Chapter Text
In a kingdom far away, but not so far away that it would not be recognizable to you, there lived a king. Like most kings, this king was happy. He had everything he desired: fame, wealth, and flocks of beautiful women dropping before his feet. They kissed the ground he walked upon, and wore clothing only meant to please his eyes, and said words so sweet that they made honey taste bitter. After years of flirting and courting, but never seriously, the king was told he must choose a wife. He searched along the wind-swept coastline, and into the wildflower valleys, and even climbed the snow-kissed mountains. In every city and every village, it was all the same: the women would come, and they would drop, and they would kiss his feet. All of these women were beautiful, and all these women were pleasant. There was only one—an ordinary sort of girl, with a mouth too small for her wide-eyes, from a village whose name you forgot as soon as you were told, who refused to bow.
“I’m too busy for this nonsense,” she said with an upturned tip of her head. “Unless you’re going to care to the chickens, I can’t be bothered.”
When it came time to marry, she was the one the king chose.
They married in the spring, and eventually, they found love, and that love created a beautiful blossom of a baby, with bright eyes and a small nose, and hair the colour of the first fallen chestnut. They say when he was born, instead of crying like most babies, the first noise he made sounded much more like a laugh. The king and queen fell in love with him instantly.
This is that baby’s story.
The world was blurred and then, suddenly, it wasn’t. Sawamura Eijun landed with an ‘oomph!’ and pain shot through his entire ass. He wished it was a more pleasant type of pain.
“Prince Eijun!” One of the spectators rushed forward, but Eijun hopped up before they could provide any aid. He grinned a brilliant grin, and pointed at his horse which, now instead of running with the wind, was grazing at the grass as if he hadn’t just thrown the crowned prince off his back.
“Aha! You bastard! You think you can beat me, think again! I’ll get you next time!”
“Are you alright, sir?” his meek attendant asked.
Eijun shook his head to sweep his hair from his face. He heard that maidens liked that and figured that it probably worked on boys as well. “Of course, all part of my plan! You see, all horses are—uh--- okay, when riding a horse…” He trailed off, searching for words that had once come from someone else’s mouth. There had to be some wisdom, somewhere, about what it means when a horse throws you off its back—or better yet, something about how despite the fact that you’ve been training in horseback riding since you were 3 years old, you still can’t get it right. Yes, that would be perfect.
A scoff from behind him caused Eijun to turn. “You call that riding a horse?”
He swung around, ready to fight in spirit, if not in body, whoever it was that dare insult the prince. But when he turned, there was no one there. Well, no one besides a boy only slightly taller than himself with a smear of dirt on his left cheek.
“Oh.” Eijun dropped his hands, which he had had held up in what he thought was a good fighting position, with his hands straight and at 45-degree angles. He scratched the back of his head. “Am I hearing things?”
“Perhaps you’re deaf,” the boy said, moving past Eijun and over to where his betraying horse grazed. “That would explain why you didn’t listen to the instructions for riding Odysseus.”
Eijun jutted out his hip. “What instructions? He’s a horse.”
The boy patted the horse’s nose, and Eijun definitely did not feel a wave of jealousy as Odysseus nuzzled back into the boy’s hand. He had been riding the stallion for weeks, and he had never done that for him. “Exactly. He’s a horse, not a toy.” The boy flashed him a look that felt like a bolt of lightning right into Eijun’s chest. “Did you think if he was broken you could just go get another one?”
As Eijun stood with his mouth gaping, the boy whispered something to the horse, shot Eijun another electric look, and then began to lead the horse away. It was only when the boy had disappeared into the stable that a proper response came to Eijun.
“No, but I can replace you!” Eijun yelled after him, but it was a pointless action. No one had ever once thought that the prince was the smartest in the 7 kingdoms. Not, at least, since he had said his first word: “poopy!”
He turned to Asada, his meek and lackluster attendant. “Who was that?!”
“Ah, um.” Asada flipped through his notebook, although Eijun knew him well enough by now to know that Asada already knew the boy’s name and was simply stalling for time to calm his anxieties. “Miyuki Kazuya, sir. And no,” he interrupted before Eijun could even say more, “you cannot fire him. He’s the best stable master we have, and a favourite of your mother’s.”
Hm. Of course he was. “I wasn’t going to actually fire him,” Eijun said with a kick at the dirt. He glanced back at the stables, hoping for another look of the boy, now that he had a name. Miyuki Kazuya. What a strange sounding name. He tested it in his mouth, saying the words without sound to taste the way his tongue curled and clicked.
Not that it mattered much. He probably wouldn’t see the man again, now that Odysseus had thrown him off. There was no way Asada would let him ride that horse again. It’s how it always went: Eijun chose a challenge, and it was removed from him before he could even so much as take a step towards figuring out how to overcome it.
It had taken him 18 years to realize the greatest secret of all: everyone wanted to be a prince, but to be a prince was to be a nothing. He wasn’t a person; he was an image. A boy to become a man to reflect the nation, the voice of his people. Who he was and what he wanted didn’t matter.
And that was something he had been born into. And that was something he was going to live through. And that was something that he would, inevitably, die with.
“Sir? You’re going to be late for dinner with the king.”
Eijun kicked at the dirt again and again into it clouded so much he couldn’t see his feet. If only it were that easy to disappear.
“Let’s go,” he said, and if he glanced back at the stable as he left, well, that was a secret he was going to have to live with.
It is not an uncommon thing for boys to grow up into men. What is much more rare, is when princes grow into kings.
Sawamura Eijun was an only child of a king who had just turned 18. He had been training to become a king since before he could talk, and it was a role he had never once questioned, even as he watched the other kids run into the pond while he was forced to stand in his heavy clothes as some important person he didn’t even know arrived in a carriage larger than the houses of some of the children he knew. He was a prince, and he was born to do great things, and great things he would do, sitting in a throne in a room with ceilings ridiculously high and windows that overlooked houses and people and valleys so wide he couldn’t see both sides.
No one had once ever asked if he wanted to be king.
He had never even thought to ask himself.
Once upon a time, there was a king who loved his wife too much. Love is a wonderful thing, heavy and terrible and great, and causes men and women to write songs, and paint landscapes, and build things that no one had ever thought could be built before. Love is a wonderful thing, because it causes wonder and sparks desires and lets us see the world in new ways.
But wonder is not always a good thing.
Sometimes when we wonder, we imagine. And sometimes when we imagine, we doubt. And sometimes wonder doesn’t mean glorious awe; sometimes it just means creating something that no one had ever thought possible.
This king loved his wife so much that on the dark night in the middle of a summer storm when she died, he lost the things that made him wonderful and caused those around him to wonder indeed.
I wonder what will happen to the king…
I wonder what will happen to the prince…
I wonder, thought the king, who I will marry next…
Sawamura Eijun had never been the smartest boy, but he knew when something was wrong. And something was deadly wrong with his father.
It had been months since his dear mother, the queen, had slipped away in the night. He had been there, holding onto her hand as she breathed her last breath, and a final tear fell down her still face. He had allowed himself to cry for 3 days, and 3 days only, because there were things that had to be done.
(Sometimes, he still cried into the silence of the night. He would sit in his window sill and watch the sparkling stars, and think about where else in this universe she might be, and if he would ever get to see what lies beyond the valley’s edge, and if when he did, if he would find her there, waiting?)
Eijun resumed his normal life, and his normal duties, and he was sad, but he was learning again how to be happy.
His father, on the other hand, was not so lucky.
The love that had once turned him golden now began to rot into black tar. He couldn’t sleep, and he couldn’t eat, and he couldn’t speak, because once love spoils, it turns into hate. What the king hated, more than anything, was himself, and how he had not died in her place.
As Eijun brought joy back into the kingdom, his father brought decay.
In his depression, he’d sit in his throne and watch as his son began to rule in his place. His son had a way with people, he noticed. He laughed in a way that made other smile, and erased the dark lines between their eyebrows they had come to him with. He thought about their requests, and granted as many as he could, even when there was no benefit to himself. Foolish, but sweet. He ruled like a marigold blowing in the breeze, far too fragrant, and maybe not as soft as you expected, but so fresh and new you didn’t mind the imposing scent.
He was just as kind as his mother. He was just as beautiful as his mother, with his light hair and bright eyes, and smile that was too wide for his mouth. He was just like her.
His wife. The king’s wife. The queen. She had been a marigold too.
She.
His wife.
It was not her, that had died, but his son.
Yes.
That was right.
For how
Could
She
Have
Died
If
She
Was
Standing
Right
There?
Sawamura Eijun tipped his head back and laughed like the sun, and the king was blinded by his rays. Without his eyes to see, he no longer saw Eijun; all he saw where the bits of his wife that had been planted within his heart.
“…Sawamura. Oji-san. SAWAMURA!”
Eijun slapped his hand up, landings on something soft and fleshy. His hand was hastily pushed back down, and the prince rolled onto his side, pulling his pillow towards his chest. “Mm, not yet, Asada,” he mumbled. “Let me—ah!”
With a screech, he bolted up. Water dripped from his hair and into his eyes, and he pushed it away. “That’s cold!”
“I needed you to wake up,” said a voice, and a towel was pushed towards his face. “Hurry, we don’t have much time.”
Eijun took the towel and dried his dripping hair the best he could. He slicked his hair back so the wet bangs no longer impeded his vision and dropped the towel into his lap. He blinked once, to make sure no more water was in his eyes, and then again, because he had to still be dreaming.
The boy from the stables stood and went to Eijun’s wardrobe. Without mind or matter, he began to pull out breeches, a baggy shirt he hadn’t worn in months, and undergarments. “These will do, I suppose.” He whipped them across the room and they smacked Eijun in the chest.
Yep, definitely dreaming.
“What are you doing?!” Eijun exclaimed, shooting up from his bed. The boy’s—Miyuki’s—eyes dropped downwards, then a terrible grin spread across his face as his eyes met his again. Eijun blushed red and hastily began to pull on his shirt. He hadn’t been naked, but he might as well have been. No one should ever have the… the privilege of seeing the prince in his undergarments alone.
“Don’t yell,” Miyuki said, turning away in a way Eijun figured was supposed to be polite, but it was too late for that. Regardless, Eijun slipped into the clothing that had been thrown at him only moments before.
Miyuki peeked beyond the curtains, and Eijun watched as his smile dropped. “Grab everything you need.” Miyuki spun back around and began shoving apparently random things into his bag—fruit from the table, a candle stitch, a box of matches. “We have to go now.”
Eijun grabbed Miyuki’s wrist. “Are you stealing from me?”
Miyuki yanked his hand back. “No, I’m saving you. For some reason.”
At that, Eijun had to laugh. “Miyuki Kazuya, saving me from what?! Night monsters?!” He bent back and laughed heartily from his chest. He was the prince; he was the safest man in the kingdom.
But Miyuki didn’t laugh. “The real monsters are the ones who present themselves as kings.”
There was a loud noise from somewhere outside the door, and Miyuki immediately grabbed Eijun’s wrist. “Shit. We’re out of time. Come on.” He began to pull Eijun towards the window, but Eijun grabbed onto his bed post.
“This game isn’t funny!”
“It’s not a game,” Miyuki snapped back, tugging at Eijun’s arm. “Fuck, let’s go.”
No one ever swore at the prince.
No one.
Eijun stomped his foot and spoke in his most intimidating prince voice. “You tell me what’s going on right this instant, Miyuki Kazuya!”
Instead of quivering in fear, Miyuki marched right up to Eijun and stabbed him with his finger in the chest. “I don’t need to be here. Your father is coming right now. Do you want my help, or no?”
Eijun blinked. “Dad?”
The stable master pulled at his hair. “We don’t have time for this!”
Now it was Eijun’s turn to grab at the other man. His fingers wrapped easily around the other boy’s warm arm. “What does my father have to do with this?”
There was hesitance in Miyuki’s face that burned into determination as the sound of feet echoed down the hallway. “He’s lost his mind—he’s going to try to marry you!”
Eijun nearly laughed, but then his breath was stolen as Miyuki yanked him towards the window. A voice, familiar yet unknown, from outside his door. “My queen! You have returned!”
Miyuki gave him a look he couldn’t quite read—Was he sad? Sorry? Afraid?—and that was the last thing Sawamura Eijun saw before he was pushed out the window.
The night was darker than Eijun remembered it being. Then, he realized his eyes were closed. Slowly and carefully, they fluttered open. For all Eijun knew, he was already dead—killed not by a beautiful maiden or a ferocious dragon, but a stable boy—and by being pushed out the window at that!
Nothing hurt, but his skin was itchy everywhere. His head felt dizzy, and he could hear voices distantly somewhere above him. Beside him, something wiggled, and then a face was above his. “Come on,” he whispered, “before they figure it out.”
This time, Eijun let himself be pulled.
Miyuki Kazuya grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him up and out of the stack of hay they had somehow landed in. He took him to the ledge of the castle, and they shuffled along until they reached a ladder that had been placed beside the building. Miyuki went down first, not bothering to see if Eijun followed. He did.
Once at the bottom, they did not turn towards the main entrance, but Miyuki led them through the shadowy night through the garden. They did not follow the path, but rather ducked behind bush and tree. They encountered no one, but stayed silent nonetheless. Eijun had no idea what was going on, but something told him to trust the strange boy. It had been his eyes, the moment before he had been pushed. The moment when his father’s voice came from the door, so different from the loving father he had known, and something fearful had flashed across Miyuki’s face.
For all of his life, people had treated Eijun like a porcelain doll about to break. But Miyuki had pushed him out the window and hoped that he wouldn’t shatter. He had known something that up until this point, Eijun had thought he was the only one who knew: that the prince was not the type of person to break.
When they were deep enough into the grounds that the castle was nothing but a few flickering lights looming behind them, Eijun dared himself to whisper, “Where are we going?”
From under his spectacles, Miyuki shot him a look. “Away.”
“Away where?”
“Anywhere.”
Eijun dashed forward and grabbed Miyuki’s shoulders. “Anywhere is not a place.”
Miyuki spun around, anger burning deep on his face. “Do you have any idea what is going on?”
“I would if you told me!” Eijun accused. A hand slapped across his mouth and Eijun tried to bite at the meaty part of his palm to get it off.
“You have no idea the danger you’re in,” Miyuki growled before dropping his hand. “Jeez, why did I even bother?”
“Tell me,” Eijun replied, throwing his hands up. “How can I know anything if no one ever tells me?!”
There was a truth to those words that existed beyond this moment. It was a truth Eijun had never spoken, despite feeling it all of his life. Such sort of words have power; such sort of words are the ones we call magic.
Miyuki Kazuya felt his tongue move before he could stop himself by thinking better of it. “I overheard. I was in the stables. Your father—he’s no longer your father. He’s been transformed. He doesn’t see the truth anymore. When he looks at you, he only sees your mother.”
Eijun’s eyes burned into Miyuki’s. “So he—” Miyuki nodded. Eijun paled.
“Here.” Miyuki turned to a bush and pulled the foulest looking piece of fur out. It smelled like something had died which, Eijun realized, something had. “Wear this.”
“Why?” Eijun asked with a crinkled nose.
Miyuki grinned. “Because it’ll look cute on you.”
The prince snatched the fur and threw it back at the stable boy. “You wear it then!”
“Aww, does Sawamura want me to look cute?”
“I—gah—no! I don’t!” He grabbed it back and tossed the smelly thing over his shoulders. “Now I’m the cute one!”
“You reek,” Miyuki replied and turned away. “But it’ll keep you safe. No prince would wear something so unsightly.”
So that was how Eijun found himself following a boy he hated out of the castle grounds he had once called home. That was how Sawamura Eijun looked when he glanced over his shoulders one last time as the sun began to rise, and he said goodbye to his life as a prince.
But that isn’t really what this story is about, is it?
A deranged king, in love with his own son, is not the story of Sawamura Eijun. No, like all good fairy tales, this story is one of a prince who, against all odds, falls in love.
As they crossed the walls, walls which Eijun had never once seen beyond, he ran forward, a laugh tumbling from his lips. He spun around, gazing up at the trees so tall and wild and free, and when his smile met Miyuki’s, the boy’s lips tipped upwards.
Miyuki threw his arm over Eijun’s shoulders. “Come on. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.”