royal dresser let out a huff from behind you before wiping her brow and tying off the ribbon. She bowed, handed Natasha the rest of your formal wear, and then left with a smile.
“She was nice,” Natasha hummed, helping you into the rest of your dress.
“I don’t think I have ever had a dresser apologize so many times,” you remarked, trying to relieve some tension on your waist. “I think she thought I was going to pass out.”
“Well, it has been some time since you last wore a corset.”
“I cannot believe I used to wear these every day,” you exasperated.
Natasha grumbled at that, replying snarkily, “You used to be forced to wear them every day.”
She laced together the final pieces of your dress, the tool and silk falling in beautiful waves along the floor. You adjusted your posture once more, trying to find a comfortable position to breathe. You were sure you looked like the perfect picture of the monarchy, but you truly were out of practice when it came to royal dress; Bucky and the ladies of this court were quite adamant that day dresses and comfortable footwear were more than acceptable for your daily life.
It was nothing like back at home, with metal binding constantly strapped to your back and your toes constantly pinched together in tiny shoes.
You comforted your friend with a hand on her shoulder and an understanding look. You knew how much she hated your treatment back in Hyland. But she knew that if she ever said anything, the small privileges she was afforded would’ve been taken from her in a single blink. And her position would’ve dropped as well, sending her far, far away from you.
“It’s okay, Natasha. It’s different here.” You took careful steps to the door, reaching for the brass handles, knowing the guards were waiting for you on the other side. “I think it will stay that way.”
The walk to the ballroom was glistening—the floors, the walls, the lights. You were in the south wing of the castle, where the balls were held and the guests resided, and—apparently—where all of the marble in the kingdom was held. You found yourself missing the charming cobblestone and tile that made up the wing you stayed in. You missed the wide open windows and the linen curtains that rustled each morning. The ocean that woke you up with a different kind of gleam… the kind that lit up the oil paintings on your walls and slid along your skin in delicate patterns.
When Steve gave you a tour upon your arrival, you hadn’t noticed the contrast as much; the castle was so large and you were taken into so many rooms. But it was jarring now—the stiffness of the guest wing. You wondered why your wing was so different, since Bucky obviously stayed there as well. You wondered who the designers had in mind when they put together the comfort that you loved so much.
“Are you ready?” Natasha whispered by your ear. You hadn’t even noticed the grand doors in front of you, their intricate wooden patterns waiting to be pushed open. You could hear the music on the other side, the sounds of expensive shoes against polished marble.
“Of course,” you replied, but your voice wasn’t as strong as you remembered it to be just moments before.
The doors were opened anyway.
Immediate silence. Violins stopped, the people parted; you stood just beyond the doors, head held high in a feigned confidence—a product of years and years of practice. The announcer called out your name and title in a voice you were so used to, and your next job was simply to smile and walk in. To make your way to the seat at the head of the room, and sit until you were asked to dance by one of the expensive shoes.
But then Bucky was there, stepping in your path with his hand held out in offerance. Bucky was there and he was smiling at you with those boyish eyes, still so youthful even when paired with his royal military uniform.
You took a glance back at Natasha, questioning your next move; she had never led you astray. With a small smile, she nodded her head, and you turned to take the hand you never quite let yourself believe would be there when you were growing up.
The music began the second Bucky took your waist. It was the Merry Widow Waltz, a dance you’d learned just after you were able to walk. An admittedly glance dance, one to welcome you to the festivities, surely, and you were glad when other couples joined the floor soon after—less attention on you, were you to mess up the steps.
Bucky guided you along the floor with practiced ease, tugging you closer to his chest around others, smiling down at you when you risked a glance up at him.
“You look beautiful,” he whispered by your ear, when the dance took you farther away from the center of the floor. “You always do.”
For the first time at any ball, you let a laugh free, “I wasn’t expecting a dance so soon, Prince James. I only just entered the room.”
He released you, using one hand to twirl you away, but quickly capturing your waist back in his grip. This was supposed to be a fast-paced waltz, with the couple leaving distance between each other for quick moves. But Bucky kept the two of you about one step behind the rest of the room, his desire to keep you close slowing you down. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care as his nose brushed yours.
“I told you, princess. You are the star of the evening. I must take all the time I can get.”
The dance ended long before you wanted it to, Bucky parting from you with a bow and wink that left you feeling privy to some information you had never even shared. Maybe that’s just how it felt to be falling in love—like you had some secret that no one else could ever understand.
You ruminated on the thought as the evening progressed. When you were spun around the room and asked about your homeland, all you could think about were the eyes tracking you from the far side of the ball, how they looked at you in a way that no one else did. When your gloved hand was kissed by noblemen and governors, you were reminded of the way Bucky kissed your hand, and your head and your fingers… how each touch of his lips sent you falling down a well of uncharted feelings.
You thought about kissing him back.
You were only pulled from your clouded daze when it was time to actually meet the other royals in the room—the whole purpose of the evening. Steve stood beside you on the steps leading up to the thrones, his shined and polished shoes just a tad bit untied.
“This is King T’Challa. He rules over Wakanda. Brookshire does a lot of trade with his kingdom.”
“It is lovely to meet you,” you greeted, shoulder slightly pressing against Steve’s chest in familiarity. “I am so excited to become more acquainted with you and your people.”
The king gave you a firm handshake and a smile, but didn’t stick around for small talk. He was one of the easier royals to meet—kind but to the point. The rest of the gentlemen were more chatty, some of the women were more stiff. A few younger royals came up to speak about future prospects and Steve had to shoo them away with a small laugh. Natasha joined you on the steps after the fourth group that came to bow and meet you, and you relaxed more then.
“Almost done,” Steve promised, a strong hand placed on your arm. “I believe there is only one more guest we have yet to meet. She arrived a little late but I saw her and her—ah, Sharon!”
You looked up from your shoes, eyes falling on the blonde in purple silk making her way to the front of the room. You recognized her; she danced with Bucky three songs after you arrived. Not that you were keeping track. A lot of people were dancing with Bucky tonight.
She reached you and offered a small smile, one you reciprocated with ease and a bow. “It is nice to finally meet you, Princess y/n,” she said, her head dipping.
“Finally?” you questioned. Queen Sharon was the ruler of Madripoor, a place you only learned about after arriving in Brookshire. You definitely hadn’t had any correspondence before this.
“Yes, I feel as if I already know you!” she laughed. “Bucky speaks of you so freely. I swear you were on his mind before he even got the chance to ask poor Steve what you looked like.”
You blinked, the use of Bucky’s name surprising you. Well—the use of his name along with Steve’s, and of the familiarity this queen seemed to have with your fiancé. But Bucky had an entire life before you came along, and you needed to remember that. It was just jarring since the past weeks had been secluded to the two of you. This was the first time you had come into contact with the outside world since you arrived in Brookshire, and a small kind of bubble was bursting.
“Oh, of course,” you conceded, with a laugh you had practiced many times. “I suppose there is much to talk about when you’ve been engaged for so many years.”
“Yes, many years.”
Her tone confused you, its slight bite unwarranted and out of place. You pretended it didn’t with another fake laugh. You couldn’t quite mask the tightness in your throat, however, the night verging on overwhelming, especially with this queen’s terseness. You took half a step back to reach the comfort of your friends.
“Well, it was so nice to formally meet you. I’m sure we will be seeing each other often with how close you are to this court.” Almost through gritted teeth. Almost. Natasha’s subtle hand on your wrist kept you polite.
Sharon’s exit was as graceful as her entrance, this time with Steve following behind her with an invitation to dance. You were fairly certain he only did that for you, Natasha’s quick glance over at your cousin conveying all that it needed to.
You turned to your lady in waiting the second Sharon was out of ear shot. “I know I’m not too versed in this kind of thing, but was she…? She didn’t like me, did she?”
Natasha gave you a sympathetic smile. “I’m sure there are many here tonight that are—wanting for your situation. It can make them bitter.”
“Wanting for my situation?” you questioned, baffled. “And what situation is that?”
“Y/n, your fiancé would be the most eligible bachelor in the continent if not for you. You must know that. A crown, a kingdom, a face like that—he has it all, and you took it before they even had a chance.”
You reared back at her insinuation. “It’s not as if I had a choice. You know that better than anyone here.”
“I know, I know,” she placated. “But it does not help when all of the women in the room keep trying to catch his attention and he won’t stop staring at you like that.”
You snapped your gaze in the direction of her hand, spotting Bucky in the center of the ballroom, a champagne flute between his fingers and a dazed look on his face as he seemingly ignored the nobleman talking his ear off. He was ignoring him in favor of watching you, and he didn’t show any signs of getting bored.
Your eyes turning to him was all the confirmation he needed to end his mundane conversation, his drink suddenly pushed into the hands of an unexpecting man. He weaved through the crowd with small apologies and light smiles until he found the base of the stairs, and you did as well, your feet guiding you down to him subconsciously.
“Princess,” he greeted, breathless. “Am I correct in assuming that this next moment of time belongs to me?”
Your smile was contagious, any ill feelings left by the thrones, far away from Bucky. “Completely.”
And even though your feet hurt terribly and your chest struggled to capture a full breath, you felt lightheaded as he whisked you to the floor, carefree. He gathered you in his arms and you were transported to the horses and the flowers and the rays of canary-colored sun that usually came with his citrusy scent, the hints of early morning tea and comfort all wrapped up in the man holding you so closely.
But then the music started, and you were very abruptly thrown out of the dreamy solace you loved so much.
“I do not know this dance,” you panicked. “Prince James, this waltz—what is it?”
Bucky shook his head with fond eyes, his thumb brushing down your temple. “There is no waltz for this dance, my princess.”
You gaped. “I will embarrass you. I’ve never danced without a waltz before. I’ll look like a fool, Prince James, I cannot—”
“I requested this song for you.” Bucky kept his voice low, and you struggled to maintain a calm state with others dancing around you, apparently so sure of the next steps to take. “They play it at every ball, but there isn’t one dance for it.” He let both of his hands trail down to your waist—certainly not a proper position. “Let me show you.”
Your heart beating out of your chest, your palms damp from panic, you nodded your head because as much as you hated to admit it, you’d let Bucky show you just about anything.
And so he showed you.
His hands never left your waist, even when the rest of the room parted to spin and take up hands with others. He consistently held you to him, and his laugh echoing against your chest was the sweetest sound, surpassing any melodic flutes or violins in the space.
You had no idea what pattern your feet were making, nor how many times you had spun around in the same spot on the floor, but Bucky didn’t seem to care. His fingers ran up the boning of your corset and brushed the small bit of exposed skin above your shoulders; they trailed there until he pressed his palm to your neck as well, ushering your head to his chest.
The music kept its upbeat tune, but you did not, because Bucky held you there instead. The reverberation of heels and leather pounded into the soles of your shoes, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to move—couldn’t find it in yourself to be embarrassed when the consistent thud of Bucky’s sweet heart was there against your cheek and wholly, completely yours.
You pulled away slightly, head light from the champagne or your fiancé’s touch, you couldn’t tell. “Bucky,” you whispered, a secret in the air between you, one he would surely keep. “Shall we leave?”
And although it was long before the others would turn in, some guests even staying the night due to how long they would dance, Bucky couldn’t help but give you anything you ever wanted.
“Of course, my darling.”
He would think about the way his name sounded on your lips every night for the next week, but for now, he held your waist as you giggled and pretended to sneak around confused party guests. He fell in love with you just a little more, watching your dress slide against unused marble, knowing that the girl he chased through the halls was just that—a girl. Not a royal or a pawn to be moved around.
But you were his girl, and that made all the difference.
~~
“They are sleeping, princess.”
“You told me there were ducks here.”
“I am very sorry to disappoint,” Bucky laughed, feigning sincerity with a hand over his chest.
You hummed. “You don’t seem very sorry.” You stepped back from the pond, taking a seat on the bench under the aging willow. “In fact, you appear to be very amused by my sorrow.”
Bucky scoffed, rounding his side of the tree to come and join you. He was mused from the night, his hair disheveled and his collar askew; he looked kissed by joy and roused by the dim shine of the moon, and you were having trouble conjuring any other picture of beauty.
“I can assure you,” he spoke out to the pond, his thigh pressing to yours. “Your sorrow could never amuse me. Shall I find a groundskeeper to wake the ducks? Would that appease you, my princess?”
“Of course not. Then the ducks would resent me.”
He turned to you, adoration shining with the stars in his eyes. “We wouldn’t want that.”
With the crickets blaring amongst the high brush by the spring pond, the water rippling with small life, you leaned your shoulder into his. Bucky responded with a brush of his fingers against yours on the surface of the bench, capturing them after only a moment’s hesitation. When he pressed your palms together, words were falling from your mouth before you could stop them.
“I would paint this,” you admitted, only a little embarrassed. “I used to paint. In secret.”
Bucky’s thumb brushed the back of your hand before he responded, “I know. Steve would tell me of your works—how beautiful they were. I don’t know if you got my letters—”
“I got them,” you interrupted. “I just… I didn’t think they were coming from you. I thought they were a ploy from your court. Some obligatory correspondence.”
“They were from me. All of them.”
You knew this. After all of your time with Bucky, you knew that those words were his and his alone; that his sentiments were sincere and that he was a kind prince that would turn into an even more benevolent king.
Minus the ducks of course.
“You could still paint here. If you’d like to, of course,” Bucky whispered. It was almost lost in the rustling willow leaves.
You took in a large breath, gearing up for a long protest about why that was unnecessary—your hobbies were not something that should take up the time of others—when a sharp pain sprouted just below your ribs. The corset, of course; sitting too long with your chest confined in such a way was never good for heavy breathing. You attempted to ground yourself with a steady hand to your stomach, but Bucky was more observant than that.
“Are you alright?” he stressed, standing and bringing you along with him. “Did the tasters miss something? Have you been poisoned?”
Your laugh was stifled by the steel boning along your waist. “No, Bucky, I am fine. It’s nothing to concern yourself with.”
“Thank you for the dismissal but everything to do with you is my concern.”
You focused on the soft pressure of Bucky’s hands on your hips as you steadied your breathing; you had a lot of practice with this kind of feeling, and after a few moments it would pass. But with Bucky tilting his head to catch your eyes, the worry set deep in his brow, you were having a hard time with the otherwise simple task. When he brushed his touch up to your chin, angling your gaze to his, you were no longer sure if the corset was the problem.
“What is it?” he asked, so gently you almost fell into the words
“My corset. I’m just not accustomed to the restriction anymore. It will pass, Bucky, just give me a moment.”
“It’s so tight that it’s hurting you?”
“That is typically the purpose of a corset,” you jested, a grim smile passing over your face.
Bucky shot forward, quick hands coming around you to find the hooks of your gown. “You must take it off.”
It took you a moment to register his words, but as his nimble fingers found the top clasp of your dress, you knocked his arms away at the absurdity.
“I cannot!“ you exclaimed. “If someone were to see me undressing out here with you, there would be an unstoppable onslaught of rumors.”
Bucky huffed, now a slight tightness in his jaw, more concern shining through. “Rumors about what, darling? A couple, engaged to be married, having a secret rendezvous by the pond? I’m sure there is more interesting court gossip than that.”
“We are not yet married.”
“And I am simply trying to ensure that my fiancée doesn’t suffocate,” Bucky rushed, attempting once again to free you from the uncomfortable garment. He got a clasp free this time.
You slid back, unraveling yourself from his arms. “Prince James!” you scolded.
“Back to that? I’ve become so fond of hearing you say my name.”
“Fine,Bucky,” you tried. “Either way, you cannot take my corset off. It is… extremely improper. The dressers have to do that, and they typically prefer to do it inside.”
With all of your frustrated huffs and helpless quips, you found yourself struggling more and more to capture a full breath. Your chest rose and fell at an alarming rate, your hands coming up to set comfort into your stomach, but finding little solace there. You were panicked at the prospect of someone finding you out here, half dressed, but the alternative—keeping the corset on—was becoming impossible.
What surprised you, however, was your lack of discomfort at the idea of Bucky pulling the laces from your back. You hadn’t even given that aspect of it all a second thought when he reached for you, instead focusing on the humiliation of discovery. You didn’t have time to unpack those feelings; Bucky was talking again, low and comforting.
“You trust me, don’t you?”
“Of course I do.” An answer without hesitation—without thinking.
He smiled, softly. “Then turn around.”
Your gaze flickered between his eyes a few more times, your skin resisting the soft breeze on your cheeks. Bucky’s lips parted before he reached for you, and the sword he had strapped to his hip on the way out the door clinked against the metal of his belt. It took one final, nervous wring of your hands and you were facing the willow again, blind to Bucky’s actions.
His fingers touched you first—tentative against your neck, sweeping the ties from your necklace away from the laces of your corset. They lingered there, and you could feel the gentle puff of his breath prickle your skin. He trailed down the indent of your spine until he met the base of the ribbon.
The first pull left a sound resonating past the pond, silk brushing against silk, cotton releasing from its bind. Bucky’s left hand came up to steady your waist in an unnecessary touch. It warmed you through your dress, consumed you like a fire that bloomed up past your neck and spread through your mind.
And then he pulled again and again and again, each tug loosening your chest and constricting it for a completely different reason. You held the corset against you when it fully released, and Bucky let his hands slide up your arms as you stood there, lashes fluttering for someone that couldn’t see it.
“Is that better?”
“Yes,” you breathed out, unable to turn around. “Much better, thank you.”
Lips behind your ear, stealing all of the air from your body with their gentle pressure. “We must get you back in your room before others see you in such a state of undress.” His hands squeezed your arms. “I think my quarters are closer.”
Your face burned, turning on the heel of your shoe with gusto. “I think you are pushing it.”
Bucky reached up to brush a strand of hair behind your ear, playful eyes never straying lower than your lips. “I was only joking, my darling,” he hummed, cupping your cheek in his hand. You leaned into it instantly. “I’d wait forever for you. You know that, don’t you?”
And a part of you, the part that was growing and becoming so used to Bucky’s sweet disposition, did know.
