Fic: Everything's Magic (1/2)
Everything's Magic
[Jon/Spencer | 15600 words | NC-17]
The day after Jon Walker turned nine years old, his father married another woman.
Holiday exchange fic written for my darling belle_bing, who inadvertently told me some months ago that Ever After was her favorite movie. This is very loosely based on it, but the general Cinderella story is still intact.
Thank yous go out to sweetrecovery and adellyna for making this story so much better, to arsenicjade for talking me into the porny epilogue (which she all but wrote for me), and to siryn99 for being my personal cheerleader.
The day after Jon Walker turned nine years old, his father married another woman.
The morning of the wedding, Jon stood in his father's room as the servants fussed over Jon's hair.
"We've got to look respectable, Jonny," his father said, nervous and proud. He crouched down in front of Jon and straightened his collar. "Your new mother needs to see what a fine young man she's bringing into her family."
"She's not my mother," Jon replied sharply. He'd never met Lady Deveraux before, only knew of her and her son and daughter from his father's accounts. She seemed to make his father very happy, and for that Jon was grateful, but no one would ever replace Jon's mother.
His father hugged him, cupping the back of Jon's head. "We'll be a family, along with Victoria and Ryland. You'll see-a brother and sister, Jonny! It will be wonderful to have this house full of life again."
Soon a carriage arrived, and Jon and his father stood outside with the rest of the Walker Manor household waiting patiently for the new lady and her children to appear. Out the corner of his eye, Jon spotted Tom and Brendon lurking in the bushes, and he smiled. Of course they weren't allowed to greet Lady Deveraux; their mothers, both long-time housekeepers to the Walkers, would sooner be burned alive than let their sons embarrass the staff. Regardless, Jon winked at them, and Brendon laughed and waved.
When the door opened and Lady Deveraux stepped out, everyone grew quiet. She was beautiful, but had a tight, sharp look about her. She didn't smile as she surveyed the staff, and it was only when Jon's father exclaimed, "Darling, welcome at last! We're so glad you're here!" that the silence was broken. He rushed forward and hugged the Lady with great affection, and over their shoulders Jon finally noticed two small heads peering out, a boy and girl. They slowly crawled out of the carriage after their mother, who said, almost sounding bored, "Come along, children, and meet your new brother."
Jon swallowed and forced a polite smile at the girl, whom he assumed was Victoria. "Hullo," he said. "I'm Jon."
Her eyes widened, and she replied, slightly horrified, "You've dirt on your cheek."
"Oh." Jon rubbed the back of his hand over his face. "Sorry." He hadn't meant to chase Tom around the yard earlier, but Brendon had insisted Jon was It; their game of tag was never ending.
Victoria wrinkled her nose. The boy, Ryland, merely hung back behind her and smiled crookedly at Jon.
"Well, come on, then!" Jon's father announced. "We've got a wedding to get to!"
It was, for all intents and purposes, a good day.
Then, three days later, Jon's father dropped dead of a sudden heart attack in the stables, and Jon was left alone.
~*~
Jon was having the best dream, his favorite, the one where he's running down a beach as fast as his legs would carry him, the spray of the ocean in his eyes and the warmth of the sun against his back. The sand is cool and soft beneath his feet, and he feels as if he could keep running forever and never stop.
"Jonathan! Jonathan Jacob, where in God's name is our breakfast?"
The ocean disappeared abruptly, and he was left with the reality of his own tiny, cramped bed. The sun was still warm, but much too bright for it to be just after dawn.
Shit.
He scrambled out of bed and threw on his moth-eaten trousers and shirt, bumping against the walls of the little tool shed he now called home. He was late, and now Lady Deveraux would surely have his head for making her wait on breakfast.
Tom was in the garden planting tomato seeds when Jon came flying past, his shirt still unbuttoned and his feet bare. "Jonny, it's nearly eight o'clock!" he called, frowning. "She's been screaming for you all morning!"
"I know, all right?" Jon yelled back, finishing the buttons and shoving his shirt tails into his pants. He plowed through the back door to the kitchen and nearly slammed into Brendon, who looked harried but relieved to see him.
"You're-"
"Late, I know," Jon gasped, already yanking the good serving trays off the shelves and throwing the silver tea pot and spoons onto them. "Are the eggs done?"
"Yes, I've been reheating them in order to stall her. Victoria came back twice to make sure you weren't 'snacking.'" Brendon made air quotes and rolled his eyes.
"No, I merely overslept. Damn rooster never liked me all that much." He poured hot water into the pot with one hand and dropped tea leaves and a couple cinnamon sticks in with the other. "Bacon?"
"All set." There was a reason Jon thanked his lucky stars every day that Brendon took over the kitchen after his mother passed away.
Jon took a deep breath and checked to make sure there were three tea cups and three spoons on the tray. "Well, then pray I don't get eaten alive."
Brendon squeezed his shoulder. "Honestly, Jon, I pray that every day." His tone was only partially joking.
Jon bit his lip, steeled his nerves, then hoisted the tray onto his shoulder and pushed open the door into the main dining room.
"Well, well. Sleeping Beauty arrives at last," came Victoria's drawled response.
Jon pretended not to hear her. "Sorry, I...lost track of time." He set the tray on the edge of the large mahogany table, at Lady Deveraux's left. Victoria was seated to the right as usual.
"Goodness, Jonathan, I simply do not know what to do with you." Lady Deveraux sniffed and reached out to pluck at the tips of Jon's hair, the hair he had neglected to brush in his haste to make it to the kitchen. He kept his head down and concentrated on filling the teacups. "I feed and shelter you, and this is the thanks I get? Late breakfast and you looking like some kind of vagabond who wandered in off the road?"
He chewed the inside of his cheek, setting her cup beside her plate. "Sorry, ma'am," he mumbled, the tips of his ears burning. Jon knew better than to not check his appearance before showing his face in the dining room.
She glanced down. "Oh my god, where are your shoes?" she cried.
"Uh." Jon had completely forgotten his bare feet. "I don't know. In the shed?"
Across the table, Victoria giggled. Meanwhile, Ryland sat quietly like always, eyes watching Jon with careful consideration. Out of the three of them, it was Ryland whom Jon tried the hardest to like.
Lady Deveraux rolled her eyes. "Pitiful." She waved her hand at Jon after he'd set out all the cups. "Go and fetch our eggs before that Urie boy burns them all."
Jon bowed and gathered up the tray before leaving the room.
He didn't eat breakfast until two hours later, after his morning chores were completed. He was curled up next to the stove in the kitchen as Brendon prepared the meat for that evening's supper, munching on cornbread and a bowl of potato stew, and occasionally feeding crumbs to one of the kitchen cats, a gray tabby he'd named Clover.
"You need to say something," Brendon said, rubbing spices into the slabs of meat.
"'Bout what?" Jon asked around a mouthful of cornbread.
Brendon turned around and crossed his arms, but not before wiping his hands off on the apron tied around his waist. "Your birthday is soon," he said softly. "Surely she'd let you do something special for your twentieth-"
Jon sighed and waved him off. "After all this time, you really think she would care?" He shrugged, finishing off the last of the stew. "It doesn't matter. It's just another birthday, nothing more. Life goes on."
Brendon looked about ready to launch into a fierce contradiction, only he was interrupted by Tom bursting through the kitchen door, holding a large envelope in his hand.
"This," he gasped, then swallowed and started again. "This was just delivered by one of the king's messengers." His eyes were wide, almost giddy. "He said there's to be a ball ."
Jon rolled his eyes. "There's always a ball of some sort happening at the palace. You're just excited to see mail."
"This ball is special-it's for the prince's birthday." Tom smiled and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level. "Rumor has it the king is tired of his son's gallivanting and is using the ball as an excuse to find him a suitable mate."
Brendon laughed. "That may be difficult, since every eligible single person in the kingdom will be attending once word gets out."
"And that will no doubt include Victoria," Jon sighed, getting up from the floor and taking the envelope from Tom. "Might as well give them the news now."
As expected, Lady Deveraux and Victoria were beside themselves with glee, having already heard the marriage rumors. Ryland took one look at the invitation and pursed his lips; he gave Jon a tired look, and Jon shrugged helplessly.
"Mother, we've got to go to the market tomorrow, I've nothing to wear," Victoria moaned. "Everything I own is so out of date and hideous, there's no way I could ever possibly show my face around Prince Spencer."
Prince Spencer. Jon rolled the name around in his head and smirked to himself. He'd heard the name before, and always thought it simply sounded royal and utterly pretentious. Why anyone would want to subject themselves to possibly being married to such a person was beyond his comprehension.
"Of course we'll go into town," Lady Deveraux said. "Ryland, you're coming, too. I want you both looking your best that night."
Ryland opened his mouth to object, but Jon interrupted him. "But my lady, the stables-we need supplies to fix the stalls, and the shingles on the far west side of the manor need replacing-"
"Jonathan." She smiled sweetly at him, which meant Jon was barely being tolerated at the moment. "We have more important matters at hand. Your supplies will have to wait."
Yes, of course they would. When it came to the maintenance and upkeep of Walker Manor, everything came second to Lady Deveraux and Victoria's needs, which was why they were quickly sliding into more debt than they would ever be able to handle. Jon had been watching his home slowly deteriorate before his eyes for years now, his father's money all but gone, and there wasn't a thing Jon could do about it.
Now Lady Deveraux was going to go shopping for new clothes. Jon wanted to demand what money she expected to buy gowns with, but he bit his lip and said nothing.
"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, hands clenched tightly behind his back.
She flicked her hand toward him in dismissal. "I believe there's laundry to be done, is there not?"
Jon left the room before he slapped the smug smile off Victoria's face.
~*~
The ladies (with a reluctant Ryland in tow) came back from town the next afternoon with armloads of fabric and jewelry. It wasn't until later that evening that Jon realized his mother's best china tea set was missing; another casualty to Lady Deveraux's over-indulgence.
Since the nights were cooler without the unforgiving glare of the sun, Jon spent the evening mending the stable doors as best he could with Tom.
"She sold my mother's china," Jon said. His tone was numb, emotionless; there wasn't much Lady Deveraux could do these days that shocked him. "Pretty soon there will be nothing left and she'll start selling off the window drapes, or the bed posts."
"She could just sell us all and we could run away and start our own village," Tom replied dryly as he held a board in place for Jon to nail down.
"Don't even joke about that. You don't even know-I wake up some nights worrying that you and Brendon will be gone by morning."
Tom set his hammer on the ground and wrapped his arm around Jon's shoulders. "We'd never leave without a fight, Jonny," he whispered against Jon's cheek. Then he pulled back, giving Jon a hard, considering look.
"What?" Jon asked.
"You should go."
"Away?" He laughed. "I realize I probably still smell of supper and hay, but still-"
"No, I mean to the ball. You should go, you deserve to."
"Please. You know me better than that-do I really have any place at a stuffy ball being held for what is no doubt an equally stuffy prince just so he can find someone dumb enough to marry him?"
Tom grinned and scrubbed his hand through Jon's hair. "No, but you do have a place somewhere that's not here being Lady Deveraux's slave. It's your birthday in a week, you deserve something fun."
"You and Brendon have been talking about this, haven't you?"
"Maybe a little." Tom waggled his eyebrows. "We're going to sneak you out."
Jon huffed loudly, tossing his own hammer onto a nearby stack of hay. "No, you're not. Besides, I don't have anything to wear that doesn't make me look like a servant, and I'm not about to ask Lady Deveraux's permission; I'd be scrubbing her bathroom floor for a week."
"Don't you still believe in birthday presents, Jonny? Bren and I have a plan, and it's a surprise, you'll see."
Jon shook his head and laughed ruefully. "All right. But you're both idiots. Idiots I love dearly, but still idiots."
Tom nodded solemnly and hugged Jon again. "Fair enough."
~*~
A tailor arrived at the house the next morning to alter Victoria's new gown and Ryland's new jacket. Jon led him upstairs to Victoria's room, wincing a little as the man babbled on and on about the impending ball and how in-demand his services had been.
"It's to be quite a spectacle," the man said, his eyes wide and giddy. "From what I've heard, it will be unlike anything the kingdom's ever seen!"
"Wonderful," Jon drawled, and held the door open for him. He didn't even blink when Lady Deveraux clapped happily at the man's appearance and added quickly, "Yes, fine, that will be all, Jonathan," shutting the door in his face.
"It's only been a few days and I'm already sick to death of anything related to this damn ball," Jon grumbled later that afternoon as he took the linens down off the back clothes line. He still remembered watching the housekeepers (one being Tom's mother) fold the sheets in the summer sunshine and gossip about frivolous things.
"Don't say that just yet," Tom replied slyly from the garden a few feet away. His arms were covered in topsoil from pulling carrots. "You never know, you may have a fairy godmother arrive and whisk you away to the palace that night."
Jon snorted. "I'm sure she will. Only she'll have to wait until the evening's chores are completed, and by then I'll be so exhausted I won't even care enough for her to bother." He clucked his tongue.
Tom shook his head and laughed, pointing a dirty finger at Jon. "We'll see!"
~*~
The night of the ball arrived much too quickly for Jon's liking. Lady Deveraux and Victoria were more impossible to live with than normal, and that was quite a feat in Jon's book. Every topic of conversation revolved around the prince and his sought-after marriage proposal, but the worst part came whenever Jon was in the room. Victoria took to commenting on things such as, "It's a shame Jon's not more presentable," only to have her mother reply sweetly, "Oh darling, that's only because he's simply not fit for the public eye. Some people were never meant to be around royalty, unfortunately." They spoke as if ignorant of Jon's presence, but Jon knew all too well that they were aware of him.
It hurt more than Jon would ever admit. He'd already convinced himself he didn't care at all about the ridiculous ball, or the prince. He had a house to take care of.
But not long after Victoria, Lady Deveraux, and Ryland had departed in the carriage, decked in their finest (Ryland looked bored and uncomfortable; he waved weakly at Jon on his way out the door), Brendon grabbed Jon's arm and said, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "Come with me."
Jon frowned curiously as Brendon dragged him out into to the stables. "What's going on? You're not going to show me the dead possum again, are you? Because I keep telling you, there's nothing scary about-"
"No, it's not the possum. Look." Brendon came to a stop abruptly in front of the stable doors and pointed to one the far stalls. It was completely cleaned out, and instead of a horse standing there, two men with an array of fancy clothes stood talking quietly to Tom. The clothes were scattered everywhere, draped over the stall walls. They looked expensive.
"I don't understand," Jon said slowly. "Who are those men? Why do they have clothes all over the stable?"
Brendon beamed at him. "Happy birthday!"
Jon gawked. "What?"
Brendon's exclamation got Tom and the men's attention. They all looked in Jon's direction, and the much shorter of the two men smiled. "Ahh, he's here!" he said, rubbing his hands together, and the other man, tall and lanky like Ryland, immediately began sorting the garments into piles.
"You're going to the ball, Jon," Brendon replied firmly, putting both hands on Jon's shoulders. "Tom and I are giving you this opportunity." He waved his hand at the two men. "That's Pete and Gabe-they're traveling tailors."
Jon opened his mouth, but had no idea what to say. Meanwhile, Tom ran up behind Brendon and took hold of Jon's wrist. "C'mon, Jonny, they're waiting for you! We haven't much time!" He pulled him toward the empty stall that was now apparently a makeshift tailor shop.
"But...I don't..." Jon wanted to object, since he knew neither Tom nor Brendon had much money to their name; surely this was costing them a fortune. There were better things for them to spend money on than frivolous jackets and pants for Jon to go to some ball.
And yet...the colors of the fabrics were so vibrant and beautiful. Jon hadn't seen colors such as these since he was a child.
The shorter man, Pete, whipped out a tape measure and started measuring Jon's arms and chest. "This will do fine," he murmured under his breath, then said to Gabe over his shoulder, "Hand me the blue jacquard, will you?"
Gabe held out a vivid blue silk shirt with wide cuffs, while Pete made quick work out of shedding Jon's own shabby gray shirt. Pete tossed it aside, wrinkling his nose at it as if the dingy material offended him.
"The sleeves might be a bit long, but we'll fix that," Gabe said as Pete buttoned Jon into the new, expensive shirt. Jon had never felt such luxurious silk against his skin.
"Have you given any thought to your hair?" Pete asked, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully at Jon.
He chewed his lip and tugged a hand self-consciously through his bangs. "Um?"
"I can barely talk him into cutting it," Brendon piped up, and Pete laughed.
"Then we can fix that as well." He scrubbed the back of his hand over Jon's scruffy beard. "Gabe, d'you bring the razor with you, by chance?"
Gabe grinned. "Of course. I'm always prepared."
Twenty minutes later, Jon's hair was trimmed and his cheeks were clean-shaven for the first time in several years. Pete and Gabe had dressed him in a pair of black trousers made of the softest wool, and even though he'd been forced into wearing fancy shoes, they were shiny and new...which was how Jon himself felt at the moment.
"I don't look like me," he said with a bemused smile as he looked into the mirror Pete held up.
"That's good-Lady Deveraux will never recognize you," Brendon smirked.
Jon laughed, still rubbing his fingers over his naked cheeks. "What do I do now?" he asked sheepishly, looking from Brendon to Tom.
"We have a carriage," Gabe replied as he began packing up their goods and supplies. "Since our inn is not far from the palace, we'll simply take you to the ball ourselves."
"And since you'll never get into the ball without an invitation, you are now Jonathan William Kingsley, first cousin to Lord Kingsley II," Pete added matter-of-factly. "Who just so happens to be away on a last minute excursion to the Far East at the moment."
Jon was a little speechless as the rest of them rushed him out of the stable and toward the very ornate carriage that was waiting behind the barn. The beautiful silver mare hitched to the front was grazing patiently; every flicker of her tail in the moonlight looked almost iridescent.
"Bren, where did you and Tom find these men?" Jon hissed.
"Believe it or not, Pete's mother used to work for your family a long time ago," Brendon said, holding the carriage door open for Jon and beaming proudly. "He and I still write to one another on occasion. Now get in before they decide to take off and leave you behind in good clothes."
But Jon grabbed his arm. "Come with me?" he asked anxiously. "I don't have any place at a ball, I can't possibly do this on my own-"
"You're just repeating things Lady Deveraux has taught you to believe," Brendon replied, his tone soft and serious. "You were once a nobleman's son, Jon. You do have a place at this ball." He gave Jon a quick, fierce hug, and Jon held on tightly; for some reason, he was suddenly terrified to leave Walker Manor. He hadn't left the grounds for years.
"All set?" Gabe asked from over Brendon's shoulder.
Jon took a deep breath and released his hold on Brendon. "I...yes, I'm ready."
Gabe smiled and gave Jon a small salute before climbing into the carriage with him, Pete close behind. "Then let's get you to a ball, shall we?" He gave a signal to the driver, and before the carriage had gone even a few feet, Jon was leaning out the window, waving to Tom and Brendon until they faded from sight.
~*~
Jon had seen the royal palace as a child. He didn't have many memories of it, but he remembered his father telling him stories of how the palace walls had withstood many wars and monarchies, and that one "must always hold the king with the utmost regard, Jonny. Very few of us know what it's like to rule a kingdom."
When the palace came into view, so brightly lit it almost glowed golden on the horizon, Jon felt a sudden painful tug in his chest.
"Remember," Pete said, leaning across the carriage to lay a hand on Jon's knee. "You're Jonathan William Kingsley, first cousin-"
"First cousin to Lord Kingsely, yes, I know." He swallowed tightly, taking in the fireworks exploding around them as they turned into the main road leading up to the palace gates.
"You'll do fine, trust me," Gabe said, patting Jon's shoulder. "I've got a good friend who works closely with the prince. He says he's a bit unruly, but a decent guy."
Pete rolled his eyes, laughing. "Yes, how did William put it? 'Crazier than a fox, and just as lovely'?"
Gabe grinned. "Something like that." He turned back to Jon. "William is Prince Spencer's personal assistant. He's the one who put your name on the guest list, Jonathan Kingsley. If anyone can vouch for you tonight, it'll be him."
Jon wanted to point out that he didn't have the first idea what this William man looked like, but that seemed a moot point the instant the carriage stopped in front of the gates and two attendants opened the door.
"Welcome, sir," one said grandly, beckoning Jon out onto the lavish red carpet stretching all the way up to the palace's entrance.
He lost his breath for a moment, blinking dumbly at the man until Pete nudged him in the shin. "Go on, Your Grace," he hissed.
Jon shook himself and clambered out of the carriage, with Gabe calling after him, "We'll be back at midnight! And don't fuck the palace whores, you don't know where they've been!"
He blushed a furious shade of pink, and he could hear Pete laughing as they took off.
A man standing behind a large ledger book stood at the doors of the palace. Loud, boisterous laughter could be heard over the sounds of a giddy waltz being played in the ballroom, and several couples came staggering out, drunk and happy and dressed in the finest expensive clothes.
"Your name, sir?" the man asked, snapping Jon out of his daze.
"Erm." Jon panicked for a moment. "Jonathan William Kingsley."
The man pursed his lips and ran a finger down the list. Jon's heart was nearly in his throat when he finally replied, "Ah, yes, here you are. Such a pleasure to have you, My Lord, welcome!" He bowed slightly and waved Jon through the palace doors.
He took a few steps and was immediately offered a flute of champagne by a steward dressed all in deep red. Jon took the glass with an awkward, "Thank you," and simply held it close to his chest as he made his way into the ballroom. It was mesmerizing and overwhelming at the same time; a massive crystal chandelier hung shimmering over the center of the room, casting the crowd of dancers in a wash of sparkles. A large string ensemble sat to one side, and next to them stood an obscenely large ice sculpture of what appeared to be a man. It was hard to make out, but Jon assumed it had to be Prince Spencer's likeness carved into ice.
Of course, within minutes he spotted Lady Deveraux and Victoria, who both looked rather perturbed. Jon gulped his champagne down and ducked behind one of the massive potted plants lining the walls, his heart pounding as they drew closer.
"You would think he'd at least give some sort of speech," Victoria whined. "Why host such a thing if he's not even going to be in attendance?"
"Hush, he's merely waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance," Lady Deveraux said tersely. "He's not about to appear desperate, and from what Lady Amberly tells me, he's to pick someone before the night is up or the king starts shutting down his funds."
Victoria gasped. "Are you certain?"
"She has it on pretty good authority. Now let's go find your sorry excuse for a brother, I told him to stay close..."
They passed by the plant without a second glance, and Jon breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't help thinking, The prince isn't even at his own ball? Well, that's royalty for you, always out for themselves.
He peeked around the plant, making sure the coast was clear, and decided to get some air. So many bodies in one place made the air in his lungs tighten.
Jon wandered out through a side door that lead into what appeared to be the garden patio; a quiet fountain gurgled pleasantly, and torches were lit along the walk, illuminating the topiaries and rose bushes scattered about. Guests trickled in and out of the ballroom, but Jon was blessedly alone for the moment. He wanted to kick his shoes off and walk barefoot through the neatly cut grass and feel it soft beneath his feet; he remembered doing that often as a child back home.
Instead, he walked down the cobblestone steps of the patio walkway until the lights of the torches grew dim and the music became a faint hum in the background. For the first time in what felt like forever, Jon was at peace. The weight of his life and the demands of his stepmother didn't exist here in this beautiful garden; he was simply Jon, and tonight was his twentieth birthday. Nothing else mattered.
"Happy birthday to me," he whispered to himself, looking out over the grounds covered in darkness.
"It's your birthday tonight?" A voice seemingly out of nowhere came up behind Jon, and he startled loudly.
"Jesus, why don't you announce yourself!" Jon exclaimed before he could really pick his words. He whirled around so quickly, he nearly punched whoever was standing there, but the man ducked just in time.
"Sorry, sorry," the man said, laughing a little. "I heard you talking to yourself." It was dark enough that Jon couldn't really make out the man's face at all, could only tell that he was a few inches taller than himself. "You, uh, do know that the ball is that way?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the doors to ballroom, and this time it was Jon's turn to laugh.
"I know. I'm...not used to large crowds of people, so I thought I'd...go exploring." Jon felt himself blush at that, knowing it sounded utterly pathetic. His best friends in the whole world had given the gift of this night, and here he was, wandering around the garden in the dark.
The man tilted his head, like he was evaluating Jon. He still couldn't see his face clearly, but Jon could make out the way the man's hair fell over his forehead. There was a faint hint of a beard along his cheeks.
"Have you ever been to the palace before?" he asked Jon, and perhaps his voice sounded younger than Jon first thought.
"When I was a boy I came here with my father." He pointed over the man's shoulder at the palace. "Those buttresses there, along the far wall? They were rebuilt a few years before I was born when they were struck by lightning during a storm. My father said it nearly set fire to the whole place."
There was a pause, and when the man replied, "Yes, that's true," Jon could hear a smile in his tone. "What else do you know?"
Jon shrugged. "Nothing more of interest, really. It is very lovely, though." He laughed a little bitterly. "I'd hate to see how hard the servants work to keep it as such."
"I hear the servants are very happy here," the man said, that vague sound of amusement in his voice. He turned his head slightly into the light, and Jon caught a flash of his smile. He couldn't have been any older than Jon himself, and he...well. He was not unattractive, Jon suddenly thought. Far from it.
"Of course you'd hear that," Jon said, and for some odd reason he laughed, feeling something flutter in his stomach. "Royal servants wouldn't run about saying they live in poverty in the palace!"
"Maybe I've heard a few personal accounts firsthand," the man replied, laughing as well, and Jon found himself wanting to know the man's name, why he was out here in the garden and not inside, trying to hunt down the elusive Prince Spencer and charm him instead. He was just about to ask as much, when another voice called out, "There you are!"
The man smirked and rolled his eyes, said, "Stop sounding so pleased with yourself, I wasn't even trying this time," as a very thin, slightly gangly young man ran up behind him, beaming like he'd won a game.
"Doesn't matter, I found you, and now it's my turn." The other man turned his smile to Jon and shook his hand. "Hello, I'm Ryan. I'm assuming this degenerate here wasn't terrorizing you too badly?"
"This degenerate was taking some air, thank you very much."
"You really are the worst at hiding, Spence. How no one's tracked you down out here is incomprehensible to me."
Jon started and took a step back, his eyes suddenly darting back and forth between them. "S-Spence?" he said slowly.
The man sighed and glared at Ryan before saying, quietly, "Spencer James the fifth, actually, although I'd appreciate it if you didn't go telling everyone right away. I'm...attempting to keep a low profile."
"You're attempting to avoid your own ball and send your father into an early grave," Ryan drawled, poking Spencer playfully in the side. The ease and casualness between them reminded Jon very much of Brendon and Tom; it was obvious the two of them were close friends.
"Like you'd want to be forced into marriage to someone after one too many cocktails," Spencer shot back, shoving at Ryan's shoulder. "No one wants to see me; they want to dance and drink and think about how all this could be theirs."
"You're wrong," Jon piped up. "There are people here to see you." He thought of Victoria and her billowing burgundy gown made just for tonight.
Spencer grinned. "But obviously not you," he said, voice suddenly soft and amused, and Jon didn't understand at all why it made him shiver in a way that wasn't unpleasant.
"No, I-no, not me." Jon blushed and looked down at his feet, digging the toe of his shoe into the grass.
"I should at least know your name, though, since you seem to know so much about my home."
All Jon could think at the moment was, Oh god, the prince is asking my name. "Um." He swallowed. "It's Jonathan-Jon, Your Highness."
"Well, Jon." He felt a hand, warm and heavy, curl around his shoulder. "You can start by never addressing me that way again. I'm not my father, and I never will be."
"B-but, you're royalty," Jon stuttered, wishing his cheeks weren't flushing so hotly, and that Spencer's hand on his shoulder wasn't making it worse. "I couldn't possibly-"
"Trust me, you can," Ryan said, smirking fondly at Spencer just as a rather large crowd of young ladies came running out onto the patio, giggling and twittering amongst themselves. One of them called loudly, "Someone said they saw the prince go out this way, I know it!"
"Shit." Spencer grabbed Jon by the elbow and tugged him and Ryan behind the closest topiary. "Ryan, please tell me you didn't-"
"I've barely been inside. It's probably William's doing, he's still miffed at being forced into keeping watch over the wait staff."
Jon perked up at the mention of a William, wondering if it could possibly be the same friend of Gabe's, but his thoughts immediately went elsewhere when Spencer squeezed his elbow and whispered, "Do you want to go back inside?"
Even in the faint light cast over them from the patio, Jon could catch a hint of blue in Spencer's eyes, which were watching him intently. "I...not particularly?"
Spencer's answering smile was bright, and possibly breathtaking, if Jon were the sort to ever think in such terms. It didn't help his blush, or the way his heart was pounding a little too quickly. "Good, then you're coming with me. I'll show you what it's really like to explore the palace grounds." He poked Ryan. "And you go and distract them, and tell William to shut up and stop being a sore loser."
Ryan laughed and gave Spencer a salute before scrambling to his feet and taking off for the ballroom.
Jon watched him run off, feeling slightly dizzy. "What are we-?"
"C'mon." Spencer's hand curled around Jon's wrist, pulling him up. "You're going to help me avoid marriage."
~*~
"Why don't you want to be at your own ball?" Jon finally asked when they were far enough away from the palace. They circled the stone walk bordering the small lake, and the frogs croaked cheerfully in the warm night air.
Spencer shrugged and threw a stone out over the water, making ripples in the glassy surface. "Do you like being the center of attention, Jon?"
He'd grown to associate attention with being punished; as long as he was being ignored, he wasn't being reprimanded into doing more hours of back-breaking chores. "No, I don't," Jon replied quietly.
"I do, but only when it's under my control. I don't like being told that I must fall in love with someone, that I must marry. I'm twenty years old, I can decide what to do with my life myself." Spencer stopped abruptly and ducked his head, laughing sheepishly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to go off on a tirade. My father does that to me sometimes."
Jon was too busy biting his lip to keep from grinning over the fact that he and Spencer were the same age. "It's all right. Family is never easy to deal with, I know."
"It's just that..." Spencer sighed and hugged his arms to his chest. His shirt was a fine color of cream, and looked silky-soft in the moonlight. "I should have a say in this whole matter, don't you think? If I'm to rule this kingdom one day, I should be able to decide who gets to stand at my side."
Jon didn't know what to say to that; he'd always assumed that a prince wouldn't care whom he married. He knelt down to pick up another stone and tossed it idly into the water. "How long have you and Ryan been friends?" he asked, not looking over at Spencer as he watched the lake shimmer.
"Technically, he's my stable hand. We met as children when he was assigned to look after my first pony. Needless to say, I enjoyed his company more than the pony's."
Without thinking, Jon laughed softly and said, "Sounds familiar," remembering moments from long ago when he and Brendon and Tom would go tearing through the back fields surrounding Walker Manor, spurring their horses into dead runs so fast Jon could feel the wind whipping at his face. They would stop eventually, both horses and boys gasping for breath, until Brendon would yell, "Again!" and they'd start all over.
Spencer looked over at Jon and smiled curiously, nudging Jon's shoulder a little with his own. "You've got a stable boy as a best friend as well?"
Jon flushed. He never liked talking about himself. "Not so much a stable boy as a gardener and a cook," he said sheepishly as he rubbed at his neck, feeling self-conscious under Spencer's gaze.
"Your father probably thinks much more highly of them than my father thinks of Ryan. He's never been Ryan's biggest fan, but that's the story of my life, really."
Jon almost said, No, my father's dead, but he couldn't quite say the words, not to mention he was afraid his cover of being Lord Kingsley's cousin would be forfeited. But it was strange how easily he wanted to share with Spencer, when normally he would never talk about his father with anyone he'd only known a couple of hours.
"Do you live nearby?" Spencer asked. "Perhaps I've ridden by your house and never knew it." The way he grinned as if suddenly learning a secret made Jon's heart stutter.
"I..." He couldn't think of a good answer that wouldn't ruin his cover story, but he decided that it didn't matter-Spencer would never see him again after tonight. He wished that thought felt less glum. "Sort of. It's down the road a ways, just before the river."
"I don't think I know that area very well. I rarely go south for some reason." They rounded the lake and were suddenly faced with the line of thick trees leading into the forest. In the daylight, Jon was certain the trees looked pleasant and inviting, but in the dark they appeared dark and ominous. Jon had always been secretly scared of the dark since he was a boy, especially when it came to the woods.
"Should we go back?" Jon asked, hating the stab of irrational fear in his gut as he stared into the darkness of the trees.
Spencer sighed. "The correct answer would be yes, but I don't-"
A sharp bray of a horse rang through the air behind them, followed by a man's voice yelling, "There he is! Your Highness!"
"Goddamn it, why must he always send the spies after me?" Spencer hissed. He shoved a hand through his hair and looked over his shoulder frantically at the group of four men on horseback riding toward them.
"Your father's men?"
"Of course. I snuck away from them earlier with Ryan, but they always find me." He swore again under his breath, then looked back into the forest spread out before them.
"Do you trust me?" Spencer asked, wrapping his hand around Jon's wrist.
Jon swallowed tightly and felt his heart pound with anxiety and something very much like anticipation. He didn't have any reason to say yes; he didn't know Spencer, had no business allowing the prince to drag him into whatever it was he was planning to do. But Spencer's eyes were wide and expectant, almost silver in the bright moonlight, and Jon couldn't make himself look away.
"Yes," he replied softly, and his skin felt hot all over when Spencer squeezed his wrist for a second as he tugged Jon into the dark woods.
~*~
Jon didn't want to be rude, but he was beginning to think Spencer was lost. Once they'd ducked out of sight from the king's men, Spencer had whispered, "I've got a hiding place out here, we can wait them out," and then half an hour later they were still circling through the trees.
"I don't understand," Spencer muttered to himself. "I know it's here somewhere..." Thankfully the trees weren't quite thick enough to block out the moonlight; Jon could see the way Spencer ran his hands over the tree, searching for the one with a hollowed-out trunk.
"Perhaps we aren't far enough in?" Jon asked hesitantly. "Maybe your tree is further away than you think-"
"No, no, I know it's close, it wasn't far from the lake." He knocked against a large, round trunk and frowned when the tree did not sound hollow.
Jon chewed his lip and looked up at the sky, trying to get his bearings. He hated being lost, but at least if he could find the North Star, he could have a sense of which direction they were headed in. The air was getting steadily cooler, and his silk shirt wasn't enough to keep him warm. He thought wistfully for a moment of his worn woolen coat back home, the one that used to belong to his father. Jon rubbed his hands over his arms, and suddenly it dawned on him that it was most likely past midnight. He had missed Pete and Gabe in their carriage.
"Shit," he whispered under his breath, and Spencer looked up sharply.
"What's wrong?"
Jon sighed and rubbed at his neck. "I've missed my ride," he replied lamely. "I had arranged for a carriage to arrive at the palace at midnight."
"Oh." Spencer smiled contritely. "Sorry about that. Don't worry, though, I'll make sure you get home just as soon as I find a way to-"
A wolf howled in the distance. Except the distance didn't sound that far away.
Jon's heart all but stopped. "You have wolves in these woods?" he asked, taking a careful step toward Spencer, aware of every crunch and snap of his feet against the forest floor.
Spencer had gone very still, his mouth in a tight line. "I haven't seen any in years, but...it's been a while since I've been in these woods at night."
"A while?" Jon said, raising his eyebrows. "So you are lost."
"No, I simply-"
"Just admit it, Spencer, you have no idea where we are, and I, for one, am tired of wandering in circles, especially now that we've established there are bloody wolves prowling about." Jon felt his cheeks flush hotly at addressing the prince by his first name, but he didn't take it back. His childhood fear of the dark was getting the better of him, and the howling didn't help matters.
Spencer huffed out a loud sigh and shoved both hands through his hair. "Fine," he eventually whispered. "I don't know where we are."
Jon nodded tightly, glancing back up at the sky. "All right, then. We're going east, but we need to go south."
"South? But the palace is north."
He didn't know how to explain to Spencer that he needed to have been home hours ago, and at this rate Lady Deveraux was sure to discover Jon wasn't home in bed. It was better to simply head back to the manor and let Spencer find his way back later. "Look, it's a long story, but I must get home. My missing the carriage is mostly likely going to cause a stir." He could hear Lady Deveraux screaming in his head.
"Right, right." Spencer winced and put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "I'm really sorry, Jon. If I've gotten you into trouble, I promise I'll do my best to straighten things out."
You have no idea, Jon thought ruefully, but replied instead, "Come on, we can't stay in one spot."
"But can't we just make a fire for now and-"
A muffled growl came from somewhere in the darkness to their right, and Jon's heart jerked so hard he nearly gasped. "No time for a fire," he whispered in a shaking voice, hand clenching hard over Spencer's forearm. "Now is a good time for running, actually." Jon took one step back, then another, before breaking into a dead run.
Spencer held on.
part two
[Jon/Spencer | 15600 words | NC-17]
The day after Jon Walker turned nine years old, his father married another woman.
Holiday exchange fic written for my darling belle_bing, who inadvertently told me some months ago that Ever After was her favorite movie. This is very loosely based on it, but the general Cinderella story is still intact.
Thank yous go out to sweetrecovery and adellyna for making this story so much better, to arsenicjade for talking me into the porny epilogue (which she all but wrote for me), and to siryn99 for being my personal cheerleader.
The day after Jon Walker turned nine years old, his father married another woman.
The morning of the wedding, Jon stood in his father's room as the servants fussed over Jon's hair.
"We've got to look respectable, Jonny," his father said, nervous and proud. He crouched down in front of Jon and straightened his collar. "Your new mother needs to see what a fine young man she's bringing into her family."
"She's not my mother," Jon replied sharply. He'd never met Lady Deveraux before, only knew of her and her son and daughter from his father's accounts. She seemed to make his father very happy, and for that Jon was grateful, but no one would ever replace Jon's mother.
His father hugged him, cupping the back of Jon's head. "We'll be a family, along with Victoria and Ryland. You'll see-a brother and sister, Jonny! It will be wonderful to have this house full of life again."
Soon a carriage arrived, and Jon and his father stood outside with the rest of the Walker Manor household waiting patiently for the new lady and her children to appear. Out the corner of his eye, Jon spotted Tom and Brendon lurking in the bushes, and he smiled. Of course they weren't allowed to greet Lady Deveraux; their mothers, both long-time housekeepers to the Walkers, would sooner be burned alive than let their sons embarrass the staff. Regardless, Jon winked at them, and Brendon laughed and waved.
When the door opened and Lady Deveraux stepped out, everyone grew quiet. She was beautiful, but had a tight, sharp look about her. She didn't smile as she surveyed the staff, and it was only when Jon's father exclaimed, "Darling, welcome at last! We're so glad you're here!" that the silence was broken. He rushed forward and hugged the Lady with great affection, and over their shoulders Jon finally noticed two small heads peering out, a boy and girl. They slowly crawled out of the carriage after their mother, who said, almost sounding bored, "Come along, children, and meet your new brother."
Jon swallowed and forced a polite smile at the girl, whom he assumed was Victoria. "Hullo," he said. "I'm Jon."
Her eyes widened, and she replied, slightly horrified, "You've dirt on your cheek."
"Oh." Jon rubbed the back of his hand over his face. "Sorry." He hadn't meant to chase Tom around the yard earlier, but Brendon had insisted Jon was It; their game of tag was never ending.
Victoria wrinkled her nose. The boy, Ryland, merely hung back behind her and smiled crookedly at Jon.
"Well, come on, then!" Jon's father announced. "We've got a wedding to get to!"
It was, for all intents and purposes, a good day.
Then, three days later, Jon's father dropped dead of a sudden heart attack in the stables, and Jon was left alone.
~*~
Jon was having the best dream, his favorite, the one where he's running down a beach as fast as his legs would carry him, the spray of the ocean in his eyes and the warmth of the sun against his back. The sand is cool and soft beneath his feet, and he feels as if he could keep running forever and never stop.
"Jonathan! Jonathan Jacob, where in God's name is our breakfast?"
The ocean disappeared abruptly, and he was left with the reality of his own tiny, cramped bed. The sun was still warm, but much too bright for it to be just after dawn.
Shit.
He scrambled out of bed and threw on his moth-eaten trousers and shirt, bumping against the walls of the little tool shed he now called home. He was late, and now Lady Deveraux would surely have his head for making her wait on breakfast.
Tom was in the garden planting tomato seeds when Jon came flying past, his shirt still unbuttoned and his feet bare. "Jonny, it's nearly eight o'clock!" he called, frowning. "She's been screaming for you all morning!"
"I know, all right?" Jon yelled back, finishing the buttons and shoving his shirt tails into his pants. He plowed through the back door to the kitchen and nearly slammed into Brendon, who looked harried but relieved to see him.
"You're-"
"Late, I know," Jon gasped, already yanking the good serving trays off the shelves and throwing the silver tea pot and spoons onto them. "Are the eggs done?"
"Yes, I've been reheating them in order to stall her. Victoria came back twice to make sure you weren't 'snacking.'" Brendon made air quotes and rolled his eyes.
"No, I merely overslept. Damn rooster never liked me all that much." He poured hot water into the pot with one hand and dropped tea leaves and a couple cinnamon sticks in with the other. "Bacon?"
"All set." There was a reason Jon thanked his lucky stars every day that Brendon took over the kitchen after his mother passed away.
Jon took a deep breath and checked to make sure there were three tea cups and three spoons on the tray. "Well, then pray I don't get eaten alive."
Brendon squeezed his shoulder. "Honestly, Jon, I pray that every day." His tone was only partially joking.
Jon bit his lip, steeled his nerves, then hoisted the tray onto his shoulder and pushed open the door into the main dining room.
"Well, well. Sleeping Beauty arrives at last," came Victoria's drawled response.
Jon pretended not to hear her. "Sorry, I...lost track of time." He set the tray on the edge of the large mahogany table, at Lady Deveraux's left. Victoria was seated to the right as usual.
"Goodness, Jonathan, I simply do not know what to do with you." Lady Deveraux sniffed and reached out to pluck at the tips of Jon's hair, the hair he had neglected to brush in his haste to make it to the kitchen. He kept his head down and concentrated on filling the teacups. "I feed and shelter you, and this is the thanks I get? Late breakfast and you looking like some kind of vagabond who wandered in off the road?"
He chewed the inside of his cheek, setting her cup beside her plate. "Sorry, ma'am," he mumbled, the tips of his ears burning. Jon knew better than to not check his appearance before showing his face in the dining room.
She glanced down. "Oh my god, where are your shoes?" she cried.
"Uh." Jon had completely forgotten his bare feet. "I don't know. In the shed?"
Across the table, Victoria giggled. Meanwhile, Ryland sat quietly like always, eyes watching Jon with careful consideration. Out of the three of them, it was Ryland whom Jon tried the hardest to like.
Lady Deveraux rolled her eyes. "Pitiful." She waved her hand at Jon after he'd set out all the cups. "Go and fetch our eggs before that Urie boy burns them all."
Jon bowed and gathered up the tray before leaving the room.
He didn't eat breakfast until two hours later, after his morning chores were completed. He was curled up next to the stove in the kitchen as Brendon prepared the meat for that evening's supper, munching on cornbread and a bowl of potato stew, and occasionally feeding crumbs to one of the kitchen cats, a gray tabby he'd named Clover.
"You need to say something," Brendon said, rubbing spices into the slabs of meat.
"'Bout what?" Jon asked around a mouthful of cornbread.
Brendon turned around and crossed his arms, but not before wiping his hands off on the apron tied around his waist. "Your birthday is soon," he said softly. "Surely she'd let you do something special for your twentieth-"
Jon sighed and waved him off. "After all this time, you really think she would care?" He shrugged, finishing off the last of the stew. "It doesn't matter. It's just another birthday, nothing more. Life goes on."
Brendon looked about ready to launch into a fierce contradiction, only he was interrupted by Tom bursting through the kitchen door, holding a large envelope in his hand.
"This," he gasped, then swallowed and started again. "This was just delivered by one of the king's messengers." His eyes were wide, almost giddy. "He said there's to be a ball ."
Jon rolled his eyes. "There's always a ball of some sort happening at the palace. You're just excited to see mail."
"This ball is special-it's for the prince's birthday." Tom smiled and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level. "Rumor has it the king is tired of his son's gallivanting and is using the ball as an excuse to find him a suitable mate."
Brendon laughed. "That may be difficult, since every eligible single person in the kingdom will be attending once word gets out."
"And that will no doubt include Victoria," Jon sighed, getting up from the floor and taking the envelope from Tom. "Might as well give them the news now."
As expected, Lady Deveraux and Victoria were beside themselves with glee, having already heard the marriage rumors. Ryland took one look at the invitation and pursed his lips; he gave Jon a tired look, and Jon shrugged helplessly.
"Mother, we've got to go to the market tomorrow, I've nothing to wear," Victoria moaned. "Everything I own is so out of date and hideous, there's no way I could ever possibly show my face around Prince Spencer."
Prince Spencer. Jon rolled the name around in his head and smirked to himself. He'd heard the name before, and always thought it simply sounded royal and utterly pretentious. Why anyone would want to subject themselves to possibly being married to such a person was beyond his comprehension.
"Of course we'll go into town," Lady Deveraux said. "Ryland, you're coming, too. I want you both looking your best that night."
Ryland opened his mouth to object, but Jon interrupted him. "But my lady, the stables-we need supplies to fix the stalls, and the shingles on the far west side of the manor need replacing-"
"Jonathan." She smiled sweetly at him, which meant Jon was barely being tolerated at the moment. "We have more important matters at hand. Your supplies will have to wait."
Yes, of course they would. When it came to the maintenance and upkeep of Walker Manor, everything came second to Lady Deveraux and Victoria's needs, which was why they were quickly sliding into more debt than they would ever be able to handle. Jon had been watching his home slowly deteriorate before his eyes for years now, his father's money all but gone, and there wasn't a thing Jon could do about it.
Now Lady Deveraux was going to go shopping for new clothes. Jon wanted to demand what money she expected to buy gowns with, but he bit his lip and said nothing.
"Yes, ma'am," he muttered, hands clenched tightly behind his back.
She flicked her hand toward him in dismissal. "I believe there's laundry to be done, is there not?"
Jon left the room before he slapped the smug smile off Victoria's face.
~*~
The ladies (with a reluctant Ryland in tow) came back from town the next afternoon with armloads of fabric and jewelry. It wasn't until later that evening that Jon realized his mother's best china tea set was missing; another casualty to Lady Deveraux's over-indulgence.
Since the nights were cooler without the unforgiving glare of the sun, Jon spent the evening mending the stable doors as best he could with Tom.
"She sold my mother's china," Jon said. His tone was numb, emotionless; there wasn't much Lady Deveraux could do these days that shocked him. "Pretty soon there will be nothing left and she'll start selling off the window drapes, or the bed posts."
"She could just sell us all and we could run away and start our own village," Tom replied dryly as he held a board in place for Jon to nail down.
"Don't even joke about that. You don't even know-I wake up some nights worrying that you and Brendon will be gone by morning."
Tom set his hammer on the ground and wrapped his arm around Jon's shoulders. "We'd never leave without a fight, Jonny," he whispered against Jon's cheek. Then he pulled back, giving Jon a hard, considering look.
"What?" Jon asked.
"You should go."
"Away?" He laughed. "I realize I probably still smell of supper and hay, but still-"
"No, I mean to the ball. You should go, you deserve to."
"Please. You know me better than that-do I really have any place at a stuffy ball being held for what is no doubt an equally stuffy prince just so he can find someone dumb enough to marry him?"
Tom grinned and scrubbed his hand through Jon's hair. "No, but you do have a place somewhere that's not here being Lady Deveraux's slave. It's your birthday in a week, you deserve something fun."
"You and Brendon have been talking about this, haven't you?"
"Maybe a little." Tom waggled his eyebrows. "We're going to sneak you out."
Jon huffed loudly, tossing his own hammer onto a nearby stack of hay. "No, you're not. Besides, I don't have anything to wear that doesn't make me look like a servant, and I'm not about to ask Lady Deveraux's permission; I'd be scrubbing her bathroom floor for a week."
"Don't you still believe in birthday presents, Jonny? Bren and I have a plan, and it's a surprise, you'll see."
Jon shook his head and laughed ruefully. "All right. But you're both idiots. Idiots I love dearly, but still idiots."
Tom nodded solemnly and hugged Jon again. "Fair enough."
~*~
A tailor arrived at the house the next morning to alter Victoria's new gown and Ryland's new jacket. Jon led him upstairs to Victoria's room, wincing a little as the man babbled on and on about the impending ball and how in-demand his services had been.
"It's to be quite a spectacle," the man said, his eyes wide and giddy. "From what I've heard, it will be unlike anything the kingdom's ever seen!"
"Wonderful," Jon drawled, and held the door open for him. He didn't even blink when Lady Deveraux clapped happily at the man's appearance and added quickly, "Yes, fine, that will be all, Jonathan," shutting the door in his face.
"It's only been a few days and I'm already sick to death of anything related to this damn ball," Jon grumbled later that afternoon as he took the linens down off the back clothes line. He still remembered watching the housekeepers (one being Tom's mother) fold the sheets in the summer sunshine and gossip about frivolous things.
"Don't say that just yet," Tom replied slyly from the garden a few feet away. His arms were covered in topsoil from pulling carrots. "You never know, you may have a fairy godmother arrive and whisk you away to the palace that night."
Jon snorted. "I'm sure she will. Only she'll have to wait until the evening's chores are completed, and by then I'll be so exhausted I won't even care enough for her to bother." He clucked his tongue.
Tom shook his head and laughed, pointing a dirty finger at Jon. "We'll see!"
~*~
The night of the ball arrived much too quickly for Jon's liking. Lady Deveraux and Victoria were more impossible to live with than normal, and that was quite a feat in Jon's book. Every topic of conversation revolved around the prince and his sought-after marriage proposal, but the worst part came whenever Jon was in the room. Victoria took to commenting on things such as, "It's a shame Jon's not more presentable," only to have her mother reply sweetly, "Oh darling, that's only because he's simply not fit for the public eye. Some people were never meant to be around royalty, unfortunately." They spoke as if ignorant of Jon's presence, but Jon knew all too well that they were aware of him.
It hurt more than Jon would ever admit. He'd already convinced himself he didn't care at all about the ridiculous ball, or the prince. He had a house to take care of.
But not long after Victoria, Lady Deveraux, and Ryland had departed in the carriage, decked in their finest (Ryland looked bored and uncomfortable; he waved weakly at Jon on his way out the door), Brendon grabbed Jon's arm and said, bouncing on the balls of his feet, "Come with me."
Jon frowned curiously as Brendon dragged him out into to the stables. "What's going on? You're not going to show me the dead possum again, are you? Because I keep telling you, there's nothing scary about-"
"No, it's not the possum. Look." Brendon came to a stop abruptly in front of the stable doors and pointed to one the far stalls. It was completely cleaned out, and instead of a horse standing there, two men with an array of fancy clothes stood talking quietly to Tom. The clothes were scattered everywhere, draped over the stall walls. They looked expensive.
"I don't understand," Jon said slowly. "Who are those men? Why do they have clothes all over the stable?"
Brendon beamed at him. "Happy birthday!"
Jon gawked. "What?"
Brendon's exclamation got Tom and the men's attention. They all looked in Jon's direction, and the much shorter of the two men smiled. "Ahh, he's here!" he said, rubbing his hands together, and the other man, tall and lanky like Ryland, immediately began sorting the garments into piles.
"You're going to the ball, Jon," Brendon replied firmly, putting both hands on Jon's shoulders. "Tom and I are giving you this opportunity." He waved his hand at the two men. "That's Pete and Gabe-they're traveling tailors."
Jon opened his mouth, but had no idea what to say. Meanwhile, Tom ran up behind Brendon and took hold of Jon's wrist. "C'mon, Jonny, they're waiting for you! We haven't much time!" He pulled him toward the empty stall that was now apparently a makeshift tailor shop.
"But...I don't..." Jon wanted to object, since he knew neither Tom nor Brendon had much money to their name; surely this was costing them a fortune. There were better things for them to spend money on than frivolous jackets and pants for Jon to go to some ball.
And yet...the colors of the fabrics were so vibrant and beautiful. Jon hadn't seen colors such as these since he was a child.
The shorter man, Pete, whipped out a tape measure and started measuring Jon's arms and chest. "This will do fine," he murmured under his breath, then said to Gabe over his shoulder, "Hand me the blue jacquard, will you?"
Gabe held out a vivid blue silk shirt with wide cuffs, while Pete made quick work out of shedding Jon's own shabby gray shirt. Pete tossed it aside, wrinkling his nose at it as if the dingy material offended him.
"The sleeves might be a bit long, but we'll fix that," Gabe said as Pete buttoned Jon into the new, expensive shirt. Jon had never felt such luxurious silk against his skin.
"Have you given any thought to your hair?" Pete asked, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully at Jon.
He chewed his lip and tugged a hand self-consciously through his bangs. "Um?"
"I can barely talk him into cutting it," Brendon piped up, and Pete laughed.
"Then we can fix that as well." He scrubbed the back of his hand over Jon's scruffy beard. "Gabe, d'you bring the razor with you, by chance?"
Gabe grinned. "Of course. I'm always prepared."
Twenty minutes later, Jon's hair was trimmed and his cheeks were clean-shaven for the first time in several years. Pete and Gabe had dressed him in a pair of black trousers made of the softest wool, and even though he'd been forced into wearing fancy shoes, they were shiny and new...which was how Jon himself felt at the moment.
"I don't look like me," he said with a bemused smile as he looked into the mirror Pete held up.
"That's good-Lady Deveraux will never recognize you," Brendon smirked.
Jon laughed, still rubbing his fingers over his naked cheeks. "What do I do now?" he asked sheepishly, looking from Brendon to Tom.
"We have a carriage," Gabe replied as he began packing up their goods and supplies. "Since our inn is not far from the palace, we'll simply take you to the ball ourselves."
"And since you'll never get into the ball without an invitation, you are now Jonathan William Kingsley, first cousin to Lord Kingsley II," Pete added matter-of-factly. "Who just so happens to be away on a last minute excursion to the Far East at the moment."
Jon was a little speechless as the rest of them rushed him out of the stable and toward the very ornate carriage that was waiting behind the barn. The beautiful silver mare hitched to the front was grazing patiently; every flicker of her tail in the moonlight looked almost iridescent.
"Bren, where did you and Tom find these men?" Jon hissed.
"Believe it or not, Pete's mother used to work for your family a long time ago," Brendon said, holding the carriage door open for Jon and beaming proudly. "He and I still write to one another on occasion. Now get in before they decide to take off and leave you behind in good clothes."
But Jon grabbed his arm. "Come with me?" he asked anxiously. "I don't have any place at a ball, I can't possibly do this on my own-"
"You're just repeating things Lady Deveraux has taught you to believe," Brendon replied, his tone soft and serious. "You were once a nobleman's son, Jon. You do have a place at this ball." He gave Jon a quick, fierce hug, and Jon held on tightly; for some reason, he was suddenly terrified to leave Walker Manor. He hadn't left the grounds for years.
"All set?" Gabe asked from over Brendon's shoulder.
Jon took a deep breath and released his hold on Brendon. "I...yes, I'm ready."
Gabe smiled and gave Jon a small salute before climbing into the carriage with him, Pete close behind. "Then let's get you to a ball, shall we?" He gave a signal to the driver, and before the carriage had gone even a few feet, Jon was leaning out the window, waving to Tom and Brendon until they faded from sight.
~*~
Jon had seen the royal palace as a child. He didn't have many memories of it, but he remembered his father telling him stories of how the palace walls had withstood many wars and monarchies, and that one "must always hold the king with the utmost regard, Jonny. Very few of us know what it's like to rule a kingdom."
When the palace came into view, so brightly lit it almost glowed golden on the horizon, Jon felt a sudden painful tug in his chest.
"Remember," Pete said, leaning across the carriage to lay a hand on Jon's knee. "You're Jonathan William Kingsley, first cousin-"
"First cousin to Lord Kingsely, yes, I know." He swallowed tightly, taking in the fireworks exploding around them as they turned into the main road leading up to the palace gates.
"You'll do fine, trust me," Gabe said, patting Jon's shoulder. "I've got a good friend who works closely with the prince. He says he's a bit unruly, but a decent guy."
Pete rolled his eyes, laughing. "Yes, how did William put it? 'Crazier than a fox, and just as lovely'?"
Gabe grinned. "Something like that." He turned back to Jon. "William is Prince Spencer's personal assistant. He's the one who put your name on the guest list, Jonathan Kingsley. If anyone can vouch for you tonight, it'll be him."
Jon wanted to point out that he didn't have the first idea what this William man looked like, but that seemed a moot point the instant the carriage stopped in front of the gates and two attendants opened the door.
"Welcome, sir," one said grandly, beckoning Jon out onto the lavish red carpet stretching all the way up to the palace's entrance.
He lost his breath for a moment, blinking dumbly at the man until Pete nudged him in the shin. "Go on, Your Grace," he hissed.
Jon shook himself and clambered out of the carriage, with Gabe calling after him, "We'll be back at midnight! And don't fuck the palace whores, you don't know where they've been!"
He blushed a furious shade of pink, and he could hear Pete laughing as they took off.
A man standing behind a large ledger book stood at the doors of the palace. Loud, boisterous laughter could be heard over the sounds of a giddy waltz being played in the ballroom, and several couples came staggering out, drunk and happy and dressed in the finest expensive clothes.
"Your name, sir?" the man asked, snapping Jon out of his daze.
"Erm." Jon panicked for a moment. "Jonathan William Kingsley."
The man pursed his lips and ran a finger down the list. Jon's heart was nearly in his throat when he finally replied, "Ah, yes, here you are. Such a pleasure to have you, My Lord, welcome!" He bowed slightly and waved Jon through the palace doors.
He took a few steps and was immediately offered a flute of champagne by a steward dressed all in deep red. Jon took the glass with an awkward, "Thank you," and simply held it close to his chest as he made his way into the ballroom. It was mesmerizing and overwhelming at the same time; a massive crystal chandelier hung shimmering over the center of the room, casting the crowd of dancers in a wash of sparkles. A large string ensemble sat to one side, and next to them stood an obscenely large ice sculpture of what appeared to be a man. It was hard to make out, but Jon assumed it had to be Prince Spencer's likeness carved into ice.
Of course, within minutes he spotted Lady Deveraux and Victoria, who both looked rather perturbed. Jon gulped his champagne down and ducked behind one of the massive potted plants lining the walls, his heart pounding as they drew closer.
"You would think he'd at least give some sort of speech," Victoria whined. "Why host such a thing if he's not even going to be in attendance?"
"Hush, he's merely waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance," Lady Deveraux said tersely. "He's not about to appear desperate, and from what Lady Amberly tells me, he's to pick someone before the night is up or the king starts shutting down his funds."
Victoria gasped. "Are you certain?"
"She has it on pretty good authority. Now let's go find your sorry excuse for a brother, I told him to stay close..."
They passed by the plant without a second glance, and Jon breathed a sigh of relief. He couldn't help thinking, The prince isn't even at his own ball? Well, that's royalty for you, always out for themselves.
He peeked around the plant, making sure the coast was clear, and decided to get some air. So many bodies in one place made the air in his lungs tighten.
Jon wandered out through a side door that lead into what appeared to be the garden patio; a quiet fountain gurgled pleasantly, and torches were lit along the walk, illuminating the topiaries and rose bushes scattered about. Guests trickled in and out of the ballroom, but Jon was blessedly alone for the moment. He wanted to kick his shoes off and walk barefoot through the neatly cut grass and feel it soft beneath his feet; he remembered doing that often as a child back home.
Instead, he walked down the cobblestone steps of the patio walkway until the lights of the torches grew dim and the music became a faint hum in the background. For the first time in what felt like forever, Jon was at peace. The weight of his life and the demands of his stepmother didn't exist here in this beautiful garden; he was simply Jon, and tonight was his twentieth birthday. Nothing else mattered.
"Happy birthday to me," he whispered to himself, looking out over the grounds covered in darkness.
"It's your birthday tonight?" A voice seemingly out of nowhere came up behind Jon, and he startled loudly.
"Jesus, why don't you announce yourself!" Jon exclaimed before he could really pick his words. He whirled around so quickly, he nearly punched whoever was standing there, but the man ducked just in time.
"Sorry, sorry," the man said, laughing a little. "I heard you talking to yourself." It was dark enough that Jon couldn't really make out the man's face at all, could only tell that he was a few inches taller than himself. "You, uh, do know that the ball is that way?" He jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the doors to ballroom, and this time it was Jon's turn to laugh.
"I know. I'm...not used to large crowds of people, so I thought I'd...go exploring." Jon felt himself blush at that, knowing it sounded utterly pathetic. His best friends in the whole world had given the gift of this night, and here he was, wandering around the garden in the dark.
The man tilted his head, like he was evaluating Jon. He still couldn't see his face clearly, but Jon could make out the way the man's hair fell over his forehead. There was a faint hint of a beard along his cheeks.
"Have you ever been to the palace before?" he asked Jon, and perhaps his voice sounded younger than Jon first thought.
"When I was a boy I came here with my father." He pointed over the man's shoulder at the palace. "Those buttresses there, along the far wall? They were rebuilt a few years before I was born when they were struck by lightning during a storm. My father said it nearly set fire to the whole place."
There was a pause, and when the man replied, "Yes, that's true," Jon could hear a smile in his tone. "What else do you know?"
Jon shrugged. "Nothing more of interest, really. It is very lovely, though." He laughed a little bitterly. "I'd hate to see how hard the servants work to keep it as such."
"I hear the servants are very happy here," the man said, that vague sound of amusement in his voice. He turned his head slightly into the light, and Jon caught a flash of his smile. He couldn't have been any older than Jon himself, and he...well. He was not unattractive, Jon suddenly thought. Far from it.
"Of course you'd hear that," Jon said, and for some odd reason he laughed, feeling something flutter in his stomach. "Royal servants wouldn't run about saying they live in poverty in the palace!"
"Maybe I've heard a few personal accounts firsthand," the man replied, laughing as well, and Jon found himself wanting to know the man's name, why he was out here in the garden and not inside, trying to hunt down the elusive Prince Spencer and charm him instead. He was just about to ask as much, when another voice called out, "There you are!"
The man smirked and rolled his eyes, said, "Stop sounding so pleased with yourself, I wasn't even trying this time," as a very thin, slightly gangly young man ran up behind him, beaming like he'd won a game.
"Doesn't matter, I found you, and now it's my turn." The other man turned his smile to Jon and shook his hand. "Hello, I'm Ryan. I'm assuming this degenerate here wasn't terrorizing you too badly?"
"This degenerate was taking some air, thank you very much."
"You really are the worst at hiding, Spence. How no one's tracked you down out here is incomprehensible to me."
Jon started and took a step back, his eyes suddenly darting back and forth between them. "S-Spence?" he said slowly.
The man sighed and glared at Ryan before saying, quietly, "Spencer James the fifth, actually, although I'd appreciate it if you didn't go telling everyone right away. I'm...attempting to keep a low profile."
"You're attempting to avoid your own ball and send your father into an early grave," Ryan drawled, poking Spencer playfully in the side. The ease and casualness between them reminded Jon very much of Brendon and Tom; it was obvious the two of them were close friends.
"Like you'd want to be forced into marriage to someone after one too many cocktails," Spencer shot back, shoving at Ryan's shoulder. "No one wants to see me; they want to dance and drink and think about how all this could be theirs."
"You're wrong," Jon piped up. "There are people here to see you." He thought of Victoria and her billowing burgundy gown made just for tonight.
Spencer grinned. "But obviously not you," he said, voice suddenly soft and amused, and Jon didn't understand at all why it made him shiver in a way that wasn't unpleasant.
"No, I-no, not me." Jon blushed and looked down at his feet, digging the toe of his shoe into the grass.
"I should at least know your name, though, since you seem to know so much about my home."
All Jon could think at the moment was, Oh god, the prince is asking my name. "Um." He swallowed. "It's Jonathan-Jon, Your Highness."
"Well, Jon." He felt a hand, warm and heavy, curl around his shoulder. "You can start by never addressing me that way again. I'm not my father, and I never will be."
"B-but, you're royalty," Jon stuttered, wishing his cheeks weren't flushing so hotly, and that Spencer's hand on his shoulder wasn't making it worse. "I couldn't possibly-"
"Trust me, you can," Ryan said, smirking fondly at Spencer just as a rather large crowd of young ladies came running out onto the patio, giggling and twittering amongst themselves. One of them called loudly, "Someone said they saw the prince go out this way, I know it!"
"Shit." Spencer grabbed Jon by the elbow and tugged him and Ryan behind the closest topiary. "Ryan, please tell me you didn't-"
"I've barely been inside. It's probably William's doing, he's still miffed at being forced into keeping watch over the wait staff."
Jon perked up at the mention of a William, wondering if it could possibly be the same friend of Gabe's, but his thoughts immediately went elsewhere when Spencer squeezed his elbow and whispered, "Do you want to go back inside?"
Even in the faint light cast over them from the patio, Jon could catch a hint of blue in Spencer's eyes, which were watching him intently. "I...not particularly?"
Spencer's answering smile was bright, and possibly breathtaking, if Jon were the sort to ever think in such terms. It didn't help his blush, or the way his heart was pounding a little too quickly. "Good, then you're coming with me. I'll show you what it's really like to explore the palace grounds." He poked Ryan. "And you go and distract them, and tell William to shut up and stop being a sore loser."
Ryan laughed and gave Spencer a salute before scrambling to his feet and taking off for the ballroom.
Jon watched him run off, feeling slightly dizzy. "What are we-?"
"C'mon." Spencer's hand curled around Jon's wrist, pulling him up. "You're going to help me avoid marriage."
~*~
"Why don't you want to be at your own ball?" Jon finally asked when they were far enough away from the palace. They circled the stone walk bordering the small lake, and the frogs croaked cheerfully in the warm night air.
Spencer shrugged and threw a stone out over the water, making ripples in the glassy surface. "Do you like being the center of attention, Jon?"
He'd grown to associate attention with being punished; as long as he was being ignored, he wasn't being reprimanded into doing more hours of back-breaking chores. "No, I don't," Jon replied quietly.
"I do, but only when it's under my control. I don't like being told that I must fall in love with someone, that I must marry. I'm twenty years old, I can decide what to do with my life myself." Spencer stopped abruptly and ducked his head, laughing sheepishly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to go off on a tirade. My father does that to me sometimes."
Jon was too busy biting his lip to keep from grinning over the fact that he and Spencer were the same age. "It's all right. Family is never easy to deal with, I know."
"It's just that..." Spencer sighed and hugged his arms to his chest. His shirt was a fine color of cream, and looked silky-soft in the moonlight. "I should have a say in this whole matter, don't you think? If I'm to rule this kingdom one day, I should be able to decide who gets to stand at my side."
Jon didn't know what to say to that; he'd always assumed that a prince wouldn't care whom he married. He knelt down to pick up another stone and tossed it idly into the water. "How long have you and Ryan been friends?" he asked, not looking over at Spencer as he watched the lake shimmer.
"Technically, he's my stable hand. We met as children when he was assigned to look after my first pony. Needless to say, I enjoyed his company more than the pony's."
Without thinking, Jon laughed softly and said, "Sounds familiar," remembering moments from long ago when he and Brendon and Tom would go tearing through the back fields surrounding Walker Manor, spurring their horses into dead runs so fast Jon could feel the wind whipping at his face. They would stop eventually, both horses and boys gasping for breath, until Brendon would yell, "Again!" and they'd start all over.
Spencer looked over at Jon and smiled curiously, nudging Jon's shoulder a little with his own. "You've got a stable boy as a best friend as well?"
Jon flushed. He never liked talking about himself. "Not so much a stable boy as a gardener and a cook," he said sheepishly as he rubbed at his neck, feeling self-conscious under Spencer's gaze.
"Your father probably thinks much more highly of them than my father thinks of Ryan. He's never been Ryan's biggest fan, but that's the story of my life, really."
Jon almost said, No, my father's dead, but he couldn't quite say the words, not to mention he was afraid his cover of being Lord Kingsley's cousin would be forfeited. But it was strange how easily he wanted to share with Spencer, when normally he would never talk about his father with anyone he'd only known a couple of hours.
"Do you live nearby?" Spencer asked. "Perhaps I've ridden by your house and never knew it." The way he grinned as if suddenly learning a secret made Jon's heart stutter.
"I..." He couldn't think of a good answer that wouldn't ruin his cover story, but he decided that it didn't matter-Spencer would never see him again after tonight. He wished that thought felt less glum. "Sort of. It's down the road a ways, just before the river."
"I don't think I know that area very well. I rarely go south for some reason." They rounded the lake and were suddenly faced with the line of thick trees leading into the forest. In the daylight, Jon was certain the trees looked pleasant and inviting, but in the dark they appeared dark and ominous. Jon had always been secretly scared of the dark since he was a boy, especially when it came to the woods.
"Should we go back?" Jon asked, hating the stab of irrational fear in his gut as he stared into the darkness of the trees.
Spencer sighed. "The correct answer would be yes, but I don't-"
A sharp bray of a horse rang through the air behind them, followed by a man's voice yelling, "There he is! Your Highness!"
"Goddamn it, why must he always send the spies after me?" Spencer hissed. He shoved a hand through his hair and looked over his shoulder frantically at the group of four men on horseback riding toward them.
"Your father's men?"
"Of course. I snuck away from them earlier with Ryan, but they always find me." He swore again under his breath, then looked back into the forest spread out before them.
"Do you trust me?" Spencer asked, wrapping his hand around Jon's wrist.
Jon swallowed tightly and felt his heart pound with anxiety and something very much like anticipation. He didn't have any reason to say yes; he didn't know Spencer, had no business allowing the prince to drag him into whatever it was he was planning to do. But Spencer's eyes were wide and expectant, almost silver in the bright moonlight, and Jon couldn't make himself look away.
"Yes," he replied softly, and his skin felt hot all over when Spencer squeezed his wrist for a second as he tugged Jon into the dark woods.
~*~
Jon didn't want to be rude, but he was beginning to think Spencer was lost. Once they'd ducked out of sight from the king's men, Spencer had whispered, "I've got a hiding place out here, we can wait them out," and then half an hour later they were still circling through the trees.
"I don't understand," Spencer muttered to himself. "I know it's here somewhere..." Thankfully the trees weren't quite thick enough to block out the moonlight; Jon could see the way Spencer ran his hands over the tree, searching for the one with a hollowed-out trunk.
"Perhaps we aren't far enough in?" Jon asked hesitantly. "Maybe your tree is further away than you think-"
"No, no, I know it's close, it wasn't far from the lake." He knocked against a large, round trunk and frowned when the tree did not sound hollow.
Jon chewed his lip and looked up at the sky, trying to get his bearings. He hated being lost, but at least if he could find the North Star, he could have a sense of which direction they were headed in. The air was getting steadily cooler, and his silk shirt wasn't enough to keep him warm. He thought wistfully for a moment of his worn woolen coat back home, the one that used to belong to his father. Jon rubbed his hands over his arms, and suddenly it dawned on him that it was most likely past midnight. He had missed Pete and Gabe in their carriage.
"Shit," he whispered under his breath, and Spencer looked up sharply.
"What's wrong?"
Jon sighed and rubbed at his neck. "I've missed my ride," he replied lamely. "I had arranged for a carriage to arrive at the palace at midnight."
"Oh." Spencer smiled contritely. "Sorry about that. Don't worry, though, I'll make sure you get home just as soon as I find a way to-"
A wolf howled in the distance. Except the distance didn't sound that far away.
Jon's heart all but stopped. "You have wolves in these woods?" he asked, taking a careful step toward Spencer, aware of every crunch and snap of his feet against the forest floor.
Spencer had gone very still, his mouth in a tight line. "I haven't seen any in years, but...it's been a while since I've been in these woods at night."
"A while?" Jon said, raising his eyebrows. "So you are lost."
"No, I simply-"
"Just admit it, Spencer, you have no idea where we are, and I, for one, am tired of wandering in circles, especially now that we've established there are bloody wolves prowling about." Jon felt his cheeks flush hotly at addressing the prince by his first name, but he didn't take it back. His childhood fear of the dark was getting the better of him, and the howling didn't help matters.
Spencer huffed out a loud sigh and shoved both hands through his hair. "Fine," he eventually whispered. "I don't know where we are."
Jon nodded tightly, glancing back up at the sky. "All right, then. We're going east, but we need to go south."
"South? But the palace is north."
He didn't know how to explain to Spencer that he needed to have been home hours ago, and at this rate Lady Deveraux was sure to discover Jon wasn't home in bed. It was better to simply head back to the manor and let Spencer find his way back later. "Look, it's a long story, but I must get home. My missing the carriage is mostly likely going to cause a stir." He could hear Lady Deveraux screaming in his head.
"Right, right." Spencer winced and put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "I'm really sorry, Jon. If I've gotten you into trouble, I promise I'll do my best to straighten things out."
You have no idea, Jon thought ruefully, but replied instead, "Come on, we can't stay in one spot."
"But can't we just make a fire for now and-"
A muffled growl came from somewhere in the darkness to their right, and Jon's heart jerked so hard he nearly gasped. "No time for a fire," he whispered in a shaking voice, hand clenching hard over Spencer's forearm. "Now is a good time for running, actually." Jon took one step back, then another, before breaking into a dead run.
Spencer held on.
part two