this evening's empire, ai rpf, 1/3
Title: this evening's empire - 1/3
Author: moirariordan
Fandom: american idol rpf
Pairings/Characters: kris allen/adam lambert, brad bell, cassidy haley, allison iraheta, the allens + other assorted characters, yay
Rating: pg-13, maybe? a strong pg-13, I guess.
Summary: Prince Kristopher gets a lot of proposals.
Title is from Dylan's Mr. Tambourine Man. An epic thank you to dansetheblues, who is the sparkly superhero Brad Pitt of betas, seriously. That makes sense in my head.
Prince Kristopher gets a lot of proposals. In fact, he gets so many that his secretary filters through them all and forwards only the most interesting and amusing to him at breakfast.
“The Baroness of Gladstone is willing to allow you unfettered access to the Enchanted Caves of Millgreen if you marry her daughter Gertrude,” says Paula. “She’s the one with the odd-shaped nose, you remember.”
Kris raises an eyebrow. “You mean the Enchanted Caves that were pillaged by scavengers last spring?”
“The very ones!” Paula grins, shuffling the papers in her hands. “And Lord Braden offers you a flock of neon-horned butterflies in exchange for your hand.” Paula pauses. “Oh, those are very rare.”
“Lord Braden is older than my father,” Kris says.
“And richer,” Paula says dreamily. Kris gives her a look. “I mean, yes sire.”
“What’s that?” Kris asks, catching a flash of silver among the stack of papers in Paula’s arms.
“This?” Paula pulls out a letter outlined on silver parchment, holding it up by two fingers and looking at it suspiciously. “This, my lord, is a proposal from the Duke of Frijola.” Paula shakes the page, and a sheen of glitter falls from the page onto Kris’s breakfast table, outlining the tea service in a glimmering cloud. “Interesting,” says Paula, in a tone of voice that implies anything but.
“What does he offer?”
Paula holds the page up to reading level with her talon-like fingernails, narrowing her eyes at the elegant scrawl. “‘A relationship based on mutual respect, trust and maturity,’” she quotes, “‘and with no small amount of passion.’” Paula scoffs. “You’re better off with Gertrude of Gladstone, sire.”
Kris ignores her, intrigued by the odd request. “Frijola,” he says. “I’m not familiar with it.”
“A most unpleasant land,” Paula says. “Very ostentatious, you might say. You might have heard of their annual Yule Festival.” Paula shudders delicately. “Your father would not approve, my lord.”
“My father does not approve of many things, Paula,” replies Kris casually. “I’d like to read his letter, if you please.”
“You don’t plan to consider the Duke’s proposal,” says Paula, aghast.
“I don’t intend to marry, ever,” Kris says patiently, for what feels like the millionth time. “I would just like to read the Duke’s letter. I think it would be interesting.” She shuffles her feet, hesitating. “Please,” Kris says, injecting a measure of authority into his voice, and Paula hands it over reluctantly, and then makes disapproving noises until Kris dismisses her out of pure irritation.
The letter is indeed, very interesting, and also very glittery. The Duke offers no material incentives, only a promise to, intriguingly enough, “take care” of Kris should he accept the offer, and signs it with a flourish, simply, Adam Lambert. Kris presumes that is his given name, and frowns thoughtfully, mumbling it to himself out loud, shaping his mouth around the sounds. No other suitor has ever framed their offer in such personal terms, nor signed their proposal so informally, and it’s enough to make Kris wonder about the man behind the words, what his intentions could possibly be.
Not that is enough to convince Kris to seriously consider the Duke’s offer. He has his reasons for refusing to wed, and if the Duke wants to know them he can consult the proclamation Kris issued to his subjects on his twenty-first birthday, just like anyone else.
So the prince sets the letter aside, rises to dress for the day, and forgets about it. Mostly.
--
“Father,” Kris says, halfway through a walk through the Marquess of Mauricia’s gardens, “what do you know about the Duke of Frijola?”
The king makes a face halfway between a grin and a frown. “Many things,” he says simply. “Why do you ask?”
“He asked for my hand in marriage,” Kris says, ducking beneath the branch of a Kumquat tree.
“As he has every year since you came of age,” his father replies. “What, did you just now notice?”
“He’s asked before?” Kris says, a little stunned. His father chuckles. “Wait, how do you know?”
“You think I don’t take an interest in my son’s suitors?” He turns and gives Kris a piercing look. “Of which the Duke is one of the most persistent.”
Kris blinks. “Why?”
The king laughs. “Kristopher, you should really stop letting Paula read your mail for you.”
“Well, if I did it myself I’d be reading every minute of every day.”
Neil throws him a secretive smile. “If you’re interested in meeting him, I could arrange it.”
Kris frowns. “Father, you know I don’t want to marry.”
“I never said anything about marrying him, I said meeting him,” the king replies. “Didn’t I?”
Kris harrumphs. “Paula said you wouldn’t approve.”
“Oh, I don’t,” his father replies. “Officially. Unofficially?” The king grins widely, gripping Kris’s shoulder. “He definitely keeps these stuffy nobles on their toes.”
Kris considers this thoughtfully. “How exactly does he do that?”
“Oh, where to begin,” the king replies. “Why don’t I let you discover that on your own.”
“All right.” Kris nods. “I guess I can meet with him.”
The king smiles approvingly. “It’s nice to see you taking an interest in court politics, Kristopher.”
Kris scoffs. “Hardly.”
“Well, maybe not politics,” King Neil revises. “A certain player in court politics, then.”
“I’m not interested in him,” Kris says, a little defensively. “I’m intrigued by him.”
“Oh,” King Neil says mockingly. “Well, I see then.”
“Go hang yourself,” says Kris, rolling his eyes and King Neil laughs delightedly.
“I’ll send for him,” he says. “Perhaps I could even do it today. It’d be a wonderful excuse to decline the invitation to the Marquess’s ball tonight.”
Kris shoots a baleful look at Marquess DioGuardi, strolling a few yards ahead of them and chattering to a pained-looking Queen Kimberly. “How many gardens does one person need, anyway?”
The king sighs. “Don’t think about it,” he advises. “And don’t ask her about the flamingo pond, then she’ll never shut up.”
Kris sighs in return, thinking wistfully of his library as he allows himself to be led away.
--
The Marquess’s ball is mandatory, apparently, or at least that’s the official word from the Queen, and so Kris finds himself squeezed into a suit and plopped onto a throne, smiling tightly as a glossy parade of men and women preen before him, simpering and bowing and flirting. Their giggles have given Kris a headache, and sometimes he really, really hates being the prince.
Paula hovers around him, running interference with the stray pushy Earl or Baron. Kris mostly allows her free-reign, watching the clock and counting down the minutes until the polite hour to leave approaches.
Then, Paula freezes up beside him, and reaches down to clutch painfully at his arm, hissing in his ear, “Earl Cowell of Coldwell, four o’clock, my lord,” who Kris may or may not have punched at the Festival of Lights the year before when he made a disparaging comment about “frigid princes with their noses buried in a book,” and so Kris bolts, slipping past the receiving line and out onto the balcony, darting out of the ballroom surreptitiously and sighing in relief as the cool night air rushes up to meet him.
“Well,” he hears, and spins around to see a man leaning against the railing, a glass of wine held loosely in one hand, “hello.”
“Oh, hello,” he replies. “I apologize, I didn’t know anyone was out here.”
The man is dressed in an outrageous velvet suit, colored in shades of dark blue and red, with a matching cloak that wraps around his shoulders dramatically. His eyes, outlined in kohl, narrow as he tilts his head thoughtfully. “An apology from the prince,” he says lazily, “for nothing more than seeking a moment’s reprieve from the maddening crowd. Fascinating.”
Kris feels a blush crawling up his neck, for no particular reason at all. “I did not think that my discomfort was all that obvious,” he says slowly, walking to the railing and peering over into the gardens below.
“To anyone paying attention,” the man replies, studying Kris with an intent smile. “Well,” he says again, setting the wineglass on the railing delicately. “Here we are.”
“Yes,” Kris says, puzzled. “Here is where we are.”
The man smiles sunnily. “You haven’t the faintest idea who I am, do you?”
“Should I?”
He laughs, inclining his head in a formal bow and reaching out for Kris’s hand. “I am the Duke of Frijola,” he says grandly, “but you can call me Adam.”
Kris gives him his hand, blinking as the Duke lays a kiss against his knuckles. “Ah,” he manages. “It’s - nice to meet you, Duke.”
“Adam,” he says, chastising. Kris raises an eyebrow. “And what may I call you, my prince?”
“Prince,” replies Kris shortly, pulling his hand away.
Adam laughs. “I see you haven’t miraculously changed your mind in regards to my proposal,” he says, and Kris turns to consider him in slight surprise at his bluntness. “Although I do confess to some puzzlement as to why I was summoned to this incredibly dry function, if that is the case.”
“Summoned?” Kris blinks, and remembers the conversation with his father in the garden. “Oh. That was my father, not me.”
“Well, obviously,” Adam says, waving one hand. Light pouring out from the ballroom catches the rings on his fingers and makes them glint as he picks up his glass again, sipping slowly from the dark red wine. “However I can’t think of anything the king might require of me, other than taking you off his hands, of course.”
Kris clenches his jaw, rebellion spiking at Adam’s words. “I was intrigued by your letter,” he says. “I made the mistake of mentioning it to my father, who is far too invested in my love life, and convinced me to meet with you.” Kris holds his chin high, keeping his gaze fixed on the star-sprinkled sky, feeling a strange awareness of the other man’s gaze on his profile. “He didn’t tell me you’d be coming tonight, however.”
Adam chuckles. “My letter this year was the same as the other five,” he says. “Was there something about this one in particular that caught your eye?”
“I never read the other ones,” Kris says honestly. “Actually, I don’t read most of my proposals.”
Adam laughs loudly. “Scandalous!” he exclaims.
“Practical,” Kris counters. “Though if your words themselves had not caught my attention, the rainbow-colored glitter sure did the trick.”
“It adds a certain touch to my correspondence,” he says breezily.
“That’s one way of putting it.” Kris nods.
“I almost feel as if I should be offended that you ignored my proposals, six years in a row,” Adam says mildly. “But I imagine I can’t be too angry with you when most of my mail goes straight into my fireplace as well.”
“What made you keep offering?” Kris asks. “I’d think after being ignored you would move onto better prospects.”
Adam’s smile turns predatory. “Better prospects than you, my prince?”
Kris turns away from him. “If you want this conversation to end quickly, Duke, please continue your thought.”
Adam chuckles in response, backing away slightly. “Fine, I’ll be on my best behavior. Promise.” He gives Kris another one of his calculating looks, which Kris staunchly ignores. “You are just as much of a spitfire as they say. And that’s a simple compliment, believe me.”
“What else do they say about me?” Kris asks, voice dripping with repressed bitterness. “The virgin prince, locked away in the tower? Or maybe the disrespectful one, who eschews his duties in favor of flights of fancy?”
Adam regards him calmly. “Your work hardly seems to be a ‘flight of fancy’ to me,” he says. “The poverty rate has decreased by seven percent since you started your shelter reform campaign. Not to mention literacy and retention.”
Kris pauses, a little taken aback. “I didn’t think the nobility paid all that much attention to poverty rates,” he says mildly.
“Well,” Adam replies, “most don’t.” Then he grins. “But I’m not just any noble.”
“That, I can see,” Kris says, without thinking, regretting it instantly as the predatory touch returns to Adam’s grin. “Why have you not introduced yourself to me before?” he asks quickly.
Adam shrugs elegantly. “Frijola is too far for me to be much of a presence in court,” he says.
“That doesn’t stop Lord Cowell,” Kris points out. “Or Lord Desai, or Lady Clarkson, or Lord Cook - “
“Well, I prefer to you know, actually govern my lands,” Adam interrupts. “As opposed to prostrating at the king’s feet to gain favor.”
“No,” Kris says, “you prefer to do that through me.”
Adam looks at him sharply. “That is where you are wrong, my prince.”
The moment hangs, until Kris looks away, swallowing thickly. “I should return,” he says quietly. “My parents will be wondering where I am.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” Adam says, voice thick and honeyed. “Allow me to escort you back to your throne, highness.”
“That’s not necessary,” Kris says fruitlessly, watching as Adam takes his arm, leading him back towards the light and sound of the ballroom.
“What kind of suitor would I be if I didn’t?” Adam asks.
“You are not my suitor,” Kris says. “I rejected you.”
“Actually, you ignored me,” Adam corrects. “So technically…I’m not out of the running yet.”
Kris doesn’t have time to protest before he is swept back into the oppressive ballroom, the sound of the music eliminating the possibility for conversation.
Adam leads him back to the front of the ballroom where his parents are sitting, and Kris is intimately aware of the sheer number of eyes on them, some curious, some jealous, all sharp and intent.
“Lord Lambert,” the king greets. To anyone watching, he looks impassive, but Kris can detect the faint surprise in his face. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
Adam bows gracefully, a small smile playing around the corners of his lips. “My journey was shorter than I’d expected, my liege.”
“We’re pleased you could join us,” says the queen, glancing at Kris a bit oddly. He realizes his arm is still entangled with Adam’s and pulls away a little stiffly, slipping back onto his throne, set slightly lower than his parents’. “Did you greet the Marquess and her husband?”
“We exchanged pleasantries,” Adam says. “Regretfully, I arrived late enough that a tour of her infamous gardens was not possible.”
Kris hides a smile. “A shame.”
“Maybe another time,” the queen says, not bothering to hide her grin.
“How long will you be staying in Central City, Lord Lambert?” the king asks.
“Only a few days, I’m sorry to say,” Adam replies. “There is business in Frijola that requires my attention.”
“Oh yes, the Yule Festival,” says the king. “I’ve heard many wonderful things about it, I’m sorry to say I’ve never been able to attend.”
“It is our annual celebration of the new year,” Adam says. “It is quite spectacular.”
“Lady Clarkson attended last year,” the queen says. “She had some fantastic stories to tell. We should arrange to attend next year.”
Something sparks in Adam’s eyes, and he straightens up. “Perhaps,” Adam says slyly, and Kris’s stomach sinks, “the prince would like to join us this year, if he doesn’t have any other pressing engagements.”
“I don’t think,” Kris starts, and stops short, caught by the intensity of Adam’s expression.
“What a charming idea,” says the queen. “Kristopher, it’s been so long since you had a vacation.” She turns to Adam, smiling. “He’s just like his father, can’t get him to stop working for a minute.” Adam nods understandingly.
“I don’t need a vacation,” says Kris lamely.
“The people of Frijola would be honored to have you join us,” Adam says. “They would be greatly inspired at the presence of their prince, I’m sure.”
King Neil leans back, stroking his chin. “It’s not a bad idea,” he says. “What do you think, Kristopher?”
Kris thinks he’s in trouble. “I…what about your Yule celebration, Mother?”
The queen waves her hand. “There have been many Yule Balls at the palace, and there will be many more. You should go and enjoy yourself. Be young and carefree…or at least pretend.” Her eyes twinkle at him warmly.
“Then it’s settled,” the king says, winking at Kris. “The prince will return to Frijola with you, Lord Lambert. I trust your estate can accommodate my son?”
“It was built for royalty,” Adam says, “literally. I’m sure the prince will be very comfortable with us.”
“The prince is sitting right here,” Kris says, annoyed.
“Of course you are, dear,” says the queen, and Adam grins widely.
“Well, I must take my leave for tonight, I have been traveling all day and I am simply exhausted,” Adam says grandly. “Prince Kristopher,” he says slowly, and a shiver races down Kris’s spine. “I look forward to our journey together.”
“As do I,” Kris replies, repressing the urge to shrink down in his throne. Thrones are not for shrinking.
“Your majesties.” Adam bows again, cape sweeping the parquet. His parents nod grandly, dismissing him, and with an enigmatic smile, he’s gone.
Kris blinks, blowing out a breath. “What just happened here?”
His mother reaches over to pat his hand. “Don’t worry darling,” she says, “he seems harmless.” The king snorts, and she pulls back, a crooked smile on her face. “Well, harmless enough.”
--
“I worry about you, traveling alone,” Paula says, watching Kris critically as he carefully wraps his journal, placing it in his knapsack. “You do know that going on a trip like this with him is synonymous to accepting his marriage proposal?”
“It is not,” Kris says, flopping down onto his bed. “It wasn’t even my idea, anyway, it was my mother’s. Or maybe Adam’s. Or who knows, I can’t remember.”
“Adam?” Paula repeats. “We’re calling him Adam now?”
Kris flushes slightly. “Lord Lambert sounds weird,” he mumbles.
“This is not good,” Paula says, hands flapping around her face. “Sire, I’ve heard things about this Yule Festival, it’s - it’s debauched! Everyone comes in costumes, there are dancers and musicians - you do know that gypsies have sanctuary in Frijola? Just imagine the type of riff-raff that you’ll be forced to encounter - it’s appalling!”
Kris sighs. “Paula, how long have you served me?”
“Your whole life, my lord,” she says, sighing.
“And what in all that time has led you to believe that attending one festival would be enough to corrupt my morals?”
“Nothing, my lord,” says Paula grumpily.
Kris chuckles. “I’m not going to run off with a gypsy woman and become a traveling minstrel, Paula.”
“It’s not the gypsy women I’m worried about, sire,” Paula says, busying herself with re-folding the clothes in Kris’s trunk. “You know,” she says hesitatingly. “Lady Katherine has returned from the Southern Valley,” she says.
Kris purses his lips. “With her paramour in tow, I’m sure.”
“You two are such good friends,” Paula pushes. “A marriage between you would be most convenient - she has no room to protest if you were to take lovers, after all - “
“I don’t want a marriage of convenience,” Kris says, pushing off the bed and walking to the window, looking out onto the courtyard. “I don’t want a marriage at all. I’ve seen what passes for it in court and I’m not interested.”
“You will be expected to provide an heir eventually,” Paula says quietly.
Kris sighs. “Paula, please.”
“I apologize, my lord.” Paula rises gracefully, her aging face lined with kindness. “I only want - “
“What’s best for me,” Kris finishes. “Yes, I know.” He turns and gives her a tired smile. “Thank you.”
Paula bows her head and is, finally, silent.
--
It’s two days’ journey to Frijola from the Central palace, and Adam joins him in the carriage on the second day.
“I see you left your lady-in-waiting at home,” he says as greeting, and Kris scowls.
“Secretary,” he corrects.
Adam hums noncommittally. “I hope the days since we last saw each other have treated you well,” he says, situating himself on the seat across from Kris. He’s dressed smartly in leather traveling wear, and Kris can hear the rasp of his gloves as he flexes his hand around the handle of the ornate cane he carries. “I joined your parents for dinner the night before last; I was sad to hear that you were unable to attend.”
“I eat with the staff,” Kris says, a touch of defiance in his voice. “I have no patience for the formality of my father’s table.”
Adam smiles approvingly. “Oh good,” he says. “I was afraid you might be offended at the state of affairs at Wyldbore,” he says. “We’re very casual.”
“Wyldbore?”
“My estate,” Adam explains. “Named after the flower that grows wild in Frijola.” He smiles, and Kris gets the impression that it’s not wholly for his benefit. “Even now, in the middle of winter, the grounds are coated with it. Like a blanket of color,” he says dreamily.
Kris finds himself smiling. “Is it snowy in Frijola?”
“Oh no,” Adam says. “We’re too far south. It’s very mild, all year round. I expect it will be very pleasant for the festival.”
“I have been advised to keep a close watch on my morals,” Kris says lightly, “lest this festival of yours sneaks in and corrupts them.”
Adam laughs. “I doubt your morals are in any danger from us,” he says. “But if you’re very worried I can help you guard them.”
“You are hardly a trustworthy candidate for that job,” Kris mutters.
Adam smirks wickedly. “Are you afraid for your virtue, my prince?”
“Should I be, my lord?” Kris counters, and sees Adam’s eyes darken.
Turning away, Adam clears his throat. “I thought I told you to call me Adam,” he says, voice strained.
“That seems rather informal.”
“I do not mind,” Adam replies. “Do you?”
Kris is silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I am unsure of what you want from me,” he says finally.
“What I want from you?” Adam repeats. “Nothing but your company, highness. Is that so hard to believe?” Kris doesn’t reply. “Well, it shouldn’t be.”
“Forgive me if I am skeptical,” says Kris, “when you no doubt have your pick of companions in Frijola.”
“Perhaps,” says Adam. “But I’d much rather be having this incredibly intriguing conversation with you.”
“Because I’m the prince,” says Kris.
“Because you are intriguing,” Adam corrects. “Are you always this distrustful?”
“Of nobles? Yes,” Kris says.
Adam chuckles. “Well, that’s understandable, I suppose.”
“And considering that you have proposed marriage to me no less than six times, based on nothing more than my name and my throne,” continues Kris, “isn’t it also understandable that I should distrust your intentions?”
“There was also your face,” Adam says silkily. “Such a pretty one you have, your majesty, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Kris raises an eyebrow. “Well it certainly proves my point.”
Adam laughs. “I cannot decide if this is insecurity or paranoia,” he says. “You seem so determined not to believe that someone could possibly desire you.”
“Money and power can cloud the gaze of even the most honest man,” says Kris.
“And so can an enchanting young prince,” Adam says, grinning. Kris huffs, looking away. “We’re in a very small carriage, your highness, there’s no ballroom to escape into this time,” he teases.
“A very high-sitting carriage,” Kris says thoughtfully, peering out the window. “It would be such a shame if you were to fall out of it. I imagine it would be very painful.”
Adam’s laughter is a burst of sound and energy. “Are you threatening me, your majesty?”
“Are you intimidated, Lord Lambert?” Kris raises an eyebrow.
Adam slides downward in his seat, the length of his thighs coming dangerously close to Kris’s own in the cramped space. “I think you are being rather optimistic, considering our size difference,” Adam says mildly. Kris lets the jab pass; it’s actually nothing less than the truth.
Adam’s eyes slip shut and he crosses his legs at the ankles, looking like a huge, leather-clad cat, basking in the sun. Kris takes the opportunity to study him, tracing the lines of his body with his eyes, trying to figure out how it makes him feel.
“I also think,” Adam says suddenly, startling the peaceful silence, “that it’s going to be a very long ride if you keep looking at me like that.”
Kris blinks and turns away jerkily, realizing belatedly that his hands are shaking. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says, and Adam’s answering laughter pricks at his skin like pinpricks.
--
Kris hasn’t traveled throughout the kingdom as much as his father; it’s impossible to, really, there are eighty-one dukedoms in King Neil’s jurisdiction alone, let alone the neighboring kingdom to the north currently ruled by Kris’s great-uncle. He remembers long tutoring sessions when he was young, trying to memorize the names of the territories and the lords that ruled them. Where his father can effortlessly rattle off any stray fact about any corner of his kingdom, that level of familiarity is one earned through years of governing, a level that Kris neither has nor desires to have, despite any “aptitude” he might have for ruling, as his father puts it.
Frijola, he remembers vaguely as a line in his school text, and nowhere in the sentence did it say anything about naked farmers.
“Um,” Kris says, unsure if what he’s seeing really is what he’s seeing, “are they naked?”
Adam snuffles sleepily, pushing up in his seat and peering out the window. Then he laughs so loudly Kris winces, afraid he’s going to scare the horses.
“My welcome home party,” Adam says cheerily, scrambling over to the window. Climbing over Kris’s legs carelessly, he leans so far out of the window that it makes Kris a little nervous. “Hello, beautiful people!” he calls merrily, and Kris hears muffled cheers in return.
Laughing, he pulls himself back in and collapses on the seat, giggling helplessly.
“Are you having a fit?” Kris asks, unimpressed.
“I apologize,” Adam wheezes, clutching at his stomach. Then he sits up and glances out the window again and promptly collapses back into laughter.
“Well,” Kris says, studying the row of villagers lining the side of the road, all cheering and yelling, and all very, very naked. “Frijolans certainly know how to make an impression.”
Adam wipes at his eyes, grinning sunnily at the lines of people. “It’s - a joke,” he explains haltingly, throat still thick with suppressed laughter. “I - well, I did say we were very casual here, didn’t I?”
“I rather thought you meant not dressing for dinner,” Kris says, “not…not dressing at all.”
“It’s something I said, before I left,” Adam says. “I’ve been on business in the border territories for the last month or so - that’s why I was so close when I received the king’s summons.” He watches the line of people outside the window as the carriage flies by, an expression of awed hilarity etched on his handsome face. “I told them that by the time I’d returned, I’d be so happy to be home that the entire dukedom could be naked and I wouldn’t care.”
“It seems they took you literally,” Kris says, a smile tugging at his mouth as he catches sight of an elderly woman, cheering enthusiastically with a walking cane clutched in one hand, as naked as her compatriots.
“Is that a smile?” Adam says, leaning forward to peer at Kris’s face intently. “The prince can smile?”
Kris snorts, pushing him away. The leather of Adam’s coat is cool beneath his fingertips, and Kris presses his hand to his thigh when he pulls away. “Don’t push it,” he says.
Adam laughs, reaching out and squeezing Kris’s knee fondly. Kris jerks in his seat, unused to such a familiar touch, but Adam has already turned away, sliding the partition open and ordering the driver to stop.
“I have to address these wonderful people,” Adam says, pulling the carriage door open before it even comes to a full stop. Stepping out onto the lip of the carriage, he spreads his arms wide open, smiling widely as the naked crowd flocks to meet him. “My darlings,” he calls, and the crowd cheers.
Kris can see the side of his face through the window; he has a smile big enough to rival the sun’s. As Kris watches, Adam glances down and winks.
“My darlings,” Adam says again, holding his hands out for quiet. “What a wonderful welcome. You are all so beautiful!” The clamor of the crowd rises again, and Kris watches in half amusement, half shock as naked men and women of all ages press against each other shamelessly, trying to get as close to the carriage - and Adam - as possible. “Calm, calm!” Adam calls, laughing loudly. “My heart is so full. My beautiful, precious people!”
The crowd stares up at Adam with nothing less than adoration on their faces. Adam reaches out and starts touching them softly on their shoulders and cheeks, and Kris watches in awe as they quiet, as if his very touch is calm itself.
“I’ve been away for far too long,” Adam tells them fondly, teeth glinting in the sun. “But I’m back now. And I’ve brought a guest.”
Kris’s jaw drops. “No,” he says, leaning backwards and Adam bends down, smirking and beckoning to him. “No,” he tells him, firmly, and finds himself being ignored as Adam grasps his arm, pulling him out of the carriage and into the late afternoon sun.
Stepping down onto the road, Adam pulls Kris out onto his former perch. The crowd backs away slightly, and Kris watches as their adoration and excitement dampens slightly as they recognize him.
“I would like to formally announce,” Adam says grandly, “Prince Kristopher Allen the third, our sovereign and special guest.”
“Uh, hello,” Kris says. The crowd stares at him blankly.
“His majesty has graciously traveled home with me to attend the Yule Festival this year,” Adam says. “And I’m sure he appreciates this…uniquely Frijolan welcome.” He winks, and laughs skitter through the crowd, although the reaction is much more subdued. A few of them even shy away slightly and blush, suddenly covering themselves with their arms, as if embarrassed.
“Yes,” Kris calls out suddenly, matching the volume of Adam’s voice. “I am pleased to be here. I’ve traveled to many different parts of this kingdom, but never before have I been so…enthusiastically welcomed,” he says slyly, and watches in satisfaction as the faces of the villagers slowly regain some of their former excitement.
Adam laughs, big and showy and loud. “That’s one way of putting it,” he says, and more of the crowd laughs this time, the sudden hesitancy loosening. “Well, your majesty,” says Adam, turning to look up at Kris, grinning conspiratorially. “Does Frijola please you thus far?”
“Pleasing?” Kris says, looking out into the crowd and smiling warmly at a young girl, hiding shyly behind an adult’s leg, peering up at him with curious eyes. “‘Pleasing’ hardly covers it.” He pauses. “It seems nothing covers it, actually.” He keeps his eyes on the crowd as Adam’s surprised laughter reaches his ears.
The crowd loosens up, smiles widening and the tension dissipating. Adam looks up at him with an approving grin.
“Well,” he says, “a glowing review for this glowing welcome.” Adam grins, moving further into the crowd, tweaking noses, pulling on curls and brushing shoulders.
The crowd is incredibly invested in Adam’s presence, and incredibly not invested in Kris’s, and so he ducks back into the carriage, watching through the window as Adam smiles and laughs and shakes hands, looking completely at home in a crowd full of naked people. The sight is maybe the most bizarre thing he’s ever seen in his life, and then Kris pictures what Paula’s face might look like if she were here, and can’t stop the loud guffaw that bubbles up in his throat.
Adam looks up and smiles from across the peach-colored crowd, and Kris smiles back on instinct, not remembering that Adam cannot see him.
--
As they move farther into the city, the nakedness dissipates slightly, although Kris still sees a stray nude villager here and there, waving at their carriage enthusiastically. Adam sits plastered to the window and waves back, every single time.
Wyldbore is impressive, set just outside the city limits. As they turn onto the grounds, Kris sees what looks like a blanket of purple on the ground outside, and an intoxicatingly sweet scent drifting in on the breeze.
“The wyldbore flower,” Adam says. When the carriage pulls up to the door, he sweeps out and plucks a stem from the ground, tucking it into Kris’s lapel with a flourish. “Native to Frijola. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Kris nods silently, taking in the colorful surroundings. The estate itself is ornate, and standing against the backdrop of the purple fields of flowers, it looks otherworldly.
Adam can’t seem to stop smiling, a wyldbore stem of his own tucked behind his ear, talking and chatting to the servants who have come out to retrieve their luggage.
“You seem happy to be home,” Kris comments, allowing Adam to take his arm and guide him through the giant, golden-gilded front doors.
“I am happy,” Adam replies. “Traveling is all well and good, but there’s no place like home.” He takes a deep, satisfied breath. “If you forgive my sentimentality.”
“Sentimentality isn’t something that needs forgiving,” Kris says, “in my opinion.” Adam smiles at him approvingly.
“Holla, my lord!”
Adam stops short at the loud cry, spinning around and looking up at the top of the grand staircase, where a tiny man with blue hair stands beaming. “Holla, Bradley,” calls Adam, waving. Turning to Kris, he grins. “Do not be afraid, he doesn’t bite. Much.”
“Comforting,” remarks Kris.
Bradley slides down the staircase and hops off into a run, looping his arms around Adam’s neck in an energetic hug. Adam releases Kris’s arm in surprise, groaning and laughing at the same time. “Release me, you fool,” he says, stepping back. “My God, did you dip your head in blueberry juice?”
Bradley preens. “It’s for the festival. I have the most outrageous outfit to match, wait till you see.” He takes Adam’s hand, swinging it merrily, turning to Kris with a sunny smile. “Oh, did you bring me a present?”
“Brad,” Adam says, “this is your prince, show a little decorum.” He shakes out of Brad’s hold with a mock frown.
“Of course I know it’s the prince, I’m not a total dullard,” Brad says, rolling his eyes and turning to Kris conspiratorially, “he thinks I’m a dullard, it’s quite ridiculous.”
“I do not think you’re a dullard, I think you’re a lunatic.” Adam takes Kris’s arm again. “I apologize, your majesty, Bradley is my advisor and also a lost cause. I advise you to stay as far away from him as possible during your stay with us.”
Kris chuckles at the face Brad makes. “I’m quite used to lunatics,” he says. “And you would be too, Duke, if you spent more time at court.”
Brad giggles. “That’s funny. You’re funny. Oh!” His eyes widen and he bows deeply, wobbling a little, one foot sticking out oddly. “Forgot to bow!” he says to the floor. “Your majesty. Sorry about that.” Then he straightens up into a pirouette. “Good?”
“Beautiful,” Kris informs him.
“Don’t encourage him,” Adam says, aghast.
“Don’t marginalize me,” Brad chastises him. “And honestly, Adam, have you completely lost your manners? Have you even given this poor prince a tour of the grounds yet?” He scoots up and takes Kris’s free arm. “Or shown him to his room? He must be tired from the long journey.”
“I was about to,” Adam says, scowling, “before your entrance, you peacock.”
“I apologize for the Duke, your highness,” Brad says, eyes wide, pulling Kris away from Adam and down toward the long hallway decisively. “We barely put up with him ourselves, I can’t imagine the depths of your pain after a long carriage ride.”
“It was a trial, but I managed to survive,” Kris says dryly, glancing back at Adam, whose mouth is pulled into something that looks suspiciously like a pout.
“When you’re quite finished insulting me Bradley, would you mind filling me in on the state of affairs while I’ve been away?” he says, strolling somewhat behind them, tapping his cane on the tiles rhythmically.
“Affairs?” Brad shrugs. “Affairs are fine. Wonderful. Festival preparations are going swimmingly, every lodging house in the city is full. Our stores are overflowing, our shopkeepers are overweight and our farmers are naked.” Brad grins wickedly. “We’ve been just fine without you, my lord.”
“Was that you?” Adam says. “I thought I’d recognized your handiwork.”
“It was their idea,” Brad says innocently. “I simply let slip the day of your return. They were ready to go starkers all week, and sunburn in awkward places is nobody’s idea of a fun time.”
“Indeed,” Kris intones solemnly, feeling an inner spike of satisfaction as Brad’s smirk widens and Adam gapes. “Mr. Bradley, is there a destination to our journey or are we simply wandering?”
“I was taking you to your room,” Brad says. “And it’s Mr. Bell. Or - just Brad, if it pleases you, highness.”
“Brad,” says Kris obediently, “I am neither a child nor a woman, I do not need to rest after a strenuous day of sitting.”
Brad laughs. “Well, we must tour the grounds then. They are quite outrageously expansive. I imagine that you may stretch your legs so sufficiently that you may never want to walk again.” Turning back to Adam, he gives a playful sneer. “Adam, you may go attend to business with the staff, I believe they’ve been waiting for your approval on a ghastly number of decisions regarding the festival. I’ll take it from here.”
“Who is in charge here, me or the circus that passes for my household?” Adam laments, twirling his cane. “Well, I suppose if you feel safe with Bradley, my prince…”
“Safe?” Kris repeats, eyeing Brad, who beams. “Safe enough, I suppose.”
“Then I will leave you in his capable hands.” Adam tilts his head. “Well, his hands, at least.” He bows graciously, shoots a stern glare at Brad, and strides away.
Brad shakes his head. “So overdramatic,” he says, pulling Kris away enthusiastically. “I’m not really a lunatic,” he whispers, as if divulging a secret.
“Well, that’s a pity,” Kris says back. “I find them quite charming.”
--
Dinner is casual, as Adam had informed him earlier. It is in fact, so casual, that Brad takes off his shoes and throws them aside as he sits down.
“Oh heavens,” he says, folding himself into a chair and sighing dramatically. “I can’t remember the last time I walked from one end of this gigantic place to the other. My poor feet.”
Adam sits at the head of the table, a sheaf of parchment spread out before him. “At our last ball, you danced all through the night without a moment’s rest, but forty minutes of walking sends you into a fit?”
Brad ignores him. “I apologize, your highness,” he says to Kris, the definition of haughtiness, “the Duke is insufferably rude and a complete brute to boot. Doing paperwork at the dinner table, really.”
“I’m putting it away!” Adam protests, shuffling it away and handing it off to a passing servant. “Last-minute preparations for the festival.”
“The festival!” exclaims Brad. “Well, that’s all right then. Prince, have you decided what you’re going to wear?”
“No?” Kris says. “Is there a dress code?”
“It’s a sort of tradition,” Adam says, “to look as ostentatious as humanly possible.”
“You must dress up, your majesty,” Brad says urgently. “It would be such a shame if you didn’t - I could help you!” A manic glint lights his eyes and he claps his hands excitedly. “Oh, Adam and I have the most wonderful dressmaker, Haley is his name - he’s simply brilliant, we’d come up with something radiant for you to wear.”
“I suppose I can’t argue with tradition,” Kris says, helpless in the face of Brad’s brilliant smile.
“You’ll regret that,” Adam warns.
“Don’t be stupid, I’m not going to traumatize him,” Brad says. “He’s our prince for God’s sake, he’d probably throw me in the stocks.”
“I would not,” Kris says. “That’s my father’s job.” Brad laughs jubilantly.
Brad dominates the conversation, flitting from topic to topic, picking at his food like a hen and bouncing on his knees in his seat. Kris can’t help but like the man; he reminds him of the green-beaked singing birds that live in the rafters of the palace back home, forever humming sweetly and looping playfully around the heads of the nobles his father receives in the Great Hall.
Adam is oddly silent throughout most of the meal, and Kris feels his gaze like a heat lamp.
A servant skips in - literally skips, Kris notices with a smile - and whispers something in Brad’s ear, who gasps and drops his fork.
“Oh, silly feathers, I’ve forgotten,” he exclaims, jumping up and grabbing his shoes. “I’m to meet with the court orchestra in five minutes. Your highness, do you mind?”
“Go,” Kris tells him, “by all means. Music is a very serious business.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Adam intones, and winks at Brad. “Go on.”
Brad does a quick clumsy bow, and waggles his fingers for effect. “Play nice,” he calls over his shoulder, and bounces away.
“Your highness,” Adam says, after Brad has gone, “do you truly dislike me?”
Kris looks over at him, startled. “What?”
Adam reaches for his wineglass, studying Kris somberly. “You are so reserved,” he says thoughtfully. “I’d thought it was just your nature, but I see you smiling and laughing with everyone else but me. Just now, you were joking with Bradley, as carefree as I’ve ever seen you, and now he’s gone and you’ve become silent once again.” He smiles sadly. “I’m starting to develop a complex.”
“I like you well enough,” Kris says. “I don’t trust you, maybe.”
“Why not?”
Kris sips at his own wine primly, the powerful tang making him wince. “I feel as though we’ve already had this conversation.”
“Ah yes, you disbelieve my intentions,” Adam says, sitting back in his seat. He’s changed out of his traveling clothes, and now wears a pale grey tunic with silver threading, hands and neck free of jewelry. “What can I do to convince you that I am genuine?”
“You want a to-do list?” Kris asks.
“Well, that would be convenient.”
“I am not going to provide you with a step-by-step guide as to how to court me,” Kris says. “That, Lord Lambert, is called cheating.”
“So you want me to court you honestly?” Adam inquires.
Kris opens his mouth, then shuts it again. “No,” he says, unconvincingly.
Adam laughs. “Something you should know, Kristopher,” he says, “is that I’m probably not going to listen to anything you say.”
He punctuates his words by reaching out and patting Kris’s wrist, and Kris jerks away on instinct, knocking his fork off his plate with a clatter.
“I apologize,” Adam says quickly, drawing his hand back.
“It’s - not. I - “ Kris cuts himself off, shaking his head. “It’s no offense.”
“That’s the second time you’ve done that when I’ve touched you,” Adam says neutrally, eyeing him carefully.
“I’m - “ Kris sighs harshly. “I’m not very…used to being touched.”
Adam is silent a moment, rubbing his chin. “Well that’s a shame,” he says. “Touch is the most powerful way we have of communicating with each other.” He grins. “And I don’t even mean anything untoward by that. A hug can heal the strongest of hurts.”
Kris clears his throat. “It is disrespectful to touch a member of the royal family in such a familiar way,” he says, trying to summon a measure of propriety to his voice, but it comes out sounding rather hollow instead.
Adam hums thoughtfully. “I think I understand now,” he says simply.
Understand what, Kris wants to ask. “I’m used to it,” he says, wincing when it sounds defensive to his own ears.
“I’m sure you are,” Adam says blandly. “Why don’t you have another glass of wine?”
“I’m fine,” Kris says uselessly, watching as Adam refills his goblet from a large golden pitcher.
“Blueberry wine is a delicacy here in Frijola,” Adam says conversationally. “It’s our main cash crop. Blueberries, that is. We’re rather fond of blue and purple, you see.” He gestures with a wry smile to the décor, themed in shades of deep, sea blue. “The entire estate is either blue, purple or some combination thereof. But I’m sure you noticed that on your tour.”
“It was very impressive,” Kris says, taking another gulp of the wine. The tang is strong, stronger than any other wine he’s ever tasted before. “And very colorful.”
“Thank you,” says Adam, apparently taking his comment as a compliment.
“Do you ride often?” Kris says suddenly. “Brad showed me the stables. Or he - pointed them out from a balcony, at least.”
“When I have time.” Adam sighs. “Fiddlesticks.”
Kris blinks. “Fiddlesticks?”
“My favorite horse.” Adam grins. “A feisty little thing. I’ll have to introduce you.”
“I would - enjoy that,” Kris surprises himself by saying.
“Do you ride, highness?”
“Often,” Kris says. “I don’t have a favorite horse, however. Most of the stallions at the palace are used in the dressage competitions, so I usually take out whichever one isn’t occupied at the moment.”
Adam tuts. “A prince without his own horse?” He shakes his head. “A travesty.”
“I’m fairly sure I gave up on my dream of becoming a knight around the age of twelve,” Kris says, “too much training, not enough reading. Books quickly became a higher priority than horses.”
“A good horse can be a wonderful companion,” Adam says lightly. “The most trustworthy confidant, and a strong, huggable friend, there for you day or night.” He tips his glass at Kris, a kind expression on his face. “A horse will certainly never betray you, that’s for sure.”
Kris swallows the lump in his throat. “I’ll…keep it in mind,” he says quietly, and picks up his own wine again, taking a healthy gulp and watching Adam’s profile distort through the wavy, dark glass.
--
Cassidy Haley is the dressmaker that Brad continuously raves deliriously about; from his description, Kris isn’t sure if he should be expecting a man or some sort of magical creature that descends from the heavens to make costumes for princes.
He turns out to be, in fact, not a magical creature, but a fairly serious man, with ivory pale skin and a pile of fabric larger than Brad. He takes Kris’s measurements with an odd measuring tape that wraps itself around Kris’s waist. When Kris jumps violently, Cassidy smiles and apologizes.
“Made from the hide of spine-backed kangaroos, my lord,” Cassidy says. “So it’s a little…jumpy.”
“I’ve never heard of that particular breed of kangaroo,” Kris says, watching warily as the tape slithers up his wrist. “Let me guess - native to Frijola.”
“We are a fascinating land,” Cassidy says, smiling mysteriously. “You’ll get used to it.”
His young apprentice is named Allison, her scarlet-red hair marking her as a gypsy, if the rattling bracelets on her wrists and the scarves wrapped around her waist didn’t already give Kris a clue.
“I’m thinking…green,” she announces, studying Kris’s face critically. “Oh yes, a wood sprite! We can make him some vines, and bark for his shins, and Brad can do his paint - he’s wonderful at color coordination.”
“Brad wanted him in wings,” Cassidy says thoughtfully. “I think he just likes the idea, though.”
“Between wings and vines,” Kris says, “I’d choose vines.”
“Oh, good,” Allison says, clapping her hands. “Yes, Cass, it’s perfect. He’s so thin and delicate that it’d work wonderfully.” She turns to Kris, grinning sheepishly. “No offense. I’m sure you’re a very strong person, you know. Probably not delicate at all.”
Kris laughs. “Thank you?”
“You’re welcome,” Allison says, and beams.
They spend some time circling Kris like two colorful, oddly dressed hawks, tossing around words like “Technicolor,” “harness” and “corset.” Cassidy finally hunches over some parchment and starts sketching, while Allison attempts to coax the kangaroo measuring tape back onto its roll.
“I’ve always liked you,” she tells him, grinning gratefully as he leans down to snag the end of the tape, keeping it from darting beneath the wardrobe. “Can you be a fan of a politician? Because if you can, I am. Of you.”
Kris smiles at her a bit oddly. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard that before,” he says. “But thank you.”
Allison smiles up at him, looking very young and earnest. “My mami and I lived in the shelters, before we moved here,” she says hesitantly. “It was horrible. We had to fight with the other women for food, and we slept in the dirt. I was sick a lot.” She shudders. “I remember you came to visit once, at the one we were at. You came through and handed out blankets and clothes and books, and then after you left they replaced all the workers with nicer ones, and we had more food and clean water and everything.”
Kris smiles at her softly. “I’m glad I was able to help.”
Allison ducks her chin, pulling at the scarf around her waist. “I’m a gypsy, you know,” she says, seeming to have trouble getting the words out. “And I - I mean, I know it’s illegal and everything, but - “
“It’s not illegal here,” Kris says.
“No.” Allison blushes a little. “I hope you - I mean, I don’t want you to think I’m - “
“Allison, my father is a very fair-minded ruler,” Kris says, reaching out and touching her on the shoulder gently. “But I’ve never agreed with his policies on the gypsy people. You can rest assured of that.”
Allison beams at him. “Oh, that’s - thank you.”
“There’s no need to thank me,” Kris says, jumping as the tape darts between his feet. “Damnation!”
Allison giggles. “Here, wait,” she says, climbing onto her knees and whistling through her teeth. The tape peeks out from beneath Kris’s night table curiously. “That’s it,” she coaxes, moving slowly forward until she’s close enough to reach out and snatch the end, pulling it out from beneath the table and wrestling it into her knapsack. “Devilish little thing! Uch, when I’m a dressmaker, I’ll only use normal, non-kangaroo tape, that’s for sure.”
“How did you come to be Cassidy’s apprentice?” Kris asks curiously.
“Oh, Adam set it up,” Allison says. “I work here at Wyldbore you know, when I’m not helping Cassidy. I want to be a dressmaker, but until then I need money. My mami - she can’t work anymore.”
“You work here?” Kris asks, surprised.
“Yep! I work in the kitchens,” Allison says. “I make a mean sticky pudding.”
“I’ve had it,” Kris says approvingly. “That was you?”
Allison nods proudly, grinning. “Yeah! It’s fun, but hard work, you know. But Adam’s teaching me how to read, too, in his spare time. And to write. I’m getting pretty good. He says that when I get a little better, I can help him answer his correspondence, instead.”
“Adam’s teaching you how to read?” Kris asks. “Himself?”
“I know, I don’t know how he finds the time,” Allison says, flipping through the fabric pile aimlessly, snatching bits of color and holding them up to the light. “But he’s amazing, isn’t he?”
Kris raises an eyebrow. “Apparently.”
Allison shoots him a sly look. “You’ve been spending quite a bit of time with him,” she says. “I heard from one of the stewards that you spent all of yesterday evening in his study with him.”
Kris shifts uncomfortably. “We were discussing business,” he says.
Allison nods, not looking particularly convinced. “Is it true that he proposed to you and you turned him down?”
Kris smiles wryly. “Technically, I ignored him.”
“Oh, how charming!” Allison laughs delightedly. “And romantic, if you don’t mind me saying, sire.”
“Romantic isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” Kris says dryly.
Allison laughs again. “Nobody ever thinks they’re in the middle of a romance until it’s too late,” she says sagely. “That’s what’s so sneaky about it.”
Kris frowns petulantly. “Do you give everyone romantic advice with your outfits, or is this special treatment?”
Allison shrugs innocently. “We’re a full-service dress shop,” she says, and winks.
--
part two
Author: moirariordan
Fandom: american idol rpf
Pairings/Characters: kris allen/adam lambert, brad bell, cassidy haley, allison iraheta, the allens + other assorted characters, yay
Rating: pg-13, maybe? a strong pg-13, I guess.
Summary: Prince Kristopher gets a lot of proposals.
Title is from Dylan's Mr. Tambourine Man. An epic thank you to dansetheblues, who is the sparkly superhero Brad Pitt of betas, seriously. That makes sense in my head.
Prince Kristopher gets a lot of proposals. In fact, he gets so many that his secretary filters through them all and forwards only the most interesting and amusing to him at breakfast.
“The Baroness of Gladstone is willing to allow you unfettered access to the Enchanted Caves of Millgreen if you marry her daughter Gertrude,” says Paula. “She’s the one with the odd-shaped nose, you remember.”
Kris raises an eyebrow. “You mean the Enchanted Caves that were pillaged by scavengers last spring?”
“The very ones!” Paula grins, shuffling the papers in her hands. “And Lord Braden offers you a flock of neon-horned butterflies in exchange for your hand.” Paula pauses. “Oh, those are very rare.”
“Lord Braden is older than my father,” Kris says.
“And richer,” Paula says dreamily. Kris gives her a look. “I mean, yes sire.”
“What’s that?” Kris asks, catching a flash of silver among the stack of papers in Paula’s arms.
“This?” Paula pulls out a letter outlined on silver parchment, holding it up by two fingers and looking at it suspiciously. “This, my lord, is a proposal from the Duke of Frijola.” Paula shakes the page, and a sheen of glitter falls from the page onto Kris’s breakfast table, outlining the tea service in a glimmering cloud. “Interesting,” says Paula, in a tone of voice that implies anything but.
“What does he offer?”
Paula holds the page up to reading level with her talon-like fingernails, narrowing her eyes at the elegant scrawl. “‘A relationship based on mutual respect, trust and maturity,’” she quotes, “‘and with no small amount of passion.’” Paula scoffs. “You’re better off with Gertrude of Gladstone, sire.”
Kris ignores her, intrigued by the odd request. “Frijola,” he says. “I’m not familiar with it.”
“A most unpleasant land,” Paula says. “Very ostentatious, you might say. You might have heard of their annual Yule Festival.” Paula shudders delicately. “Your father would not approve, my lord.”
“My father does not approve of many things, Paula,” replies Kris casually. “I’d like to read his letter, if you please.”
“You don’t plan to consider the Duke’s proposal,” says Paula, aghast.
“I don’t intend to marry, ever,” Kris says patiently, for what feels like the millionth time. “I would just like to read the Duke’s letter. I think it would be interesting.” She shuffles her feet, hesitating. “Please,” Kris says, injecting a measure of authority into his voice, and Paula hands it over reluctantly, and then makes disapproving noises until Kris dismisses her out of pure irritation.
The letter is indeed, very interesting, and also very glittery. The Duke offers no material incentives, only a promise to, intriguingly enough, “take care” of Kris should he accept the offer, and signs it with a flourish, simply, Adam Lambert. Kris presumes that is his given name, and frowns thoughtfully, mumbling it to himself out loud, shaping his mouth around the sounds. No other suitor has ever framed their offer in such personal terms, nor signed their proposal so informally, and it’s enough to make Kris wonder about the man behind the words, what his intentions could possibly be.
Not that is enough to convince Kris to seriously consider the Duke’s offer. He has his reasons for refusing to wed, and if the Duke wants to know them he can consult the proclamation Kris issued to his subjects on his twenty-first birthday, just like anyone else.
So the prince sets the letter aside, rises to dress for the day, and forgets about it. Mostly.
--
“Father,” Kris says, halfway through a walk through the Marquess of Mauricia’s gardens, “what do you know about the Duke of Frijola?”
The king makes a face halfway between a grin and a frown. “Many things,” he says simply. “Why do you ask?”
“He asked for my hand in marriage,” Kris says, ducking beneath the branch of a Kumquat tree.
“As he has every year since you came of age,” his father replies. “What, did you just now notice?”
“He’s asked before?” Kris says, a little stunned. His father chuckles. “Wait, how do you know?”
“You think I don’t take an interest in my son’s suitors?” He turns and gives Kris a piercing look. “Of which the Duke is one of the most persistent.”
Kris blinks. “Why?”
The king laughs. “Kristopher, you should really stop letting Paula read your mail for you.”
“Well, if I did it myself I’d be reading every minute of every day.”
Neil throws him a secretive smile. “If you’re interested in meeting him, I could arrange it.”
Kris frowns. “Father, you know I don’t want to marry.”
“I never said anything about marrying him, I said meeting him,” the king replies. “Didn’t I?”
Kris harrumphs. “Paula said you wouldn’t approve.”
“Oh, I don’t,” his father replies. “Officially. Unofficially?” The king grins widely, gripping Kris’s shoulder. “He definitely keeps these stuffy nobles on their toes.”
Kris considers this thoughtfully. “How exactly does he do that?”
“Oh, where to begin,” the king replies. “Why don’t I let you discover that on your own.”
“All right.” Kris nods. “I guess I can meet with him.”
The king smiles approvingly. “It’s nice to see you taking an interest in court politics, Kristopher.”
Kris scoffs. “Hardly.”
“Well, maybe not politics,” King Neil revises. “A certain player in court politics, then.”
“I’m not interested in him,” Kris says, a little defensively. “I’m intrigued by him.”
“Oh,” King Neil says mockingly. “Well, I see then.”
“Go hang yourself,” says Kris, rolling his eyes and King Neil laughs delightedly.
“I’ll send for him,” he says. “Perhaps I could even do it today. It’d be a wonderful excuse to decline the invitation to the Marquess’s ball tonight.”
Kris shoots a baleful look at Marquess DioGuardi, strolling a few yards ahead of them and chattering to a pained-looking Queen Kimberly. “How many gardens does one person need, anyway?”
The king sighs. “Don’t think about it,” he advises. “And don’t ask her about the flamingo pond, then she’ll never shut up.”
Kris sighs in return, thinking wistfully of his library as he allows himself to be led away.
--
The Marquess’s ball is mandatory, apparently, or at least that’s the official word from the Queen, and so Kris finds himself squeezed into a suit and plopped onto a throne, smiling tightly as a glossy parade of men and women preen before him, simpering and bowing and flirting. Their giggles have given Kris a headache, and sometimes he really, really hates being the prince.
Paula hovers around him, running interference with the stray pushy Earl or Baron. Kris mostly allows her free-reign, watching the clock and counting down the minutes until the polite hour to leave approaches.
Then, Paula freezes up beside him, and reaches down to clutch painfully at his arm, hissing in his ear, “Earl Cowell of Coldwell, four o’clock, my lord,” who Kris may or may not have punched at the Festival of Lights the year before when he made a disparaging comment about “frigid princes with their noses buried in a book,” and so Kris bolts, slipping past the receiving line and out onto the balcony, darting out of the ballroom surreptitiously and sighing in relief as the cool night air rushes up to meet him.
“Well,” he hears, and spins around to see a man leaning against the railing, a glass of wine held loosely in one hand, “hello.”
“Oh, hello,” he replies. “I apologize, I didn’t know anyone was out here.”
The man is dressed in an outrageous velvet suit, colored in shades of dark blue and red, with a matching cloak that wraps around his shoulders dramatically. His eyes, outlined in kohl, narrow as he tilts his head thoughtfully. “An apology from the prince,” he says lazily, “for nothing more than seeking a moment’s reprieve from the maddening crowd. Fascinating.”
Kris feels a blush crawling up his neck, for no particular reason at all. “I did not think that my discomfort was all that obvious,” he says slowly, walking to the railing and peering over into the gardens below.
“To anyone paying attention,” the man replies, studying Kris with an intent smile. “Well,” he says again, setting the wineglass on the railing delicately. “Here we are.”
“Yes,” Kris says, puzzled. “Here is where we are.”
The man smiles sunnily. “You haven’t the faintest idea who I am, do you?”
“Should I?”
He laughs, inclining his head in a formal bow and reaching out for Kris’s hand. “I am the Duke of Frijola,” he says grandly, “but you can call me Adam.”
Kris gives him his hand, blinking as the Duke lays a kiss against his knuckles. “Ah,” he manages. “It’s - nice to meet you, Duke.”
“Adam,” he says, chastising. Kris raises an eyebrow. “And what may I call you, my prince?”
“Prince,” replies Kris shortly, pulling his hand away.
Adam laughs. “I see you haven’t miraculously changed your mind in regards to my proposal,” he says, and Kris turns to consider him in slight surprise at his bluntness. “Although I do confess to some puzzlement as to why I was summoned to this incredibly dry function, if that is the case.”
“Summoned?” Kris blinks, and remembers the conversation with his father in the garden. “Oh. That was my father, not me.”
“Well, obviously,” Adam says, waving one hand. Light pouring out from the ballroom catches the rings on his fingers and makes them glint as he picks up his glass again, sipping slowly from the dark red wine. “However I can’t think of anything the king might require of me, other than taking you off his hands, of course.”
Kris clenches his jaw, rebellion spiking at Adam’s words. “I was intrigued by your letter,” he says. “I made the mistake of mentioning it to my father, who is far too invested in my love life, and convinced me to meet with you.” Kris holds his chin high, keeping his gaze fixed on the star-sprinkled sky, feeling a strange awareness of the other man’s gaze on his profile. “He didn’t tell me you’d be coming tonight, however.”
Adam chuckles. “My letter this year was the same as the other five,” he says. “Was there something about this one in particular that caught your eye?”
“I never read the other ones,” Kris says honestly. “Actually, I don’t read most of my proposals.”
Adam laughs loudly. “Scandalous!” he exclaims.
“Practical,” Kris counters. “Though if your words themselves had not caught my attention, the rainbow-colored glitter sure did the trick.”
“It adds a certain touch to my correspondence,” he says breezily.
“That’s one way of putting it.” Kris nods.
“I almost feel as if I should be offended that you ignored my proposals, six years in a row,” Adam says mildly. “But I imagine I can’t be too angry with you when most of my mail goes straight into my fireplace as well.”
“What made you keep offering?” Kris asks. “I’d think after being ignored you would move onto better prospects.”
Adam’s smile turns predatory. “Better prospects than you, my prince?”
Kris turns away from him. “If you want this conversation to end quickly, Duke, please continue your thought.”
Adam chuckles in response, backing away slightly. “Fine, I’ll be on my best behavior. Promise.” He gives Kris another one of his calculating looks, which Kris staunchly ignores. “You are just as much of a spitfire as they say. And that’s a simple compliment, believe me.”
“What else do they say about me?” Kris asks, voice dripping with repressed bitterness. “The virgin prince, locked away in the tower? Or maybe the disrespectful one, who eschews his duties in favor of flights of fancy?”
Adam regards him calmly. “Your work hardly seems to be a ‘flight of fancy’ to me,” he says. “The poverty rate has decreased by seven percent since you started your shelter reform campaign. Not to mention literacy and retention.”
Kris pauses, a little taken aback. “I didn’t think the nobility paid all that much attention to poverty rates,” he says mildly.
“Well,” Adam replies, “most don’t.” Then he grins. “But I’m not just any noble.”
“That, I can see,” Kris says, without thinking, regretting it instantly as the predatory touch returns to Adam’s grin. “Why have you not introduced yourself to me before?” he asks quickly.
Adam shrugs elegantly. “Frijola is too far for me to be much of a presence in court,” he says.
“That doesn’t stop Lord Cowell,” Kris points out. “Or Lord Desai, or Lady Clarkson, or Lord Cook - “
“Well, I prefer to you know, actually govern my lands,” Adam interrupts. “As opposed to prostrating at the king’s feet to gain favor.”
“No,” Kris says, “you prefer to do that through me.”
Adam looks at him sharply. “That is where you are wrong, my prince.”
The moment hangs, until Kris looks away, swallowing thickly. “I should return,” he says quietly. “My parents will be wondering where I am.”
“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” Adam says, voice thick and honeyed. “Allow me to escort you back to your throne, highness.”
“That’s not necessary,” Kris says fruitlessly, watching as Adam takes his arm, leading him back towards the light and sound of the ballroom.
“What kind of suitor would I be if I didn’t?” Adam asks.
“You are not my suitor,” Kris says. “I rejected you.”
“Actually, you ignored me,” Adam corrects. “So technically…I’m not out of the running yet.”
Kris doesn’t have time to protest before he is swept back into the oppressive ballroom, the sound of the music eliminating the possibility for conversation.
Adam leads him back to the front of the ballroom where his parents are sitting, and Kris is intimately aware of the sheer number of eyes on them, some curious, some jealous, all sharp and intent.
“Lord Lambert,” the king greets. To anyone watching, he looks impassive, but Kris can detect the faint surprise in his face. “I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow.”
Adam bows gracefully, a small smile playing around the corners of his lips. “My journey was shorter than I’d expected, my liege.”
“We’re pleased you could join us,” says the queen, glancing at Kris a bit oddly. He realizes his arm is still entangled with Adam’s and pulls away a little stiffly, slipping back onto his throne, set slightly lower than his parents’. “Did you greet the Marquess and her husband?”
“We exchanged pleasantries,” Adam says. “Regretfully, I arrived late enough that a tour of her infamous gardens was not possible.”
Kris hides a smile. “A shame.”
“Maybe another time,” the queen says, not bothering to hide her grin.
“How long will you be staying in Central City, Lord Lambert?” the king asks.
“Only a few days, I’m sorry to say,” Adam replies. “There is business in Frijola that requires my attention.”
“Oh yes, the Yule Festival,” says the king. “I’ve heard many wonderful things about it, I’m sorry to say I’ve never been able to attend.”
“It is our annual celebration of the new year,” Adam says. “It is quite spectacular.”
“Lady Clarkson attended last year,” the queen says. “She had some fantastic stories to tell. We should arrange to attend next year.”
Something sparks in Adam’s eyes, and he straightens up. “Perhaps,” Adam says slyly, and Kris’s stomach sinks, “the prince would like to join us this year, if he doesn’t have any other pressing engagements.”
“I don’t think,” Kris starts, and stops short, caught by the intensity of Adam’s expression.
“What a charming idea,” says the queen. “Kristopher, it’s been so long since you had a vacation.” She turns to Adam, smiling. “He’s just like his father, can’t get him to stop working for a minute.” Adam nods understandingly.
“I don’t need a vacation,” says Kris lamely.
“The people of Frijola would be honored to have you join us,” Adam says. “They would be greatly inspired at the presence of their prince, I’m sure.”
King Neil leans back, stroking his chin. “It’s not a bad idea,” he says. “What do you think, Kristopher?”
Kris thinks he’s in trouble. “I…what about your Yule celebration, Mother?”
The queen waves her hand. “There have been many Yule Balls at the palace, and there will be many more. You should go and enjoy yourself. Be young and carefree…or at least pretend.” Her eyes twinkle at him warmly.
“Then it’s settled,” the king says, winking at Kris. “The prince will return to Frijola with you, Lord Lambert. I trust your estate can accommodate my son?”
“It was built for royalty,” Adam says, “literally. I’m sure the prince will be very comfortable with us.”
“The prince is sitting right here,” Kris says, annoyed.
“Of course you are, dear,” says the queen, and Adam grins widely.
“Well, I must take my leave for tonight, I have been traveling all day and I am simply exhausted,” Adam says grandly. “Prince Kristopher,” he says slowly, and a shiver races down Kris’s spine. “I look forward to our journey together.”
“As do I,” Kris replies, repressing the urge to shrink down in his throne. Thrones are not for shrinking.
“Your majesties.” Adam bows again, cape sweeping the parquet. His parents nod grandly, dismissing him, and with an enigmatic smile, he’s gone.
Kris blinks, blowing out a breath. “What just happened here?”
His mother reaches over to pat his hand. “Don’t worry darling,” she says, “he seems harmless.” The king snorts, and she pulls back, a crooked smile on her face. “Well, harmless enough.”
--
“I worry about you, traveling alone,” Paula says, watching Kris critically as he carefully wraps his journal, placing it in his knapsack. “You do know that going on a trip like this with him is synonymous to accepting his marriage proposal?”
“It is not,” Kris says, flopping down onto his bed. “It wasn’t even my idea, anyway, it was my mother’s. Or maybe Adam’s. Or who knows, I can’t remember.”
“Adam?” Paula repeats. “We’re calling him Adam now?”
Kris flushes slightly. “Lord Lambert sounds weird,” he mumbles.
“This is not good,” Paula says, hands flapping around her face. “Sire, I’ve heard things about this Yule Festival, it’s - it’s debauched! Everyone comes in costumes, there are dancers and musicians - you do know that gypsies have sanctuary in Frijola? Just imagine the type of riff-raff that you’ll be forced to encounter - it’s appalling!”
Kris sighs. “Paula, how long have you served me?”
“Your whole life, my lord,” she says, sighing.
“And what in all that time has led you to believe that attending one festival would be enough to corrupt my morals?”
“Nothing, my lord,” says Paula grumpily.
Kris chuckles. “I’m not going to run off with a gypsy woman and become a traveling minstrel, Paula.”
“It’s not the gypsy women I’m worried about, sire,” Paula says, busying herself with re-folding the clothes in Kris’s trunk. “You know,” she says hesitatingly. “Lady Katherine has returned from the Southern Valley,” she says.
Kris purses his lips. “With her paramour in tow, I’m sure.”
“You two are such good friends,” Paula pushes. “A marriage between you would be most convenient - she has no room to protest if you were to take lovers, after all - “
“I don’t want a marriage of convenience,” Kris says, pushing off the bed and walking to the window, looking out onto the courtyard. “I don’t want a marriage at all. I’ve seen what passes for it in court and I’m not interested.”
“You will be expected to provide an heir eventually,” Paula says quietly.
Kris sighs. “Paula, please.”
“I apologize, my lord.” Paula rises gracefully, her aging face lined with kindness. “I only want - “
“What’s best for me,” Kris finishes. “Yes, I know.” He turns and gives her a tired smile. “Thank you.”
Paula bows her head and is, finally, silent.
--
It’s two days’ journey to Frijola from the Central palace, and Adam joins him in the carriage on the second day.
“I see you left your lady-in-waiting at home,” he says as greeting, and Kris scowls.
“Secretary,” he corrects.
Adam hums noncommittally. “I hope the days since we last saw each other have treated you well,” he says, situating himself on the seat across from Kris. He’s dressed smartly in leather traveling wear, and Kris can hear the rasp of his gloves as he flexes his hand around the handle of the ornate cane he carries. “I joined your parents for dinner the night before last; I was sad to hear that you were unable to attend.”
“I eat with the staff,” Kris says, a touch of defiance in his voice. “I have no patience for the formality of my father’s table.”
Adam smiles approvingly. “Oh good,” he says. “I was afraid you might be offended at the state of affairs at Wyldbore,” he says. “We’re very casual.”
“Wyldbore?”
“My estate,” Adam explains. “Named after the flower that grows wild in Frijola.” He smiles, and Kris gets the impression that it’s not wholly for his benefit. “Even now, in the middle of winter, the grounds are coated with it. Like a blanket of color,” he says dreamily.
Kris finds himself smiling. “Is it snowy in Frijola?”
“Oh no,” Adam says. “We’re too far south. It’s very mild, all year round. I expect it will be very pleasant for the festival.”
“I have been advised to keep a close watch on my morals,” Kris says lightly, “lest this festival of yours sneaks in and corrupts them.”
Adam laughs. “I doubt your morals are in any danger from us,” he says. “But if you’re very worried I can help you guard them.”
“You are hardly a trustworthy candidate for that job,” Kris mutters.
Adam smirks wickedly. “Are you afraid for your virtue, my prince?”
“Should I be, my lord?” Kris counters, and sees Adam’s eyes darken.
Turning away, Adam clears his throat. “I thought I told you to call me Adam,” he says, voice strained.
“That seems rather informal.”
“I do not mind,” Adam replies. “Do you?”
Kris is silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I am unsure of what you want from me,” he says finally.
“What I want from you?” Adam repeats. “Nothing but your company, highness. Is that so hard to believe?” Kris doesn’t reply. “Well, it shouldn’t be.”
“Forgive me if I am skeptical,” says Kris, “when you no doubt have your pick of companions in Frijola.”
“Perhaps,” says Adam. “But I’d much rather be having this incredibly intriguing conversation with you.”
“Because I’m the prince,” says Kris.
“Because you are intriguing,” Adam corrects. “Are you always this distrustful?”
“Of nobles? Yes,” Kris says.
Adam chuckles. “Well, that’s understandable, I suppose.”
“And considering that you have proposed marriage to me no less than six times, based on nothing more than my name and my throne,” continues Kris, “isn’t it also understandable that I should distrust your intentions?”
“There was also your face,” Adam says silkily. “Such a pretty one you have, your majesty, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Kris raises an eyebrow. “Well it certainly proves my point.”
Adam laughs. “I cannot decide if this is insecurity or paranoia,” he says. “You seem so determined not to believe that someone could possibly desire you.”
“Money and power can cloud the gaze of even the most honest man,” says Kris.
“And so can an enchanting young prince,” Adam says, grinning. Kris huffs, looking away. “We’re in a very small carriage, your highness, there’s no ballroom to escape into this time,” he teases.
“A very high-sitting carriage,” Kris says thoughtfully, peering out the window. “It would be such a shame if you were to fall out of it. I imagine it would be very painful.”
Adam’s laughter is a burst of sound and energy. “Are you threatening me, your majesty?”
“Are you intimidated, Lord Lambert?” Kris raises an eyebrow.
Adam slides downward in his seat, the length of his thighs coming dangerously close to Kris’s own in the cramped space. “I think you are being rather optimistic, considering our size difference,” Adam says mildly. Kris lets the jab pass; it’s actually nothing less than the truth.
Adam’s eyes slip shut and he crosses his legs at the ankles, looking like a huge, leather-clad cat, basking in the sun. Kris takes the opportunity to study him, tracing the lines of his body with his eyes, trying to figure out how it makes him feel.
“I also think,” Adam says suddenly, startling the peaceful silence, “that it’s going to be a very long ride if you keep looking at me like that.”
Kris blinks and turns away jerkily, realizing belatedly that his hands are shaking. “Don’t flatter yourself,” he says, and Adam’s answering laughter pricks at his skin like pinpricks.
--
Kris hasn’t traveled throughout the kingdom as much as his father; it’s impossible to, really, there are eighty-one dukedoms in King Neil’s jurisdiction alone, let alone the neighboring kingdom to the north currently ruled by Kris’s great-uncle. He remembers long tutoring sessions when he was young, trying to memorize the names of the territories and the lords that ruled them. Where his father can effortlessly rattle off any stray fact about any corner of his kingdom, that level of familiarity is one earned through years of governing, a level that Kris neither has nor desires to have, despite any “aptitude” he might have for ruling, as his father puts it.
Frijola, he remembers vaguely as a line in his school text, and nowhere in the sentence did it say anything about naked farmers.
“Um,” Kris says, unsure if what he’s seeing really is what he’s seeing, “are they naked?”
Adam snuffles sleepily, pushing up in his seat and peering out the window. Then he laughs so loudly Kris winces, afraid he’s going to scare the horses.
“My welcome home party,” Adam says cheerily, scrambling over to the window. Climbing over Kris’s legs carelessly, he leans so far out of the window that it makes Kris a little nervous. “Hello, beautiful people!” he calls merrily, and Kris hears muffled cheers in return.
Laughing, he pulls himself back in and collapses on the seat, giggling helplessly.
“Are you having a fit?” Kris asks, unimpressed.
“I apologize,” Adam wheezes, clutching at his stomach. Then he sits up and glances out the window again and promptly collapses back into laughter.
“Well,” Kris says, studying the row of villagers lining the side of the road, all cheering and yelling, and all very, very naked. “Frijolans certainly know how to make an impression.”
Adam wipes at his eyes, grinning sunnily at the lines of people. “It’s - a joke,” he explains haltingly, throat still thick with suppressed laughter. “I - well, I did say we were very casual here, didn’t I?”
“I rather thought you meant not dressing for dinner,” Kris says, “not…not dressing at all.”
“It’s something I said, before I left,” Adam says. “I’ve been on business in the border territories for the last month or so - that’s why I was so close when I received the king’s summons.” He watches the line of people outside the window as the carriage flies by, an expression of awed hilarity etched on his handsome face. “I told them that by the time I’d returned, I’d be so happy to be home that the entire dukedom could be naked and I wouldn’t care.”
“It seems they took you literally,” Kris says, a smile tugging at his mouth as he catches sight of an elderly woman, cheering enthusiastically with a walking cane clutched in one hand, as naked as her compatriots.
“Is that a smile?” Adam says, leaning forward to peer at Kris’s face intently. “The prince can smile?”
Kris snorts, pushing him away. The leather of Adam’s coat is cool beneath his fingertips, and Kris presses his hand to his thigh when he pulls away. “Don’t push it,” he says.
Adam laughs, reaching out and squeezing Kris’s knee fondly. Kris jerks in his seat, unused to such a familiar touch, but Adam has already turned away, sliding the partition open and ordering the driver to stop.
“I have to address these wonderful people,” Adam says, pulling the carriage door open before it even comes to a full stop. Stepping out onto the lip of the carriage, he spreads his arms wide open, smiling widely as the naked crowd flocks to meet him. “My darlings,” he calls, and the crowd cheers.
Kris can see the side of his face through the window; he has a smile big enough to rival the sun’s. As Kris watches, Adam glances down and winks.
“My darlings,” Adam says again, holding his hands out for quiet. “What a wonderful welcome. You are all so beautiful!” The clamor of the crowd rises again, and Kris watches in half amusement, half shock as naked men and women of all ages press against each other shamelessly, trying to get as close to the carriage - and Adam - as possible. “Calm, calm!” Adam calls, laughing loudly. “My heart is so full. My beautiful, precious people!”
The crowd stares up at Adam with nothing less than adoration on their faces. Adam reaches out and starts touching them softly on their shoulders and cheeks, and Kris watches in awe as they quiet, as if his very touch is calm itself.
“I’ve been away for far too long,” Adam tells them fondly, teeth glinting in the sun. “But I’m back now. And I’ve brought a guest.”
Kris’s jaw drops. “No,” he says, leaning backwards and Adam bends down, smirking and beckoning to him. “No,” he tells him, firmly, and finds himself being ignored as Adam grasps his arm, pulling him out of the carriage and into the late afternoon sun.
Stepping down onto the road, Adam pulls Kris out onto his former perch. The crowd backs away slightly, and Kris watches as their adoration and excitement dampens slightly as they recognize him.
“I would like to formally announce,” Adam says grandly, “Prince Kristopher Allen the third, our sovereign and special guest.”
“Uh, hello,” Kris says. The crowd stares at him blankly.
“His majesty has graciously traveled home with me to attend the Yule Festival this year,” Adam says. “And I’m sure he appreciates this…uniquely Frijolan welcome.” He winks, and laughs skitter through the crowd, although the reaction is much more subdued. A few of them even shy away slightly and blush, suddenly covering themselves with their arms, as if embarrassed.
“Yes,” Kris calls out suddenly, matching the volume of Adam’s voice. “I am pleased to be here. I’ve traveled to many different parts of this kingdom, but never before have I been so…enthusiastically welcomed,” he says slyly, and watches in satisfaction as the faces of the villagers slowly regain some of their former excitement.
Adam laughs, big and showy and loud. “That’s one way of putting it,” he says, and more of the crowd laughs this time, the sudden hesitancy loosening. “Well, your majesty,” says Adam, turning to look up at Kris, grinning conspiratorially. “Does Frijola please you thus far?”
“Pleasing?” Kris says, looking out into the crowd and smiling warmly at a young girl, hiding shyly behind an adult’s leg, peering up at him with curious eyes. “‘Pleasing’ hardly covers it.” He pauses. “It seems nothing covers it, actually.” He keeps his eyes on the crowd as Adam’s surprised laughter reaches his ears.
The crowd loosens up, smiles widening and the tension dissipating. Adam looks up at him with an approving grin.
“Well,” he says, “a glowing review for this glowing welcome.” Adam grins, moving further into the crowd, tweaking noses, pulling on curls and brushing shoulders.
The crowd is incredibly invested in Adam’s presence, and incredibly not invested in Kris’s, and so he ducks back into the carriage, watching through the window as Adam smiles and laughs and shakes hands, looking completely at home in a crowd full of naked people. The sight is maybe the most bizarre thing he’s ever seen in his life, and then Kris pictures what Paula’s face might look like if she were here, and can’t stop the loud guffaw that bubbles up in his throat.
Adam looks up and smiles from across the peach-colored crowd, and Kris smiles back on instinct, not remembering that Adam cannot see him.
--
As they move farther into the city, the nakedness dissipates slightly, although Kris still sees a stray nude villager here and there, waving at their carriage enthusiastically. Adam sits plastered to the window and waves back, every single time.
Wyldbore is impressive, set just outside the city limits. As they turn onto the grounds, Kris sees what looks like a blanket of purple on the ground outside, and an intoxicatingly sweet scent drifting in on the breeze.
“The wyldbore flower,” Adam says. When the carriage pulls up to the door, he sweeps out and plucks a stem from the ground, tucking it into Kris’s lapel with a flourish. “Native to Frijola. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Kris nods silently, taking in the colorful surroundings. The estate itself is ornate, and standing against the backdrop of the purple fields of flowers, it looks otherworldly.
Adam can’t seem to stop smiling, a wyldbore stem of his own tucked behind his ear, talking and chatting to the servants who have come out to retrieve their luggage.
“You seem happy to be home,” Kris comments, allowing Adam to take his arm and guide him through the giant, golden-gilded front doors.
“I am happy,” Adam replies. “Traveling is all well and good, but there’s no place like home.” He takes a deep, satisfied breath. “If you forgive my sentimentality.”
“Sentimentality isn’t something that needs forgiving,” Kris says, “in my opinion.” Adam smiles at him approvingly.
“Holla, my lord!”
Adam stops short at the loud cry, spinning around and looking up at the top of the grand staircase, where a tiny man with blue hair stands beaming. “Holla, Bradley,” calls Adam, waving. Turning to Kris, he grins. “Do not be afraid, he doesn’t bite. Much.”
“Comforting,” remarks Kris.
Bradley slides down the staircase and hops off into a run, looping his arms around Adam’s neck in an energetic hug. Adam releases Kris’s arm in surprise, groaning and laughing at the same time. “Release me, you fool,” he says, stepping back. “My God, did you dip your head in blueberry juice?”
Bradley preens. “It’s for the festival. I have the most outrageous outfit to match, wait till you see.” He takes Adam’s hand, swinging it merrily, turning to Kris with a sunny smile. “Oh, did you bring me a present?”
“Brad,” Adam says, “this is your prince, show a little decorum.” He shakes out of Brad’s hold with a mock frown.
“Of course I know it’s the prince, I’m not a total dullard,” Brad says, rolling his eyes and turning to Kris conspiratorially, “he thinks I’m a dullard, it’s quite ridiculous.”
“I do not think you’re a dullard, I think you’re a lunatic.” Adam takes Kris’s arm again. “I apologize, your majesty, Bradley is my advisor and also a lost cause. I advise you to stay as far away from him as possible during your stay with us.”
Kris chuckles at the face Brad makes. “I’m quite used to lunatics,” he says. “And you would be too, Duke, if you spent more time at court.”
Brad giggles. “That’s funny. You’re funny. Oh!” His eyes widen and he bows deeply, wobbling a little, one foot sticking out oddly. “Forgot to bow!” he says to the floor. “Your majesty. Sorry about that.” Then he straightens up into a pirouette. “Good?”
“Beautiful,” Kris informs him.
“Don’t encourage him,” Adam says, aghast.
“Don’t marginalize me,” Brad chastises him. “And honestly, Adam, have you completely lost your manners? Have you even given this poor prince a tour of the grounds yet?” He scoots up and takes Kris’s free arm. “Or shown him to his room? He must be tired from the long journey.”
“I was about to,” Adam says, scowling, “before your entrance, you peacock.”
“I apologize for the Duke, your highness,” Brad says, eyes wide, pulling Kris away from Adam and down toward the long hallway decisively. “We barely put up with him ourselves, I can’t imagine the depths of your pain after a long carriage ride.”
“It was a trial, but I managed to survive,” Kris says dryly, glancing back at Adam, whose mouth is pulled into something that looks suspiciously like a pout.
“When you’re quite finished insulting me Bradley, would you mind filling me in on the state of affairs while I’ve been away?” he says, strolling somewhat behind them, tapping his cane on the tiles rhythmically.
“Affairs?” Brad shrugs. “Affairs are fine. Wonderful. Festival preparations are going swimmingly, every lodging house in the city is full. Our stores are overflowing, our shopkeepers are overweight and our farmers are naked.” Brad grins wickedly. “We’ve been just fine without you, my lord.”
“Was that you?” Adam says. “I thought I’d recognized your handiwork.”
“It was their idea,” Brad says innocently. “I simply let slip the day of your return. They were ready to go starkers all week, and sunburn in awkward places is nobody’s idea of a fun time.”
“Indeed,” Kris intones solemnly, feeling an inner spike of satisfaction as Brad’s smirk widens and Adam gapes. “Mr. Bradley, is there a destination to our journey or are we simply wandering?”
“I was taking you to your room,” Brad says. “And it’s Mr. Bell. Or - just Brad, if it pleases you, highness.”
“Brad,” says Kris obediently, “I am neither a child nor a woman, I do not need to rest after a strenuous day of sitting.”
Brad laughs. “Well, we must tour the grounds then. They are quite outrageously expansive. I imagine that you may stretch your legs so sufficiently that you may never want to walk again.” Turning back to Adam, he gives a playful sneer. “Adam, you may go attend to business with the staff, I believe they’ve been waiting for your approval on a ghastly number of decisions regarding the festival. I’ll take it from here.”
“Who is in charge here, me or the circus that passes for my household?” Adam laments, twirling his cane. “Well, I suppose if you feel safe with Bradley, my prince…”
“Safe?” Kris repeats, eyeing Brad, who beams. “Safe enough, I suppose.”
“Then I will leave you in his capable hands.” Adam tilts his head. “Well, his hands, at least.” He bows graciously, shoots a stern glare at Brad, and strides away.
Brad shakes his head. “So overdramatic,” he says, pulling Kris away enthusiastically. “I’m not really a lunatic,” he whispers, as if divulging a secret.
“Well, that’s a pity,” Kris says back. “I find them quite charming.”
--
Dinner is casual, as Adam had informed him earlier. It is in fact, so casual, that Brad takes off his shoes and throws them aside as he sits down.
“Oh heavens,” he says, folding himself into a chair and sighing dramatically. “I can’t remember the last time I walked from one end of this gigantic place to the other. My poor feet.”
Adam sits at the head of the table, a sheaf of parchment spread out before him. “At our last ball, you danced all through the night without a moment’s rest, but forty minutes of walking sends you into a fit?”
Brad ignores him. “I apologize, your highness,” he says to Kris, the definition of haughtiness, “the Duke is insufferably rude and a complete brute to boot. Doing paperwork at the dinner table, really.”
“I’m putting it away!” Adam protests, shuffling it away and handing it off to a passing servant. “Last-minute preparations for the festival.”
“The festival!” exclaims Brad. “Well, that’s all right then. Prince, have you decided what you’re going to wear?”
“No?” Kris says. “Is there a dress code?”
“It’s a sort of tradition,” Adam says, “to look as ostentatious as humanly possible.”
“You must dress up, your majesty,” Brad says urgently. “It would be such a shame if you didn’t - I could help you!” A manic glint lights his eyes and he claps his hands excitedly. “Oh, Adam and I have the most wonderful dressmaker, Haley is his name - he’s simply brilliant, we’d come up with something radiant for you to wear.”
“I suppose I can’t argue with tradition,” Kris says, helpless in the face of Brad’s brilliant smile.
“You’ll regret that,” Adam warns.
“Don’t be stupid, I’m not going to traumatize him,” Brad says. “He’s our prince for God’s sake, he’d probably throw me in the stocks.”
“I would not,” Kris says. “That’s my father’s job.” Brad laughs jubilantly.
Brad dominates the conversation, flitting from topic to topic, picking at his food like a hen and bouncing on his knees in his seat. Kris can’t help but like the man; he reminds him of the green-beaked singing birds that live in the rafters of the palace back home, forever humming sweetly and looping playfully around the heads of the nobles his father receives in the Great Hall.
Adam is oddly silent throughout most of the meal, and Kris feels his gaze like a heat lamp.
A servant skips in - literally skips, Kris notices with a smile - and whispers something in Brad’s ear, who gasps and drops his fork.
“Oh, silly feathers, I’ve forgotten,” he exclaims, jumping up and grabbing his shoes. “I’m to meet with the court orchestra in five minutes. Your highness, do you mind?”
“Go,” Kris tells him, “by all means. Music is a very serious business.”
“Truer words were never spoken,” Adam intones, and winks at Brad. “Go on.”
Brad does a quick clumsy bow, and waggles his fingers for effect. “Play nice,” he calls over his shoulder, and bounces away.
“Your highness,” Adam says, after Brad has gone, “do you truly dislike me?”
Kris looks over at him, startled. “What?”
Adam reaches for his wineglass, studying Kris somberly. “You are so reserved,” he says thoughtfully. “I’d thought it was just your nature, but I see you smiling and laughing with everyone else but me. Just now, you were joking with Bradley, as carefree as I’ve ever seen you, and now he’s gone and you’ve become silent once again.” He smiles sadly. “I’m starting to develop a complex.”
“I like you well enough,” Kris says. “I don’t trust you, maybe.”
“Why not?”
Kris sips at his own wine primly, the powerful tang making him wince. “I feel as though we’ve already had this conversation.”
“Ah yes, you disbelieve my intentions,” Adam says, sitting back in his seat. He’s changed out of his traveling clothes, and now wears a pale grey tunic with silver threading, hands and neck free of jewelry. “What can I do to convince you that I am genuine?”
“You want a to-do list?” Kris asks.
“Well, that would be convenient.”
“I am not going to provide you with a step-by-step guide as to how to court me,” Kris says. “That, Lord Lambert, is called cheating.”
“So you want me to court you honestly?” Adam inquires.
Kris opens his mouth, then shuts it again. “No,” he says, unconvincingly.
Adam laughs. “Something you should know, Kristopher,” he says, “is that I’m probably not going to listen to anything you say.”
He punctuates his words by reaching out and patting Kris’s wrist, and Kris jerks away on instinct, knocking his fork off his plate with a clatter.
“I apologize,” Adam says quickly, drawing his hand back.
“It’s - not. I - “ Kris cuts himself off, shaking his head. “It’s no offense.”
“That’s the second time you’ve done that when I’ve touched you,” Adam says neutrally, eyeing him carefully.
“I’m - “ Kris sighs harshly. “I’m not very…used to being touched.”
Adam is silent a moment, rubbing his chin. “Well that’s a shame,” he says. “Touch is the most powerful way we have of communicating with each other.” He grins. “And I don’t even mean anything untoward by that. A hug can heal the strongest of hurts.”
Kris clears his throat. “It is disrespectful to touch a member of the royal family in such a familiar way,” he says, trying to summon a measure of propriety to his voice, but it comes out sounding rather hollow instead.
Adam hums thoughtfully. “I think I understand now,” he says simply.
Understand what, Kris wants to ask. “I’m used to it,” he says, wincing when it sounds defensive to his own ears.
“I’m sure you are,” Adam says blandly. “Why don’t you have another glass of wine?”
“I’m fine,” Kris says uselessly, watching as Adam refills his goblet from a large golden pitcher.
“Blueberry wine is a delicacy here in Frijola,” Adam says conversationally. “It’s our main cash crop. Blueberries, that is. We’re rather fond of blue and purple, you see.” He gestures with a wry smile to the décor, themed in shades of deep, sea blue. “The entire estate is either blue, purple or some combination thereof. But I’m sure you noticed that on your tour.”
“It was very impressive,” Kris says, taking another gulp of the wine. The tang is strong, stronger than any other wine he’s ever tasted before. “And very colorful.”
“Thank you,” says Adam, apparently taking his comment as a compliment.
“Do you ride often?” Kris says suddenly. “Brad showed me the stables. Or he - pointed them out from a balcony, at least.”
“When I have time.” Adam sighs. “Fiddlesticks.”
Kris blinks. “Fiddlesticks?”
“My favorite horse.” Adam grins. “A feisty little thing. I’ll have to introduce you.”
“I would - enjoy that,” Kris surprises himself by saying.
“Do you ride, highness?”
“Often,” Kris says. “I don’t have a favorite horse, however. Most of the stallions at the palace are used in the dressage competitions, so I usually take out whichever one isn’t occupied at the moment.”
Adam tuts. “A prince without his own horse?” He shakes his head. “A travesty.”
“I’m fairly sure I gave up on my dream of becoming a knight around the age of twelve,” Kris says, “too much training, not enough reading. Books quickly became a higher priority than horses.”
“A good horse can be a wonderful companion,” Adam says lightly. “The most trustworthy confidant, and a strong, huggable friend, there for you day or night.” He tips his glass at Kris, a kind expression on his face. “A horse will certainly never betray you, that’s for sure.”
Kris swallows the lump in his throat. “I’ll…keep it in mind,” he says quietly, and picks up his own wine again, taking a healthy gulp and watching Adam’s profile distort through the wavy, dark glass.
--
Cassidy Haley is the dressmaker that Brad continuously raves deliriously about; from his description, Kris isn’t sure if he should be expecting a man or some sort of magical creature that descends from the heavens to make costumes for princes.
He turns out to be, in fact, not a magical creature, but a fairly serious man, with ivory pale skin and a pile of fabric larger than Brad. He takes Kris’s measurements with an odd measuring tape that wraps itself around Kris’s waist. When Kris jumps violently, Cassidy smiles and apologizes.
“Made from the hide of spine-backed kangaroos, my lord,” Cassidy says. “So it’s a little…jumpy.”
“I’ve never heard of that particular breed of kangaroo,” Kris says, watching warily as the tape slithers up his wrist. “Let me guess - native to Frijola.”
“We are a fascinating land,” Cassidy says, smiling mysteriously. “You’ll get used to it.”
His young apprentice is named Allison, her scarlet-red hair marking her as a gypsy, if the rattling bracelets on her wrists and the scarves wrapped around her waist didn’t already give Kris a clue.
“I’m thinking…green,” she announces, studying Kris’s face critically. “Oh yes, a wood sprite! We can make him some vines, and bark for his shins, and Brad can do his paint - he’s wonderful at color coordination.”
“Brad wanted him in wings,” Cassidy says thoughtfully. “I think he just likes the idea, though.”
“Between wings and vines,” Kris says, “I’d choose vines.”
“Oh, good,” Allison says, clapping her hands. “Yes, Cass, it’s perfect. He’s so thin and delicate that it’d work wonderfully.” She turns to Kris, grinning sheepishly. “No offense. I’m sure you’re a very strong person, you know. Probably not delicate at all.”
Kris laughs. “Thank you?”
“You’re welcome,” Allison says, and beams.
They spend some time circling Kris like two colorful, oddly dressed hawks, tossing around words like “Technicolor,” “harness” and “corset.” Cassidy finally hunches over some parchment and starts sketching, while Allison attempts to coax the kangaroo measuring tape back onto its roll.
“I’ve always liked you,” she tells him, grinning gratefully as he leans down to snag the end of the tape, keeping it from darting beneath the wardrobe. “Can you be a fan of a politician? Because if you can, I am. Of you.”
Kris smiles at her a bit oddly. “I can’t say I’ve ever heard that before,” he says. “But thank you.”
Allison smiles up at him, looking very young and earnest. “My mami and I lived in the shelters, before we moved here,” she says hesitantly. “It was horrible. We had to fight with the other women for food, and we slept in the dirt. I was sick a lot.” She shudders. “I remember you came to visit once, at the one we were at. You came through and handed out blankets and clothes and books, and then after you left they replaced all the workers with nicer ones, and we had more food and clean water and everything.”
Kris smiles at her softly. “I’m glad I was able to help.”
Allison ducks her chin, pulling at the scarf around her waist. “I’m a gypsy, you know,” she says, seeming to have trouble getting the words out. “And I - I mean, I know it’s illegal and everything, but - “
“It’s not illegal here,” Kris says.
“No.” Allison blushes a little. “I hope you - I mean, I don’t want you to think I’m - “
“Allison, my father is a very fair-minded ruler,” Kris says, reaching out and touching her on the shoulder gently. “But I’ve never agreed with his policies on the gypsy people. You can rest assured of that.”
Allison beams at him. “Oh, that’s - thank you.”
“There’s no need to thank me,” Kris says, jumping as the tape darts between his feet. “Damnation!”
Allison giggles. “Here, wait,” she says, climbing onto her knees and whistling through her teeth. The tape peeks out from beneath Kris’s night table curiously. “That’s it,” she coaxes, moving slowly forward until she’s close enough to reach out and snatch the end, pulling it out from beneath the table and wrestling it into her knapsack. “Devilish little thing! Uch, when I’m a dressmaker, I’ll only use normal, non-kangaroo tape, that’s for sure.”
“How did you come to be Cassidy’s apprentice?” Kris asks curiously.
“Oh, Adam set it up,” Allison says. “I work here at Wyldbore you know, when I’m not helping Cassidy. I want to be a dressmaker, but until then I need money. My mami - she can’t work anymore.”
“You work here?” Kris asks, surprised.
“Yep! I work in the kitchens,” Allison says. “I make a mean sticky pudding.”
“I’ve had it,” Kris says approvingly. “That was you?”
Allison nods proudly, grinning. “Yeah! It’s fun, but hard work, you know. But Adam’s teaching me how to read, too, in his spare time. And to write. I’m getting pretty good. He says that when I get a little better, I can help him answer his correspondence, instead.”
“Adam’s teaching you how to read?” Kris asks. “Himself?”
“I know, I don’t know how he finds the time,” Allison says, flipping through the fabric pile aimlessly, snatching bits of color and holding them up to the light. “But he’s amazing, isn’t he?”
Kris raises an eyebrow. “Apparently.”
Allison shoots him a sly look. “You’ve been spending quite a bit of time with him,” she says. “I heard from one of the stewards that you spent all of yesterday evening in his study with him.”
Kris shifts uncomfortably. “We were discussing business,” he says.
Allison nods, not looking particularly convinced. “Is it true that he proposed to you and you turned him down?”
Kris smiles wryly. “Technically, I ignored him.”
“Oh, how charming!” Allison laughs delightedly. “And romantic, if you don’t mind me saying, sire.”
“Romantic isn’t exactly the word I’d use,” Kris says dryly.
Allison laughs again. “Nobody ever thinks they’re in the middle of a romance until it’s too late,” she says sagely. “That’s what’s so sneaky about it.”
Kris frowns petulantly. “Do you give everyone romantic advice with your outfits, or is this special treatment?”
Allison shrugs innocently. “We’re a full-service dress shop,” she says, and winks.
--
part two