Princes, Poise and Stable Boys (standalone)
Title: Princes, Poise and Stable Boys
Author: dimestorepoet (Izzie)
Rating: PG-13 for maybe a tiny bit of bad language
Pairing: Brendon/Ryan
POV: Third (Ryan-centric)
Word Count: 7,500
Disclaimer: This is about as real as fairies.
Summary: A Fairytale AU.
ONCE UPON A TIME, in a kingdom that lies far, far away, stood a grand and noble palace. This palace was, conventionally speaking, a perfect palace, with large towers and turrets and beautiful gardens that ran for as far as the eye could see. Inside the palace lived a kind and well-loved king, King Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz III. He was a fine and generous man who ruled over his kingdom with great care, constantly striving to ensure that his subjects were as happy as they possibly could be. Several times a year, the king would even lower the drawbridge and invite everybody, from princes to paupers, to a magnificent banquet in his magnificent ballroom.
In the middle of this palace or, more specifically, situated atop a pedestal in one of the high turrets, the prince of the castle stood pouting. It was noon, yet he was still sporting his bed head, his loose brown curls tangling together atop his head to resemble something akin to a bird’s nest. His eyes were big and sleepy and he stood with both arms outstretched, strips of silk draped carefully over them. The Royal Tailor stood about his waist, carefully pinning the material into place with a barely concealed frown.
“Why is this taking so long, William?” Ryan whined, “I’ve been stood here for nearly an hour now and my feet hurt and I think you jabbed me with a pin a while ago and I’m probably bleeding and I’m bored and this is taking forever.”
“Perhaps I would be able to work a little faster if you would at least try to stop fidgeting and keep still!” William grouched back through his clenched teeth, adding a hasty “Your Highness” on at the end after a pointed glare from Smith, the Prince’s bodyguard, who was leaning against the door-frame.
“I don’t know what you mean,” the prince replied, a dash of petulance coloring his tone. “I’ve been stood still here in this exact position all morning, which, for your information, has been an entirely tedious task. Even one as beautiful as I am tends to tire of watching his own reflection do nothing after several hours… But that is beside the point. How on Earth can you accuse me of slowing you down?”
As he said this, Ryan began impatiently shifting from foot to foot, subsequently causing his carefully laced garters to come undone and pool about his boney ankles. It took all of William’s self restraint (and then some) to refrain from punching him. However, the tailor was not a stupid man and he knew that should he so much as lay a finger on the prince, Smith would destroy him.
Instead of resorting to violence, William bent down and picked up the garters, lacing them again (for what had to be the tenth time that day) with another grimace. Prince Ryan watched him work through the huge vanity mirror that was propped up in front of him.
“I don’t think these compliment my figure,” he stated when William had finished.
“Nothing compliments your figure,” Spencer sniggered from the doorway. “You don’t have one.”
“That’s no way to speak to a prince, you bastard!” Ryan cried back, hopping down from the stool in outrage and flailing his arms murderously in Spencer’s direction. Wraps of silk went flying in every direction, which served only to make his bodyguard laugh harder.
“Stop!” William yelled and the two boys froze mid-wrestle. His voice was stern and authoritative, and they both knew better than to mess with him when he was angry - the king would be sure to take his side over theirs. “Get back on the stool, your highness. Let me finish my job before you both get me fired for grievous bodily harm.”
Trailing back to the pedestal like a kicked puppy, Ryan climbed back into place and stuck his tongue out at Spencer over his shoulder. His friend wiggled his eyebrows back, still giggling, and Ryan bit his lip to hold in his own laughter. He didn’t want to annoy William further - he actually liked him, believe it or not, partly because he was far more skilled than the old tailor but mainly because he was a cool guy and he had really nice hair.
“Why can’t I dress in tweed like the princes of other kingdoms do?” Ryan asked after several minutes of near silence, but for the sounds of William working. “This whole silk nonsense is far too impractical.”
“We’ve been over this before, your highness. You cannot wear tweed because I refuse to allow it. I am employed to ensure that you look presentable and dress in a manner that befits a future king at all times - it would tarnish not only your reputation, but mine too, should I ever allow you to set foot in public wearing something as ghastly,” he paused, shuddering slightly, “as tweed.”
“Oh,” Ryan mumbled, his expression somewhat forlorn. He liked tweed.
Just as he opened his mouth to say this, there was a knock at the door.
“Go away!” The prince called cheerily, but Spencer had already stepped aside and opened the door, granting the knocking hand access. In the doorway stood one of the king's servants, his nervous blush visible through his shabby beard. Ryan squinted at the man, vaguely recognizing him as the one that always seemed to be trailing after his father.
“Your Highness,” he began with a low bow, “your father is waiting for you in the throne room.”
“Oh is he really?” Ryan said, raising an eyebrow in faux-surprise. Of course, he was well aware of this - he had received his summons at daybreak, but he didn’t have to admit to that. “I had no idea,” he lied smoothly. “For what does he require my services?”
“There is someone he wishes for you to meet, sire.”
“Ah,” the prince replied, “I see. Well, do tell him I’ll be there as soon as Mr. Beckett has finished my outfit for the day, would you?”
“Yes, of course your highness,” the man replied, stumbling a little over his words. Knowing that he had been dismissed, he gave another quick bow before shuffling his way out of the room. The door swung shut behind him with a dull thump, which was followed by the echoing sound of hasty footsteps pattering back down the hall.
“I’m almost finished with you,” William told the prince a few minutes later, pinning the final strip of material across the prince’s torso with a relieved sigh. On days like today, he really hated his job. “Let me just run a brush through your hair and then you can go.”
Easier said than done, Ryan thought with a grimace as William yanked at his hair relentlessly. He hated brushing his hair for this reason - it was far more painful than it was worth. And if the tailor got a small sense of satisfaction at the sight of the prince’s scowl, he kept it to himself, thinking that it served the boy right for being such a pest.
“That’s enough,” Ryan hissed as the other man battled past a particularly tough tangle. “It’s all pointing in the same direction now, and that’s good enough for me.”
William took a step back, running a critical eye over his masterpiece, before nodding and helping the prince down from his perch. “Go on, then,” he said, “you can go.”
“Finally,” Ryan exclaimed, and with that, he turned on his two thousand dollar heel and swirled out of the room in a blur of messy hair, smirk and silk. He grabbed onto Spencer’s sleeve as he went, practically dragging the boy out of the room with him. William watched them leave with an amused smirk.
***
“Don’t make a scene,” Spencer had pleaded with Ryan as the pair approached the throne room. “You know what happened last time.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Ryan replied, wrinkling his nose in confusion before lifting his leg and kicking open the heavy wooden doors in front of him. He proceeded to storm into the chamber wearing a thunderous expression; the one Spencer had caught him practicing in front of a mirror a week before.
Spencer bit back a groan - he had known this would happen.
“There is a good reason we have a moat,” Ryan shouted venomously, pointing his finger to the stranger that stood beside his father, “it’s to keep filth like you out of the palace, you perverted creep!”
The man’s eyes widened at this frosty reception, for he had never met the prince before nor had he been warned of the boy’s eccentricity. It was his first time visiting the palace. He was there in the hopes of forming an alliance between his kingdom and King Peter’s on behalf of his own king, King Patrick. He had thought it had been going well, but the prince’s harsh words indicated otherwise.
“Ah,” the king said with a nervous smile. “Here is my long awaited son. I trust you are well today, Ryan?”
“I was perfectly well today, Father, until I heard news of your summons,” he growled lowly to the king before turning his eyes back to the man at his side. “And who are you?” he demanded.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, sire. I’ve heard many a kind remark about you. I am Lord Weekes from the kingdom of Sta-“
“What sort of name is that?” Ryan interrupted, still wearing a stony expression.
“I’m afraid it’s the only one I have, your highness,” the man said, smiling thinly. “You may call me Dallon, if you’d prefer to.”
“I’d prefer to call you a rat faced shithead,” the prince deadpanned, “but Dallon will have to do for now, I suppose.”
“George Ryan Ross III,” the king snapped, clearly exasperated. “I have not raised you to insult every visitor we invite to the palace. Where are your manners? I don’t understand what’s gotten into you recently!”
“Stop bringing me suitors and perhaps my manners will return to their proper place - I will not marry one of these loveless fiends you present to me!”
Lord Weekes expression changed from confusion to horror in a matter of mere seconds as he gasped out “Suitors? W-what do you mean, suitors? I am not your suitor! I have a wife and two children at home.”
“That makes it even worse, you disgusting old man!” the prince screeched, earning himself a swift kick in the shins from his father.
“I am so, so sorry Lord Weekes,” the king told him earnestly, “Ryan, we’ve been over this. I am not trying to marry you off to a wealthy stranger. That is not what ‘forming alliances’ means. Stop being ridiculous and apologize this instant!”
“I am not being ridiculous,” the boy countered, scowling at his father. “I know your game, don’t ever forget that - I’m onto you and you’re little plot. I can see what you’re trying to do and I’ll have you know that it won’t work.”
Prince Ryan stomped back out of the room, leaving the two bemused men behind him with the loud slam of the door. He couldn’t help but feel a little proud of his latest endeavor to defy his father’s intentions. While he’d always had a flair for the dramatic, he knew that he had truly outdone himself this time.
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Pete sighed, running an exasperated hand through his hair. “Please accept my most sincere apologies, Lord Weekes. That boy is impossible!”
“Don’t worry about it,” Dallon replied, offering the king a weak smile. “My three year old son gets like that sometimes, I completely understand.”
Outside, Ryan stood with his ear pressed against the cold wood of the door, trying to catch snatches of the conversation within. Not that he really needed to listen, of course, for he already knew that they were sure to be discussing their God awful plans and schemes to have him married.
He knows how the story goes - he’s seen it happen a thousand times before, (and rest assured, he has collected his evidence from books, paintings and various other reliable sources) where the handsome and beautiful prince’s heart is sold to the wealthiest bidder as if he is no more than a common prostitute.
Beside him, Spencer Smith shook his head slowly, watching his best friend with a disbelieving frown. He wondered how it was that Ryan had convinced himself entirely that his father would marry him off to a stranger when even the notion of this was completely ridiculous. Spencer had known the king for all his life and he had always been a kind and loving father with nothing but his son’s happiness in mind.
However, no matter how often he’d tried to convince the prince of this, it had never worked. Ryan was hotheaded, irrational, stubborn and, at times, completely moronic. He was, for lack of a better expression, absolutely stark-raving bonkers, as is often the case with people who possess unnaturally high levels of intelligence.
Spencer often wondered how someone so clever also be the most stupid, oblivious person on the planet.
“Come on,” he said, placing a soothing hand on Ryan’s lower back, “let’s go and get some fresh air, cool off a little.”
The sudden touch caused the boy to jump, resulting in him knocking his head hard against the door. “Fine. But Jesus, Spence,” he mumbled, rubbing at his forehead with a frown, “give a prince a little warning next time?”
***
The sun was still high in the sky as the two boys stood with their arms resting on the railing of a balcony that hung over the royal gardens. They were pretty high up, high enough to see for miles around, but they were used to it. They’d both grown up within the walls of the palace. At least, Spencer had - he was pretty sure Ryan was still exactly the same as he had been when they were five and first introduced to one another.
Smiling fondly at the memory, he turned to the prince and asked, “You feeling better yet?”
“Was never feeling bad in the first place,” Ryan said with a nonchalant shrug, and although Spencer knew he was lying, he also knew better than to pursue the matter. When his friend changed the topic, Spencer gladly went with it. “Hey,” the prince gasped suddenly, leaning out over the gardens and pointing enthusiastically, “Who’s that guy, Spence?”
“Uh,” he replied intelligently, squinting down at the ant-sized people below, “which one do you mean, Ryan?”
“The one with the horses, obviously,” he grinned. “Wait, a minute… what? Since when do we have horses?”
Spencer snorted, watching the boy who had caught Ryan’s attention with curious eyes. “You’ve always had them,” he told his friend absently as he studied the horse-boy. He was small and thin, with a messy mop of dark brown hair on his head and a wide grin that was visible even from such a distance. His clothes didn’t fit him properly, Spencer noted, his shirt hanging long and loose over his waist and his riding chaps only reaching his mid-calf, leaving his skinny ankles exposed.
He was nothing special, Spencer quickly deduced.
“Don’t be stupid. I think I’d know if I had horses, you dumbass,” the prince drawled, drawing Spencer’s attention back to him.
“No, you wouldn’t. You banned anyone from using the words ‘horse’, ‘pony’ and ‘stables’ in your presence after that time you fell of the pony you were learning to ride when we were eight. You also declared that if you ever saw a horse again, you would fetch a gun and shoot it on sight. Everyone’s been very cautious not to remind you about the stables at the back of the palace since then.”
“Oh,” Ryan blinked. “I knew I had a reason for hating horses.”
“Yeah,” Spencer agreed. “Don’t tell anyone I told you, though. People around here are pretty fond of them.”
“Sure, whatever. So who’s that guy?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never seen him before.” Spencer told him honestly, and Ryan huffed a little. “Maybe he’s new or something.”
“We should go check it out. Take me to the stables!”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea…”
“Well, lucky for me it wasn’t an idea, it was an order. Lead the way Smith, my humble peasant friend!” Ryan chirped, slinging a stick thin arm around his friend’s shoulders and steering him back into the palace with a wide smile. Spencer sighed, not bothering to put up any further fight. The battle was already won before it had begun in earnest - he’d never been able to deny Ryan of something he wanted.
***
“I’ve never seen this wall before,” Ryan commented blandly as he followed Spencer through the gardens. “Don’t think I’ve seen this one, either. That tree looks kind of different too, a little taller than most trees and maybe a bit greener.”
“I know,” Spencer grinned back at him. “It’s in my job description not to let you see it around here. That’s why we always used to play down by the lake.”
Ryan ignored him, continuing his monologue as if his friend hadn’t interrupted. “This is so weird,” he said, “I’m seeing my home in a whole new light. It’s like finding a room in a corridor you always thought was empty.”
“You live in a palace,” Spencer reminded him, “there are about a thousand rooms in that place that you’ve never been in, so shut up.”
“Whatever,” he muttered as he kicked up a clump of dirt from the path, “I was just trying to make this situation more relatable for a mere commoner like you. Is it much further?”
“Of course, your highness. And not much, no. I’m pretty sure you’ll know when we’re close. You’ll be able to smell it, ‘cause it stinks pretty badly of manure around there.”
As if on cue, Ryan’s nose was assaulted with the worst stench he’d ever experienced (apart from possibly that time that he and Spencer had stolen that fish from the kitchens - they had planned to bring it back to life, but they couldn’t figure out how, and then they’d been distracted from their mission and forgotten about the fish for several days only to stumble upon it’s rotting body a couple of weeks later - that smelled really bad).
“It’s just over here,” Spencer said, pushing a stray branch aside and holding it out of the way for the prince, who stepped through the clearing with wide eyes and clumsy feet. He was barely three steps in when he stumbled over a protruding tree root (one which Spencer should have warned him about, damn it) and collided with something surprisingly soft and warm and…
“Shit, are you okay?” came a worried voice from beneath him. Oh, he thought, looks like it’s alive then, what ever it was he’d landed on. “Sir?” the voice asked again, and he felt a hand shift to cradle his head.
I should probably open my eyes, Ryan thought, and then wondered when exactly it was that he’d clamped them shut. He blinked an eye open, then the other, frowning in confusion at the sight of an infinite plane of pale, cream coloured skin that stretched on endlessly before his eyes, littered only by the occasional freckle.
It took him a moment to realize his face was pressed against someone’s neck, nose brushing gently against a thumping pulse point and forehead resting on a sturdy jawline. He looked up slowly, past the soft curl at the base of the ear, the jutting angles of a sharp cheekbone and past the curve of lips that twisted downwards and the slight dip of a nose until he reached a pair of big, chocolate brown eyes.
He couldn’t move. It was like he was frozen in time, locked in the moment, trapped in an eternity of creamy flesh, chocolate irises and warmth. Then Spencer was there, hauling him back onto his feet, apologizing to the other boy, dusting Ryan off and propping him upright again like a larger-than-life china doll.
The prince was barely aware of any of this, seemingly unable to pull his attention back to the present properly. Instead his eyes remained firmly on the boy who still lay sprawled across the floor. He was blushing, Ryan noticed, and there were several stray pieces of hay tangled up in his hair. When the boy scrambled to his feet, apologizing, asking him if he was okay, the prince just stared back at him as if he was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.
He really was the most beautiful thing Ryan had ever seen.
It wasn’t until Spencer shook his shoulders hard, demanding to know if he was hurt, what it was that hurt, whether he was going to be okay, that his attention snapped back into focus and he nodded dumbly.
“Hi,” Ryan squeaked, because this was the boy that he’d seen out of the window and whoa, he looked even more amazing up close.
“Um,” the boy replied, his impossibly wide eyes growing impossibly wider. “Hello. Aren’t you Prince Ryan?”
“No, I’m not.” Ryan said at the same time Spencer confirmed that “Yes, he is.”
The prince shot a death glare at his best friend before stomping down on his foot with the two thousand dollar heel of his four thousand dollar shoes. Spencer yelped, pinched Ryan hard in the side then hissed an angry “what the hell was that for?”
“So you are Prince Ryan!” the boy concluded. Ryan nodded back slowly, biting his lip.
The boy looked completely horrified. “Shit,” he muttered, smacking a hand against his forehead. “First day here and you’re already knocking over the royal family. Nice work, Brendon, real good job there.”
“Brendon is a nice name,” Ryan told him, hoping to divert attention away from the fact that he was a prince because clearly that information hadn’t gone down too well. The other boy, Brendon, paused at the compliment and he turned his nervous eyes back to the prince slowly, disbelievingly. Ryan felt his breath catch in his throat.
“Thank you, your highness,” Brendon babbled, seeming to remember himself and his place and bowing low. “Um… yes. H-how can I uh, help you?”
“Help me? Oh. Y-yes, of course.” Ryan stammered. He could feel his cheeks growing hot as he flailed around for a suitable response because shit, he hadn’t planned this far ahead and now he didn’t know what to say. Beside him, Spencer rolled his eyes.
“We’re here to visit the horses,” he intervened, “Prince Ryan simply adores them.”
“Do you really, your highness?” Brendon asked and his eyes lit up, a wide grin stretching across his face. “I’d heard that you hate them!”
“Hahaha,” Ryan said awkwardly, his face showing no signs of amusement. Spencer bit back his grin. “Funny, hah, how funny that you should hear something as untrue as that. That’s what I get for being a prince I suppose, silly rumors circulating and the likes. Of course I like horses. Everyone likes horses. Especially me. I love horses. They’re so horsey and uh… lovely?”
He could feel Spencer’s whole body trembling beside him with silent laughter and he cursed him viciously with his mind. In that moment he would have happily signed his death warrant and handed over to the executioner without a hint of remorse, despite the fact that he was Ryan’s best and only friend - he was such an asshole.
Luckily for Spencer, though, Brendon seemed to have been completely sucked in by the blatant lie, nodding in agreement and smiling impossibly wider. “Exactly!” he exclaimed, “I couldn’t agree with you more, your highness! Would you like me to show you the way to the stables or to saddle the horses up and prepare them for riding?”
“No, no!” Ryan replied immediately, looking more than a little bit terrified. “I just remembered that I have some um, urgent Royal business to attend to. So really I should be back there in the castle attending to that.”
“Oh.” The disappointment in his voice was evident. “Very well then, your highness. If ever you need any assistance with the horses, do not hesitate to summon for me!”
“Thank you, I’ll be sure to!” Ryan called in agreement, waving over his shoulder as he hurried back to the palace with Spencer at his heels. Of course, his friend quickly took to taunting and teasing him every step of the way, but even that couldn’t wipe the small, shy smile from the prince’s lips.
* * *
“Dear Brendon,” Ryan wrote carefully at the top of a fresh sheet of parchment in his most perfect, cursive handwriting before chewing thoughtfully on the end of his quill. Hundreds and thousands of abandoned letters lay scattered about his feet and his hands and cheeks and lips were splattered with ink stains. He’d been doing this for hours.
“Spencer, it’s just no good!” he lamented to his friend before knocking his inkwell to the ground with an angry swoop of his stick-thin arm. It landed on its side on the plush white carpet, the black contents within spilling out, bleeding through the thick material and consuming it in a cloud of darkness. He sighed loudly, drawing up a thousand comparisons in his mind between his spoiled heart and the spoiled stretch of floor beneath his ink stained feet.
“Stop acting so emo,” Spencer commented from where he lay spread-eagled in the middle of Ryan’s four-poster bed, half buried under a mountain of cushions. “You barely even know the guy, so quit being an overdramatic little bitch. If you’ve got something to say to him, go and say it instead of sitting here sulking in your room.”
“I’m not sulking and I can’t just 'go and say it'. That’s a preposterous suggestion.” the prince replied, his incredulous tone laced with self-pity and sorrow. “You can’t just walk up to someone you’ve only met once and announce to them that you’re in love with them! Where’s the romance in that?”
“More like ‘where’s the logic in that?’” his friend muttered, and Ryan threw a screwed up ball of paper at him. It hit him square in the chest but it was far too light to deal any damage. Ryan pouted and Spencer laughed, unfurling the tattered sheet and quickly scanning through the half written love confessions that were scrawled inside.
“Enough with trying to write him creepy poetry, though,” he told the prince with an amused smirk. “Seriously, I don’t even understand the shit you come out with and I’m your best friend. I’d be surprised if he can read, let alone understand the complex inner workings of the deep and insightful Prince George Ryan Ross.”
“Don’t call me that,” Ryan retorted sulkily. “And of course he can read. I wouldn’t fall in love with a boy who can’t read.”
“You wouldn’t know if the boy can read or not, you’ve spent the whole of five minutes with him and then the whole of five days obsessing over him.”
“I know,” Ryan mumbled in defeat. He’d always been bad at scheming due to the rash ‘act first, think after’ attitude he had inherited from his father. But that was no way to deal with matters of the heart, as he had quickly come to realize. “That’s why you’ve got to help me come up with a plan, Spence. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
The prince flopped down on his bed with his body half on top of Spencer’s and half curled into his friend’s side. He sniffled slightly, allowing his bottom lip to jut out as he looked up at the other boy with his pathetically big puppy dog eyes - the ones Spencer had caught him asking one of the king's guard dogs to teach him the late night before.
“Fine,” Spencer agreed begrudgingly, “but only to shut you up.”
Next thing he knew a long pair of matchstick arms had wound their way around his torso, squeezing him so tightly that it was a struggle to breathe. “I knew there’s a reason I kept you!” Ryan told him happily, “You really are the best friend a prince could ask for.”
“I know.”
Two hours, several quarrels and at least ten sheets of parchment later, their plan was in place. An envelope addressed carefully to Brendon, sealed with hot wax and an imprint of the Royal Crest, sat at the bottom of the bed. “Dear Brendon,” the letter inside began, “I need to talk to you. Meet me by the stables at midnight tonight. I look forward to your company. Kind regards, Prince Ryan.”
Spencer had gone to fetch a servant to deliver the letter, leaving the prince alone in his chamber, staring at the letter with distaste. It was too simple, he thought, too much short and not enough sweet. However, Spencer had forbidden him from attempting to woo Brendon with his words, and he was usually right about those sorts of things.
“You’ll creep him out,” Spencer had told him after he had penned down a line that likened Brendon’s eyes to the moon. “Keep it simple.”
Ryan just hoped that their plan would work out.
* * *
The clocks chimed midnight as Ryan slipped out of his window, dressed in dark-as-the-night clothes and cheeks blackened with soot. He clambered down the wall with the aid of a long and thick chord of rope that was tied tightly to the rail of his balcony. At the foot of the building stood Spencer, dressed similarly to Ryan at the prince’s insistence. In one arm he carried a dimly lit lantern, lighting the way for this friend. The other was outstretched, ready to catch the other boy should he fall. Whenever he noticed Ryan faltering, he called soft words of encouragement up to him.
Ryan’s feet scrambled against the bricks and the rope burned shallow gashes into his palms from where he clutched at it too tightly. His progress was slow but he was nearly there, nearly there, just a few more steps to go until he reached the safety of solid ground. Of course, it was typical of him to stumble at the last hurdle and the rope slipped from his sweat-slicked hands suddenly with about a meter to go. Spencer was too slow to prevent him from collapsing into the flowerbed with a loud curse.
Undeterred by the slight hitch in the plan, Ryan sprang to his feet in an instant and grinned at Spencer proudly. “I did it!” he announced as he brushed the loose clumps of dirt from his clothes. Spencer nodded and patted his back proudly.
“Yeah, you did,” he agreed, and the two of them slapped their palms together in a victorious high five. “That’s the most difficult part out of the way, now let’s go get you your man!” and, spurned on by the adrenaline of breaking the rules (not that King Peter had ever said that they weren’t allowed out at night, or anything, but rules like that are unspoken) and sneaking out, the pair hurried on in the vague direction of the stables.
“Wait here.” Ryan instructed when they reached the clearing. “I’ll come back for you once I have won his heart.”
“Fine,” his friend replied, pulling his thick cloak tighter about his shoulders. Ryan nodded once, hesitating only slightly before he pushed his way through the last few branches. “Remember not to say anything weird!” Spencer called out after him, but the words slipped out unheard into the vastness of the night. The prince was already gone.
Brendon had been sat shivering on a haystack for hours, waiting nervously for the prince’s arrival. He had chewed his fingernails down to next-to nothing and gnawed anxiously at his lip until it was swollen and sore. He didn’t have a watch to tell the time, nor did he have a coat to keep out the chill. He hoped that the prince wouldn’t take much longer.
He jumped suddenly at the sound of a twig snapping not far away, then the loud rustling of footsteps coming closer. His heart beat faster in his chest and he didn’t dare even to breathe. He had no idea why he had been summoned there in the dead of night, but he had a feeling it couldn’t be good.
“Damn it,” a voice muttered, “Stupid lantern going out when I need it most. Brendon?” he called, “Brendon, are you here?”
“Your highness?” the stable boy replied timidly, his words shaky as they slipped from his lips, which quivered in the cold. There was the sound of a match being stuck, a lantern lit, (relit) and then the prince’s face was visible before him, glowing golden in the lamplight.
“Maybe I should’ve lit that again sooner,” Ryan said, blinking in the sudden brightness. “It went out before I got close enough to see where you were. It would’ve probably made finding you here little easier.” He hung the lantern carefully on the stable door before joining Brendon on the little haystack, sitting close enough that their thighs brushed and their knees knocked together. “Have you been waiting here long?” Ryan asked.
Brendon shook his head, but his icy skin and rattling teeth said otherwise.
“You must be cold,” Ryan stated, slipping his cloak from his own shoulders and hanging around Brendon’s instead. The boy shook his head in protest but the prince placed a finger over his lips, effectively silencing him.
“Your highness,” he whispered, “why did you call me out here tonight? Did you need assistance with the horses?”
“You should call me Ryan. And no, that’s not it I uh, I don’t… I don’t even like horses. They’re scary and big and I never know what they’re thinking and their teeth are stupid.” You’re rambling, Ryan, he told himself. Get back to the point at hand. “I just wanted to see you. And to ask if you liked the flowers I sent. And um. To tell you I’m in love with you.”
“You sent all those flowers? For me?” Brendon asked, gesturing towards the piles of splendid bouquets that surrounded the stable. He’d received bunch after bunch over the course of the last few days, and although he’d insisted that they must have been given to the wrong person, the bearded man who delivered them had been quite adamant that he accept them.
“Of course I did,” Ryan scoffed, “I’m in love with you.”
“Stop saying that,” the other boy told him with a frown. “You can’t be in love with me, you barely know me. Don’t say things that you don’t mean.”
“Did you not like the flowers?” the prince asked, and the little confidence that his voice had carried disappeared entirely. “If you didn’t like them, you can say, you know. Or perhaps it is not the flowers that are the matter. Perhaps it is I. Do you not like me, Brendon?”
“I never said that, your highne-”
“I told you to call me Ryan,” the prince corrected. “There’s no need for formalities with someone you are courting. Possibly courting. If you wouldn’t mind that, that is. Courting I mean. If you wouldn’t mind courting with me. I mean, me courting you, or something like that.”
By the time he finished his face shone a thousand bright shades crimson, scarlet and ruby red in the firelight. His honeycomb caramel eyes locked onto Brendon’s, melting his heart, silently begging him to say yes.
“Ryan, no. I - I can’t do that.”
There was a pause and then the other boy’s face fell. “Why not?” he asked, directing his question to the ground.
“I’m not good enough for you. You’re a prince and I’m just a stable boy. I have no money, no wealth, no status. I have nothing to offer you,” his words were quiet, but spoken with conviction. “I can’t accept your love because I do not have the means with which to return it. I am sorry, your highness, but this is for the best.”
“Brendon,” Ryan said, but the other boy was drawing away from him. “Brendon, wait!” He wrapped a warm hand and warm fingers around a cold, stick-thin wrist, the thump of Brendon’s heartbeat pounding against his fingertips.
“Brendon, I don’t need you to have money, or status or any of that other stupid stuff. If I wanted that, I would have married one of those men that my father brings before me in the palace. That isn’t what I want. I just want you.”
“Ryan, I-” He began, but his sentence was never completed, cut off by a gentle press of lips against his own. The kiss was soft, chaste, and gone before it truly began.
“Sorry,” Ryan whispered, bringing a hand up to cup Brendon’s jaw, holding him in place. They were close, so very close, close enough that their breath mingled in the cold night air. His other hand twisted gently in the soft curls at the nape of Brendon’s neck. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have done that, but you look so beautiful when you’re worried.”
“I can’t do this.” Brendon told him, pulling away from Ryan’s embrace and turning to leave. Almost instantly the prince’s arms were around his waist, chin hooked over his shoulder and chest warm against Brendon’s back. “No, don’t go,” he pleaded, his lips brushing gently across Brendon’s cheek as he spoke. “Don’t leave me. I love you.”
Brendon sighed, and Ryan turned him around in his arms, drew him closer still so that they were pressed toe-to-toe, knee-to-knee, chest-to-chest and beating heart to beating heart. “Trust me,” the prince whispered, pressing his words against Brendon’s lips. “You have to trust me because I’m in love with you.”
“Stop,” Brendon begged, trying to push Ryan away but somehow only drawing him closer. “Stop saying things like that or I might start believing you.”
“How touching,” interrupted King Pete, and both boys sprang apart with a cry of surprise. He’d watched the entire scene from where he was concealed behind a tree with a soppy smile playing about his face. He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye before continuing. “You two really are sweet. Truly you are. I’m so glad you have found someone to be happy with, Ryan.”
“How did you find us?” the prince demanded. “Who told you that we’d be here?”
The king shrugged, smiling at his son. “I’m the king,” he said simply. “Naturally, I know everything. Besides that, everyone knows that this is how all the best stories end, with the unhappy prince falling in love with the lonely stable boy.”
“I won’t give him up,” Ryan insisted with a defiant glare, ignoring the words that the King had spoken and drawing the other boy close again. “I don’t care what you say, father, I will never settle for anyone apart from Brendon. If you can’t accept that then I will run away with him to another kingdom and you will never hear from us again!”
“You’re so stupid,” came another voice, and then Spencer stepped into view. “Seriously, Ryan, you’re the dumbest person I’ve ever met. In fact, I didn’t realize it was possible for someone to be so stupid, even you. I thought that if I told your father of our plan, he would be able to convince you that he isn’t plotting against you, but no. You’re too stupid for that.”
“You betrayed me?” Ryan screamed, furious that the boy he’d taken to be his best friend had been the one to stab him in the back. “How dare you, you traitorous basta-”
“Maybe if you listened to someone else for a change,” Spencer interrupted him, “you might realize that you aren’t always right, that King Peter isn’t trying to marry you off to a stranger and that I haven’t betrayed you in my attempts in trying to prove that to you. He’s happy that you’ve found Brendon, as am I, and as is everyone else, so stop being stupid and acting like an ignorant pig and come and celebrate with us!”
Ryan was torn, unable to decide whether to trust his best friend (possibly former best friend as of two minutes ago) or not.
“He’s telling the truth,” Brendon declared suddenly, turning to the prince with eyes a perfect shade of serious. “He is a loyal friend to you, Ryan. It is obvious that he would never go against you.”
“Oh,” the prince replied. “You’re right. I didn’t think of it like that.”
“How precious!” The king practically squealed, clapping his hands together in delight. “I think a celebration is in order. Jon, call together the servants. Tell them to prepare a magnificent banquet in honor of my son and his wonderful new lover in our magnificent ballroom tomorrow. Everyone is invited!”
Spencer, Ryan and Brendon all exchanged confused glances, wondering whom the king was addressing. Then out of the shadows of the bushes climbed another man, the one Brendon recognized as the flower deliverer. “Of course, your highness,” he said with a bow, before scurrying hastily back towards the palace with leaves and branches sticking haphazardly out from his beard and hair.
“A banquet, your highness?” Brendon asked in awe. “Really, there’s no need for you to go to all that effort for someone as lowly as me.”
“Oh please, enough of that,” the king tutted as he pulled the boy into a quick hug. “You can call me Pete. After all, we’ll be family soon enough! And of course we’re going to hold a banquet for you,” Pete told him incredulously. “All good fairytales end with a banquet.”
And hold a banquet the king did.
* * *
People from all across the country flocked to the palace to see the beautiful boy who had unknowingly won the prince’s heart. There was food, music and dancing and the entire kingdom was filled with more joy and celebration than ever before.
Among the couples that swirled around the dance floor stood two boys, wrapped up in each other’s arms and entirely oblivious to the world around them. “I love you,” Ryan whispered to Brendon as he pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Around them, the crowds of people, commoners and royalty alike, cheered and clapped.
Blushing, the ex-stable-boy began to stammer the words back to him. “No,” Ryan told him softly, “don’t say that because you feel you have to. Save it until you mean it.”
“I already do mean it,” Brendon replied, and he was surprised to note how true these words actually were. “I really do. I love you too, Ryan.”
The prince’s face blushed pink, peach, rose as he pulled Brendon towards him for a long and passionate kiss and of course, their lips fit together perfectly.
Jon Walker, the king’s bearded assistant, stood watching the happy couple from the food table that stood on the border of the dance floor. He perched on the corner with a plate full of chicken and a glass full of punch, content to watch them as their bodies swirl together across the room in perfect sync with each other.
“Cute, aren’t they?” commented someone beside him and he jumped, spilling drink down himself in surprise. The other boy smirked, not bothering to offer Jon a hand cleaning himself off but instead continuing to talk as if nothing had happened. “I’m glad they got their fairytale ending,” he said.
“Me too,” Jon agreed, and they exchanged an easy smile. “So,” the older man asked casually, “have you ever heard that one tale about the king’s assistant who fell madly in love with the prince’s bodyguard?”
“I haven’t actually,” Spencer laughed, “but I’m sure you wouldn’t mind telling me all about it after you've joined me for a dance.”
“I’m sure you’re right,” Jon nodded, accepting the hand Spencer had offered to him and leading him out into the sea of swirling bodies with a grin. Their dancing was clumsy, Spencer thought, and Jon kept stepping on his feet, but that was okay, he decided, because Jon had a rather splendid beard and a nice smile and a cute little lisp that grew increasingly prominent as the night went on.
The king was watching the boys dancing with teary eyes and a proud smile when Lord and Lady Weekes approached him, their two young children trailing behind them happily. “Congratulations,” Dallon told to the king, reaching over and giving his hand a firm shake. “We’re delighted to see the prince so happy.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Pete replied, “and thank you for coming back after my son’s awful behavior the last time you met. I trust that all is well in you kingdom?”
“I am merely accompanying King Patrick, your highness,” Dallon confessed, looking a little guilty. “I was not sure I would be welcomed back to the palace by the prince, but the king insisted I bring him here. I think he mentioned something about wanting to meet you.”
“Indeed I did,” said a small, cheerful looking man who had appeared by the Lord’s elbow (literally, by his elbow. Dallon really was unnaturally tall.) “I thought this would be the perfect time to introduce myself formally.”
“Perfect indeed,” Pete replied with a wide smile, and if he was talking about Patrick himself more than he was his timing, no one needed to know. The night wore on, the crowds thinned, and they all lived happily ever after.
THE END.
A/N: Wow, if you're reading this then I'm guessing you made it all the way too the end! Thank you for sticking about for all this nonsense! This is the first fic I've ever written, so I'd really love to hear your opinions - any comments/criticism is very welcomed! Thanks again :-) <3