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Twenty summers he'd spent in the country castle, twenty summers marked by routine and duty, it was the privilege of being the crown prince, knowing when and where and why things were as they were, right when he wanted them to be. Even if the monotony was tiresome, there was a measure of comfort in it, Chuck supposed.
It was a respite after the frenzy of city life, all the merriment that occurred in the cold winter months in town. Chuck knew his father thought him a wastrel, but Chuck was simply trying to fill his time, for the king had no use for him.
His summer schedule comprised of waking with his breakfast brought to him, attended to in his chambers by his valet and apprised of the current state of affairs in the kingdom by the ministers in the council. For his afternoon sport, Chuck's mount was presented to him by the front entrance of the castle, accompanied by a groom and escorted back to the barns after his ride. There was no need to venture to the stables to fetch or tend to his horse for himself.
Everything was as it should have been, everything except the new stable master. The man had family ties to the stables at a neighboring estate, his brother had been head groom to the king's closest allies before he'd taken ill a year prior. Raleigh Becket had been apprenticing with the Pentecosts, and Stacker had made a gift of his stewardship to the king.
There hadn't been problems, other than the hint of insubordination Chuck always felt when Raleigh was nearby, but his father was forever insistent that Chuck was far too sensitive, so Chuck tried to suppress the prickle of unease he felt around the man.
And then Chuck's horse, Striker, had thrown a shoe in the home stretch of his ride that afternoon and Chuck was made to walk the remainder of the way back to the castle, and his humiliation at having fallen from his horse (a seasoned rider from as far back as he could remember) made the entire event that much worse.
It was disgraceful, clearly the man was shirking his duties and Chuck was livid with anger at Becket's lack of propriety or decorum when Chuck railed at him. He seemed to possess no sense of that awe or humility that befit a servant of the royal family. He...he treated Chuck, a prince of the realm, like he was common.
Chuck had tried disdain, had tried the haughty arrogance that came so naturally to him when he was backed into a corner or frustrated or uncomfortable, because it was his right to act in such a manner.
Yet, when faced with the formidable Hansen temper, Raleigh Becket simply nodded his head in a mere FARCE of a bow, before reassuring Chuck's attendant that any missteps with the young prince's horse would be righted on the morrow. Without so much as a shudder or a tremor in his voice, the man fairly sauntered back to the stables after Chuck dismissed him.
It was infuriating.
Chuck stewed for the remainder of the afternoon and evening, the perceived slight growing in his mind, tossing and turning that night. When the sun broke the horizon, Chuck pulled his own clothes from the wardrobe, stole through the halls, dead-set on reaming the proud stable master a new arsehole, when the man himself crossed Chuck's path.
He nearly tripped over his own boots at the sight of Raleigh Becket casting aside his pitchfork, sinking to a knee before him.
"Your highness."
"Get up," Chuck hissed, but Raleigh's face showed no fear when he rose.
Raleigh stood before him, the Hansen blue livery hanging open over his shirt, which Chuck noticed was damp in patches, clinging to his skin. "How may I be of service, my prince?"
And the tirade that had plagued Chuck through the long night seemed to dissipate at the sight of Raleigh bending over to retrieve the fork from the straw. The breeches Raleigh wore were issued through the housemaster, similar to the attire of the entire grounds crew, but Chuck had never been struck by anyone else filling them out as Raleigh did.
"What are you doing, with the pitchfork?"
Raleigh ducked his head, crossed his hands over the top of the instrument. A hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth before he straightened up, caught Chuck's eye.
"I was nearly finished feeding the horses their breakfast, your highness. Would you care to observe while I get the last one?"
And Chuck, who normally felt as though the stablemaster was laughing at him, was taken aback by the sincerity in Raleigh's face.
He was even more shocked by his own answer. "Yes."
If Raleigh was surprised in the least, he kept his own response from Chuck, his face schooled back to one of respectful deference. He led Chuck through the stables, pointing out the different areas of the building. Chuck spotted Striker in his corral, nickering as Chuck came near. Chuck stroked his nose, then the horse resumed eating, fortunately looking no worse for the wear after the thrown shoe from the prior day.
"You were both lucky, your highness," Raleigh commented, ready with a cloth for the prince to wipe his hands when Chuck stepped back. "I am sorry we missed it. We - I will be more careful about inspecting the horses from now on."
And Chuck felt some retort come to mind about how Raleigh should be grateful it wasn't worse, but the need to speak it passed just as quickly as it appeared.
"Upon further consideration, I think it was an accident." No one was hurt, Striker wasn't showing any signs of lameness, and Chuck's pride was the only thing that suffered.
"Still, it was my responsibility, and I want you to know, your highness, that I take my position here seriously."
And Chuck saw a genuine worry in the man's face, a tension in his frame as they paused before the stacks of feed. The stables were still quiet, but for the soft sounds of the horses eating, and Raleigh's eyes caught his own, the jest from earlier had vanished.
"No, I am aware that you do, Mr Becket." Chuck wasn't a pushover, especially not for the sole reason of a pretty face, but he wasn't a tyrant either. He had a heart, buried beneath the layers he'd built around it. "Consider it forgotten."
Raleigh's body seemed to hold tight for another moment, then Chuck could see the moment his shoulders relaxed, the rest of his frame following. He tipped his head forward, respectfully, left it lowered a beat, and then he looked back up, caught Chuck watching him.
"If it's not out of the realm of propriety, your highness, would you be interested in learning more about your stables this summer?"
And Chuck considered the morning's appointments, the lack of engagements with his father departed for the city and the long afternoons he spent with Striker, roaming the meadows as his only diversion for the near future. No one was scheduled to arrive for at least a fortnight, and Chuck had nothing else to do.
Besides, his father was forever dropping not-so-subtle hints that Chuck could do with more responsibility and practical knowledge. Wouldn't it be a shock for him to come back and find his son actually listening for once. Used to his disapproval, the resigned sigh and irritated tilt of the king's head when he regarded his son were as familiar to Chuck as the backs of his own hands. Working the stables could serve dual purposes as a way to fill Chuck's time and prove his father wrong. There was truly nothing Chuck enjoyed more - though the not-unattractive sight of Raleigh Becket in his duty uniform was not far behind.
--
That's how the king found his son and heir, two weeks later. Chuck ankle deep in soiled straw, his meticulously shined riding boots dull with mud and dung, rivulets of sweat running trails down his neck.
Herc barely recognized Chuck, face tanned and smiling, putting his back into something that didn't involve ale or fighting or gambling.
Had Chuck's mother been alive, she would have expired at the thought of her only child with dirt beneath his fingernails, his carefully tailored clothing dusty and smeared with all manner of refuse, laughing uproariously with the hired help.
But Herc had to admit, it suited Chuck. He looked - happy.
The king's restrained double take was visible only to Chuck, as his eyes darted from Chuck's smiling face to Raleigh's smudged, suddenly ramrod-straight form, then back again.
"You've been keeping busy, then, son?"
Chuck nodded once, surely taken aback by the surprised look on his father's usually stern face. "Yes, Father."
"Becket, I trust you are finding your way?"
"Yes, your highness, thank you." Raleigh Becket stared forward, hands clasped around the long-handled pitchfork. Stacker hadn't been wrong about his willingness to tackle the most mundane of tasks in his stables, because both Raleigh and Chuck were mucking out the horse stalls at the height of the summer day. The barns were otherwise clean and organized, the grooms moving about their tasks efficiently and quietly. Humility wasn't a problem for Raleigh, which was why Herc had brushed off the petty protests Chuck had made when the man arrived. He'd wondered then if there had been something underlying there that had irritated Chuck, like a burr caught beneath a saddle.
Thinking now, upon seeing the fast friendship between them, that may indeed have been the case.
"I'll see you for dinner, then."
"Yes sir." Chuck stood straight, without the slumped insolence Herc remembered him carrying the majority of his formative years. He caught a hint of a smile on Raleigh Becket's lips when Herc raised an eyebrow in his direction, a subtle nod to him that Chuck didn't see.
Striding back to the castle, Herc heard the echoes of laughter pealing behind him.
It was not an unwelcome sound. He'd have to send Stacker his deepest thanks.