(KBTCM) Ch 17: Not a Regular Woman

I held him carefully in both hands, cupping my palms together like I might a baby bird—or a precious jewel that could shatter if I moved too

I held him carefully in both hands, cupping my palms together like I might a baby bird—or a precious jewel that could shatter if I moved too fast.

Prince Karlor didn't say much on the walk from the throne room. His expression hadn't changed since we met eyes—wide, stiff, and just the tiniest bit green around the edges. I could feel how tense he was in my hands, his back straight as a sword, his arms frozen at his sides like he didn't quite trust me not to drop him.

I smiled down at him, soft as I could manage. I hoped it would help. "You don't have to look so scared," I said, my voice a hush above the quiet steps of my heels on the polished stone.

He didn't answer. Just blinked up at me like a man who'd seen the divine and wasn't sure whether to worship it or run from it.

I pushed open the door to my chambers with my foot. The hinges groaned a little. My room was large—of course it was. Nothing in the palace was built for smallness. High domed ceiling, velvet curtains, sunlight pouring through tall windows. A few noble portraits lined the far wall. My vanity table, my harp, my reading nook. My bed, nestled in the center, could've doubled as a stage platform for ten men his size.

I shut the door behind me. The moment it clicked, I sighed and turned back toward him. My parents had insisted we have some alone time. "So you two can get to know one another," Mother had said. "Privacy breeds closeness."

Closeness. Sure. If he didn't faint first.

He was still staring up at me, unmoving, perched like a little statue of nobility in my palms. I didn't want to scare him further, so I gently leaned forward and placed him on the soft covers of my bed.

He wobbled a bit as he adjusted to the plush surface. His legs sank just slightly into the red satin, and I knelt beside the bed, folding my arms across the mattress to rest my chin. I tried not to loom. Tried.

"I thought maybe we could talk a little," I said. "Get to know one another."

He cleared his throat. "Alright."

I gave him another smile, hoping it would loosen his shoulders. "Tell me about your family?"

"Royal house of Draymoor," he said quickly. "We have holdings in the north. Good bloodline."

Okay. Not a lot to work with, but I pressed on. "Do you have any hobbies? Things you enjoy doing when you're not off being royal?"

"Falconry. Hunting. Some fencing."

Short and clipped, like a soldier's report. Every time I asked a question, he answered like it was a test he wanted to get over with. No warmth. No curiosity.

I frowned a little but kept my voice cheerful. "That's nice. I like playing the harp. And painting. I'm not very good at it, but I like trying."

"Hmm."

Silence.

I let it sit for a moment, and then I leaned a bit closer—resting my head against the edge of the bed now. My eyes leveled with his. "You don't have to be nervous. I know I'm big—I mean, obviously—but I don't bite. Well... not unless someone asks nicely."

I gave him a wink.

Still nothing. His face didn't change. He just stared at me, stiff as ever.

I sighed. "Look... I might be bigger than you, but I'd really like if you could treat me like a regular woman."

He blinked once.

Then he said, almost too soft to hear: "But you're not a regular woman."

"What?" I leaned in, just a little.

He looked up at me. This time his eyes weren't wide with fear—they were sharp, cold. "I said... you're not a regular woman. You're a monster."

The word hit harder than I expected. My body went still.

For a second, I thought maybe I misheard him. Maybe he was joking, or teasing, or... I don't know. But no. I saw it in his face.

Not fear. Disgust.

I slowly pushed myself back from the bed, rising to my full height. My chest felt tight, like someone had pulled a ribbon too tight around it. My fists clenched at my sides, but I didn't say anything. Not yet.

He looked so small now, even more than before. Maybe because the illusion had shattered. The one where I thought... maybe, maybe this might work. Maybe I could fall for him. Maybe someone like him could see beyond my size. Beyond what I was born as.

But no.

Monster.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to cry or laugh. I did neither.

I just looked down at him, and all I said was: "I see."

He stood up.

Tiny footsteps pressing into the silk of my bedsheets, like a child pacing in defiance. He moved away from me—not quickly, not with fear anymore, but like someone putting distance between himself and a bad smell.

He didn't even look at me when he spoke. "I tried," he said. His voice was louder now. Sharper. "I really did. I told myself I could stomach this. That maybe... maybe your size wouldn't matter. That I could push through it. That I could be strong."

I didn't say a word. I didn't move.

"I've heard stories," he continued. "The old tales. My grandfather told them to me when I was a boy. Of the giant folk. Man-eaters. Beasts in the shape of people. Horrors that towered over villages, crushing homes beneath their feet, plucking people up like grapes and devouring them whole."

I felt my breath catch. My nails dug gently into the velvet lining of my sleeves.

"And yet we—mankind—we fought back. We ended them. Or so we thought. And now I come here," he said, turning sharply toward me now. "To find one of them sitting on a throne. Dressed in silks. Playing noble. I'm supposed to marry that?"

Still, I stayed silent.

"I will never marry a giant," he hissed. "And I will never be part of—"

Boom.

My fist slammed down into the cushion beside him.

I didn't think. I didn't plan it. Rage rushed through me like a wave breaking stone, and I brought my fist down hard into the bed. The mattress exploded beneath the pressure—pillows scattered, the silk bunched up, and Prince Karlor was flung upward like a ragdoll. He tumbled in the air with a cry, landing gracelessly back on the bed, bouncing and scrambling to his feet in shock.

I had not felt anger like that in years. Not since I was a child and my sister taunted me until I cried. Not since I first realized what I was—how different, how monstrous—compared to the people I was supposed to one day rule beside.

I leaned down slowly, bringing my face close to him.

Close enough to see the sheer panic in his eyes now.

Close enough for my breath to ruffle his brown hair.

"If I'm really such a monster," I said, my voice low and trembling, "then maybe I should start acting like one."

He stared up at me, frozen.

I held his gaze, my eyes boring into his. My heart was hammering inside my chest. Not from wrath alone—but from the hollow pit that had opened beneath it. Because behind the anger was something else.

Hurt.

I could take fear. I could handle awkwardness. I could even tolerate rejection. But the disgust in his voice? The way he said "one of them" like I was some creeping thing crawling out of the pages of a nightmare?

That stayed.

I exhaled sharply and straightened, pulling away before I did something I'd regret. My hands shook at my sides. My mouth was dry.

He was still silent. Still shaking.

Good.

Let him feel small.

Let him feel how it was to be looked down on.

I walked to the other side of the room without another word. Every step I took sent a light tremor through the floor, and I didn't try to hide it. I reached the window again, clutching the thick curtain between my fingers, and stared out into the sunlight.

I'd wanted so badly for this to work.

But maybe monsters weren't meant for things like marriage.

Or love.