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A prince from the East—
No, no, he’s a King, isn’t he?
Not anymore. His husband was the true King, and he’s dead.
Dead?! How?
Poison, I heard. At his own dinner table…
Edge dared not believe it. After all these years, he dared not have hope. Hope brought only pain and disappointment. And yet—
Prince from the East?
Who else could it be?
He followed the messenger boy through the palace halls, up a winding flight of steps that went on forever. Out the small windows he could see the castle’s highest turrets at eye level, through the gloom of night. He’d never been this high into the castle. It was seldom traversed, secluded from the rest of the palace. Lonely.
The halls were quiet and wind whistled through the passageways, carrying a chill. They halted outside a heavy wooden door and the messenger knocked once. It opened a crack and the boy shared some hushed words with the figure within, then nodded and scurried off. The door opened wider and Edge bowed low. “My Queen.”
“Rise, Sir,” said Queen Toriel. Edge lifted his head, glancing over her shoulder, and—his soul clenched.
It was him. Adorned entirely in black, sitting on the corner of the bed with his hands squeezed together in his lap. He was staring at Edge, expression frozen, sockets wide. He was every bit as beautiful as Edge remembered—more so. “You understand your duties, Sir Edge?” the Queen asked. Edge nodded automatically.
“I do, my Queen.”
“You are not to speak a word of this to anyone in the palace, not even me, unless I ask you directly.”
“Yes, my Queen.”
The Queen straightened her robe and nodded. “Very well. Your relief will arrive at dawn. And you are to return here again at sunrise tomorrow.” Edge bowed and she turned. “Stretch, dear… this is Sir Edge. He will be your guardian for the night. I assure you, you will be safe under his guard. He is one of our finest.”
“i am certain he is,” Stretch said, looking at him, and Edge’s soul melted. Though his voice was tired, it was familiar, and suddenly, Edge yearned for his laughter. “thank you, your grace.”
“I do not need to warn you that, while the South is your ally, it is best to assume you have no friends in this palace. Your guards have been carefully chosen. They are honourable.” She nodded at Edge. “And your handmaidens—”
“i have no need of handmaidens, your grace,” Stretch interrupted, then politely added, “though i thank you for your hospitality.” The Queen lifted an eyebrow.
“Are you quite certain? You’ve had a long journey, and I imagine you are weary. Would you not like someone to draw you a warm bath?”
“i am capable of drawing my own,” Stretch said graciously. The Queen looked as if she wanted to protest, but nodded.
“Very well. I suppose it is for the best. The fewer that know of your location, the better.” She turned to Edge again. “You are to stay within his chambers for the duration of the night. Watch all entrances, and protect the Prince at all costs.”
“I will, my Queen.” He would. With his life and soul.
Toriel nodded once. “I shall take my leave then.” She glanced at Stretch, sorrow in her large brown eyes. “Have faith, dear, and remain strong. Your husband’s death will be avenged.” Stretch gave her a faint smile and she bowed, departing.
The room was cold with silence. A small gust of wind made the braziers flicker and dance across the walls. Stretch stood, looking over Edge slowly, taking him in. Edge tried not to squirm under his gaze. He cleared his throat, steeling himself. “Your highness, I am very sorry for your loss.”
Stretch’s expression quavered, and he nodded, then ducked his head and squeezed his eyes closed. “is it really you?” he whispered. Edge drew himself up, standing rigid.
“It is, your highness.”
“oh, stop with that. please. you know my name.”
Taken aback, Edge blinked. “Forgive me, your h—S-Stretch.” His name was simultaneously sweet and suffocating in Edge’s mouth. He inhaled deeply, composing himself. “You are in mourning,” he stated, indicating Stretch’s black robes.
Stretch looked down at himself, as if only just noticing. “yes... my husband. i still grieve for him.” He looked up again, but his eyes weren’t sad. “they were going to send me west, to my brother, but decided it was too obvious a location. my husband’s murderers would expect me to go there… so they sent me here.” He smiled without happiness. “i would have liked to see my brother again. after all these years… but by some stroke of fate i got to see you.” Cautiously, he approached, and with trembling hands, reached out to touch Edge’s face. “you are real,” he said, as if he still couldn’t believe it. “my baker’s boy.”
Edge looked away, shutting his eyes. His chest ached. “My prince…”
“i am,” he said. “yours. still yours.” Stretch inhaled, stepping close. Their faces were almost touching. “would you hold me again?”
Edge sucked in a breath of air, shaking his head against his will. “I can’t.”
“just for a moment.” The plea in Stretch’s voice broke Edge’s fragile resistance. With barely a breath of hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Stretch and pulled him to his chest, inhaling. All at once he felt shattered, and complete. The longer he held Stretch, the more difficult it became to let go. He drew him in tighter, shutting his eyes.
“I’m still yours,” he said faintly. “I always have been.”
“i’ve never forgotten it,” Stretch whispered, moving his hand down Edge’s back. “my baker’s boy.”
When they drew apart, Edge’s arms felt cold. But Stretch was smiling, and it was enough to warm his soul. “Laugh for me,” he said suddenly. Stretch’s smile grew.
“laugh?”
“I wish to hear your laugh again, my Prince. I—” Edge broke off, realising himself. “F-forgive me. It is foolish.”
Stretch laughed then. “foolish indeed,” he said warmly, and Edge smiled through tears. “you may have your laughter. seeing you has eased my grief.”
“It has?”
Stretch leaned in and placed a tender kiss on his cheek. “tremendously.” Edge flushed, bowing his head. “will you share my bed tonight, baker’s boy?” Edge’s blush deepened and bowed lower, shaking his head.
“My Prince. I—I cannot—”
“do not worry yourself, i understand,” Stretch said, though his smile was regretful. “perhaps in another lifetime, when circumstance is not so dire. or perhaps you will change your mind. i may be here an awfully long time.” His mouth twitched playfully, but Edge kept his head cordially lowered. Stretch laughed again, and strode to the bed, running his hand over the sheets. “it may please you to know that i am rather lacking in suitors.”
“All that pleases me is your health and happiness, my Prince.”
Stretch clicked his tongue, smirking. “always so honourable, baker’s boy. though it is not your honour i crave.”
“You have hardly changed, my Prince,” Edge said dully.
“how i have missed you, my baker’s boy. please, come close.” Edge approached the bedside, and Stretch took his hands, stroking the leather of his gloves. “do you still bake?”
“Not for many years.”
“such a shame. perhaps one day you shall bake for me again.”
“Perhaps.”
Carefully, Stretch removed his gloves and ran his fingers over the bones of his hands. “you still have the hands of a baker.” He lifted Edge’s hand to his face and brushed it against his cheek, then kissed it. “such lovely hands.” He let Edge’s hand go, then leaned into his chest and breathed in. “oh, i have missed you so.” He squeezed him, sighing. “this time, i forbid you from leaving me.”
Edge smiled softly and stroked his skull. “As you command, my Prince.”