Chapter Text
Percy
The castle is buzzing like a beehive when I arrive there in the morning. It’s usually pretty busy, but tonight’s celebrations have everyone running all over carrying all sorts of things and yelling things at each other. I carefully make my way through, trying not to run into anyone or anything. When I reach the second floor, things quiet down.
The guards at his door let me pass without question. I knock, listen for a response, expecting not to get one. I open the door and quietly go inside.
Unsurprisingly, he’s still abed. Most curtains are closed, but as it’s a bright day sunlight peeks in through the gaps. One ray falls onto his bed, painting a stripe of gold over his back and making his hair appear golden. I cross the room and sit down beside him. The mattress dips in and he slides an inch toward me, but doesn’t wake.
I watch him for a while. He’s lying in an awkward knot of blankets, face pressed into the pillow with his mouth half-open and his hair a mess, and he somehow manages to still look so goddamn gorgeous. It should be illegal.
Though perhaps the only thing that should be and probably is illegal is me having these kind of thoughts about the Prince.
I sigh deeply and decide to wake him before I embarrass myself any further. I reach out and brush a strand of hair out of his face, letting my hand linger on his jawline. He stirs, breath catching. Then his eyes flutter open. As soon as he sees me, he smiles, and my heart jumps.
Oh, to be the reason he smiles.
“Ugh,” is the first thing he says. He presses his eyes closed again, rolling over so he’s lying on his side, burying his face further in the pillow with a sigh. “Morning, darling,” he mumbles.
You’re beautiful , I think. “You look terrible,” I say.
He scoffs, a small smile on his lips. “Is that how you talk to your Prince?”
“No,” I say. “It’s how I talk to my best friend.”
He smiles. “What time is it?” he asks, his voice still delightfully husky.
“Three in the afternoon.”
“Ugh.”
I let him doze for a bit, getting up to open the curtains. I look out to the courtyard. Everyone is setting up for tonight. Well. Everyone except the person they’re celebrating.
“I ran into your mother,” I say. “She’s sending in the tailors at four and expects you in the ballroom at five to greet the guests.”
His response is a groan, muffled by the pillow. Then he says something I don’t understand.
“What?” I sit back down.
“Don’t want to,” he repeats, eyes still closed.
“It’s your party.”
He waves off the comment. “Yeah, yeah.”
He pulls a pillow closer to hug it to his chest. One of his hands ends up brushing the inside of my arm, and it’s ridiculous what kind of a shock that sends through me. I don’t move. Monty’s completely oblivious to what he’s doing to me - always is. He’s clingy and a flirt and we’ve been friends since we were little, so there’s almost no limit to what physical affection we’ll tolerate from each other. He’s my best friend and I’m… hopelessly in love with him.
Monty’s been complaining about this party for weeks. I haven’t been looking forward to tonight, either, but I’m sure that’s for a completely different reason. Officially, it’s to celebrate his eighteenth birthday, but everyone knows informally it’s an occasion for Monty to meet a wealthy Princess to marry. And that’s the best for everyone - for the kingdom and even for Monty - but that doesn’t make it any less painful.
The death of Monty’s father a few years ago was the best thing that ever happened to him. It’s not well to speak ill of the dead, but that man was a monster, and Monty still carries the scars from that - literally and figuratively. The first months were rough, but the royal family has been healing. The Queen, who’d been in her husband’s shadow for as long as I can remember, finally took responsibility - both to the kingdom and to her family. She struggles at times - they all do - but it’s remarkable how well she’s taken over. I know Monty still doesn’t really get along with her, and I can’t blame him; sixteen years of absence isn’t an easy thing to forgive. But they’re managing.
“Speaking of which,” I say, tapping his nose to get his attention. “Happy birthday.”
He smiles. “Thanks, darling.” He opens one eye. “Where’s my present?”
“Is me partaking in a concert in your honor tonight not a big present enough?”
“It is not. I’m a Prince. I’m used to luxury.”
“My undying love and affection, then?”
He takes a second to reply. “Getting closer.”
I pull a small package out of my pocket, wrapped in brown paper, and put it down in front of him. He sleepily blinks at it a few times, then pushes himself up and folds open the wrapping. What’s inside is so small that it takes a while of frowning for him to figure out what it is. He picks it up and holds it into the light. It’s a single earring, golden with shooting stars on strands.
“Wait, I’ve seen this before,” he says. “But... that was years ago. How’d you find something that looks so much like it?”
“I didn’t,” I admit. “It’s the one you saw on that market, three years ago.”
He looks at me in confusion.
“I went back and bought it for you, that day,” I explain. Monty had really liked it, but he’d known he wouldn’t be able to wear it with his father still monitoring his life. “Then I forgot about it and recently found it again.”
A smile forms on his face, and my heart flutters. “That’s… whoa. I love it! Thank you!”
He leans in and kisses me on the cheek, and I try very hard not to blush.
“You’re welcome,” I say, as casually as I can manage, but he isn’t even listening anymore, putting in the earring.
“What’d you think?”
He looks lovely, even if it’s just for the bright smile he’s wearing.
“You look great,” I say, and I mean it. Outside, I hear the clock tower chime the hour. I stand up and head for the door. “Don’t go back to sleep.”
He looks up. “Where are you going?”
“Rehearsal. We can’t all afford to do nothing all day long.”
He feigns insult. “I will throw you in the stocks.”
“No, you won’t.”
“See you at the ball?”
“I’m performing, so.”
“Well, be there, or I’ll be bored to death.”
I make a preposterous bow. “As His Highness demands.”
He throws a pillow at me, far too asleep to have an accurate aim so it hits the wall next to me. I pick it up and toss it back at him, hitting him in the face. He sits up and aims for me again, but I leave the room and close the door behind me.
I’ve still got a smile on my face when I’m passing the courtyard again. The burdens he carries don’t always make him the easiest person to love, but it’s all so much more than worth it, just to get to see that smile on his face and those dimples and to feel his hand on my arm and almost pass out. He’s been doing so much better the last few years. It’s been a long road, full of ups and downs, and it’s been hard, but to get to see him so unabashedly happy and free of worry - it makes my heart strain with pride and love.
This is how he’s supposed to be. This is the happiness he deserves.
And me, well… I’m happy to stay at his side, I suppose, in any way I can.
My thoughts return to the ball tonight. It makes me feel a bit sick, truthfully. I can pretend it’s because I know Monty doesn’t want to marry some Princess he barely knows, but it’d be a lie to claim there are no selfish reasons on my part. It’s foolish, to fall in love with someone you can never be with, but the heart has a will of its own.
I pass by an announcement of the ball. It’s been up for weeks so it’s weather-worn, but it still proudly proclaims ‘ Announcing a Masked Ball in celebration of the Crown Prince’s Eighteenth Birthday. All eligible young ladies welcome ’. Here, ‘eligible young ladies’ is code for ‘wealthy ladies of preferably royal but at the very least noble standing looking for a husband’. I sigh. Monty’s going to meet so many lovely people tonight, and I… I’ll just be the one he comes home to to tell me all about it.
I could never be someone he meets at a ball and who he falls in love with.
Against my better judgment, I entertain the thought for a while. Putting on a mask, wearing fine clothes, having him see me, really see me for once. Out of reach of this line between friendship and romance we never seem able to cross and out of reach of the impossibility of it all; me, nowhere near of noble lineage, both of us men, and…
I sigh.
But what if, my head insists. What if.
I’m still lost in thought when I cross the drawbridge and head into town. It’s busy here, too, everyone excited to catch a glimpse of royalty from far away tonight. It’s a Sunday but the market’s packing up early since everyone’s too distracted to focus on such ordinary things. Only one lady is standing near a booth, putting bread in her basket and saying goodbye to the vendor. She’s just crossing the street when a group of children comes running by. She loses her balance and falls.
I rush over, making my way through the crowd to offer her a hand. “Are you all right, miss?”
She looks up, her hood falling back, and I realize right away she is not one of the townsfolk. She’s curvy, her skin spotless, her brown hair well kept, and her dress just a bit too nice to blend in. She lets me help her back on her feet and puts her hood back on.
“Thank you,” she says, a bit out of breath. Then she looks down, at her basket, lying on its side, and the bread on the muddy ground. She sighs, pouting. “That’s beyond saving.”
She turns back to the vendor, who has just began packing his things. “Excuse me, sir? Can I still buy something?”
“We’re closed,” he says, barely looking at her.
The lady looks disappointed and she wants to turn away, but I stop her. “Come on, John,” I say. “It’ll only take a minute.”
John watches me for a moment, then sighs deeply. “Fine. Just because I owe you.”
“Thank you.”
The lady buys a new arrangement of pastries and lets John keep the change, which puts him in a better mood. When he’s turned away again, she says: “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”
I shrug. “It’s no effort.”
“Still.”
We walk further into town to get away from the crowd. I’m not really sure where she’s going, but it’s in the right direction toward my aunt and uncle’s house, so I don’t mind the company.
“Are you… planning to attend the ball tonight?” I risk asking after a while.
She looks at me from the corner of her eye. “That obvious, am I?”
“Nah.” I pause. “A little.”
She laughs, a high, pleasant sound. When she sobers up, she says: “Only because my uncle insisted, though. I’ve no real interest in marriage.”
Neither does Monty , I think. And neither do lots of girls at the ball tonight. They’re probably all being pressured by their families or simply desire the status and money. Monty deserves better than that.
“Are you?”
I start. “Am I what?”
She watches me, a curious twinkle in her eye. “Going to the ball?”
“Oh, no. I mean, yes. Technically.” I compose myself. “I play in the royal orchestra.”
“I see,” she says, on a wise tone. A pause. “Do you know the Prince? Is he nice?”
“He is,” I say, right away, before realizing that, from an outsider’s point of view, ‘nice’ might not be the perfect word to describe Monty. Or at least, it wasn’t a few years ago. “I mean… I know him. We’re friends.”
“Friends?”
“Yes, we…” I’m not sure how I’m going to explain this. How does one explain a friendship that goes so far back and so deep that it hurts sometimes? How does one explain getting to see someone’s best and worst moments, and only caring about them more? How does one explain the way childhood friendship can bloom into something more, something impossible? “We’ve known each other since we were kids.”
“That has to be a very special relationship, then.”
You have no idea , I think. “I’m just… glad I can be there for him when he needs me.”
“I see.”
I get the uncomfortable feeling I’m spilling too much, but what’s done is done. It’s still a few streets before I arrive home. I’ll just have to bide my time until then, or hope she leaves sooner.
“Would you like to attend the ball?”
It’s so in tune with my earlier fantasies that it makes me halt. She stops, too, and looks back, expression innocent. I take a deep breath and force a laugh. “I am, though. Like I said-”
“Not like that. As a guest.”
“That’s impossible,” I say, and it is, though not for reasons I can explain. The ball is open to everyone, I could get inside, but I couldn’t… I couldn’t. “I don’t have…” The courage. The recklessness. The pointless hope. “...a mask.”
She chuckles again. “It’s your lucky day, then.” Her hand goes into her basket - though I could’ve sworn it was empty aside from her purchases - and reemerges with… a mask.
I stare at it for a moment. It’s dark blue with intricate gold details curling around the surface, framing it, with golden ribbons on each side. It’s beautiful.
“You can have it, if you want,” she says.
I look up in alarm. “I couldn’t possibly. It belongs to you.”
She holds the mask in front of her, pretending to study it. “Yes. But this really isn’t my color.” She gives me a dazzling smile. “Take it or I throw it away. Consider it a thank you for your help from earlier.”
Reluctantly, I take it. It’s light, made from expensive materials, and impossibly, seems to hum at my touch. I lift it to my face, wanting to see if it fits, but the lady takes my wrists wide-eyed and pulls them back. “Not here,” she says. She forces her surprise into a smile. “You wouldn’t want people to recognize you tonight, wouldn’t you?”
I lower the mask again, then carefully put it in my pocket. “Thank you,” I say.
“You’re welcome.” She turns her back, heading in the direction we came from, and I realize with a bit of a shock she didn’t need to go this way at all. “Maybe I’ll see you tonight.”
When I enter my room again and close the door behind me, I’m still completely bewildered by my strange encounter. I sit down on my bed and take out the mask again. Even in the dim light, it’s gorgeous. I run my thumb over it, tracing the gold detailing.
It’s funny. Earlier today I was entertaining the idea of attending the ball, and here I am, gifted with a mask from a strange lady who encouraged me to do so. It’s ridiculous, almost. While I can’t argue I don’t have a mask anymore, I still don’t have something decent to wear. And there’s all the hundred other reasons why this is a very, very bad idea.
I smile sadly. It’s nice to imagine what could have been, in another time, if I were someone else. If I could just be someone else for one night.
I put the mask on and tie the ribbons behind my head. It fits well, as far as I can tell. I vaguely consider heading back into the castle to find a mirror, use Monty’s perhaps, to see how I look. Ridiculous, probably. I reach for the ribbons again to take it off - then stop dead in my tracks when I see my hands.
Or rather, not see my hands. I’m suddenly wearing gloves, white with dark blue and gold embroidery, disappearing into intricately decorated sleeves and -
I jump to my feet and look down. I’m wearing a completely different outfit that I certainly did not put on - that I don’t even own. It consists of a pair of black, heeled shoes with golden buckles, black trousers, a deep blue waistcoat with impossibly fine embroidery and and even deeper blue longcoat, all decorated with gold and stars.
My hands fly up to the mask, fumbling with it. I realize there’s a weight atop of my head, and when I take it in my hands, I see it’s a silver crown. Thin and modest, with no gemstones, but a crown nonetheless.
I rip off the mask.
The crown disappears into thin air, and I’m dressed in my normal clothes again. I’m gasping, staring at the mask, then dropping it. Then jumping across the room to get away from it. Which might be a tad dramatic, but I think I’m allowed to be.
I let myself slide down against the wall until I’m sitting on the floor, knees pulled up, trying to catch my breath and staring at the mask. It lies on the ground, a few feet away from me, looking perfectly innocent.
Okay. I need to calm down. There’s no way that just happened. It’s impossible. It’s ridiculous. I almost start to laugh at the mere idea .
I must’ve imagined it. I’ve been dreaming about the ball all day, and when I put on the mask, my mind just played a trick on me. Or I’m actually going insane.
I take a deep breath and slowly stand up. Okay. I imagined it. And to convince myself of that, I’m going to do the only thing I can to verify: I’m going to put the mask back on.
It stares eyelessly at me from the floor. I convince myself to pick it up, hands trembling. Nothing’s going to happen.
I put the mask back on.
And something does happen.
I’m back in the fine clothes from a moment ago. Almost reflexively, I want to pull the mask off again, get rid of it, burn it or bury it somewhere since this can only be witchcraft - but I force myself to refrain and take another look at myself. I walk to the small window, check if there isn’t anyone outside who might see, then try to catch my own reflection in the glass.
I barely even recognize myself. The mask covers a considerable part of my face, my hair is tied back neatly, and I’m still wearing that stupid crown. The collar of a white shirt with golden edges and a cravat cover most of my neck, and there’s a short cape I hadn’t even spotted yet over my shoulders, held in place by a golden chain.
I look like royalty.
I take a step back, leaning against the wardrobe to support myself. Okay. So this is happening. Some lady gave me a magical mask that gives me a very fancy outfit. Now what do I do with it?
You could go to the ball .
I almost laugh at the idea. An insane and wonderful idea. I look at myself in the window’s reflection again. Would it work? Would people not recognize me? Would… Monty not recognize me?
It could work. If someone would recognize me, I could just lie. And if Monty would see through my disguise, we could laugh it off. We could nick a bottle of wine and find some quiet corner to spend the rest of the night, where I could tell him all about the lady and the weird mask and we’d have a splendid evening nonetheless.
It’s a flawless plan, really.
I take off the mask again and put it in my inside pocket. Okay. I’m doing this. When I exit my room, I want to head straight for the castle, but I’m instead met with my guardians who give me a pair of quizzical looks.
“Percy?” my aunt asks. “I thought you’d be at the rehearsal by now.”
Oh. The rehearsal. I’d completely forgotten about that. It’s almost five, and if I show up at this point, I’ll get a long lecture from the conductor without a doubt. Someone else is probably practising in my place right now.
“...Right,” I manage. “That’s what I wanted to say. I’m actually… not feeling well? So I don’t think I’ll be able to make it tonight.”
They both stop dead in their tracks, and I realize what that must sound like coming from me.
“Did you have a…?” my aunt starts, unmistakably ready to flee the room, which makes me also want to flee the room. I take a deep breath to calm myself.
“No. But I think… just in case…”
She nods and stands up. “I’ll go tell the conductor.” Taking the opportunity with both hands, she ends up fleeing the room after all. I try not to think about it too much.
My uncle is still looking at me, something unreadable in his expression, so I say: “I’ll be… in my room.”
The ballroom is dazzling. I’ve been here hundreds of times, but with all the colors and lights and decorations, it leaves even me gawking. It’s full of people, most crowding by the sides, and about a dozen couples dancing in the center. In one corner, near the thrones, the orchestra provides the music.
It’s a bit overwhelming, actually. Everything’s bright and colorful and excessive, and I fear that even if no one will recognize me by looks, they’ll notice right away I haven’t a clue on how to behave at something like this. It’s easy to sit at the sidelines and make fun of all the aristocrats with Monty, but this is… something else. I’m sweating underneath all these layers, feeling awkward, convinced my mask might slide off any second. I tie another knot in the ribbons, just in case.
I’m still lingering in the doorway, clinging to the side as nobility passes me by, barely seeing me. Which is probably for the best. I’m still gathering my courage. Why did I decide to do this? This is insane. It’s a terrible idea, really. It’s crazy. It’s reckless, completely, utterly ridiculous, dangerous, and impossible.
Monty would love it.
The thought gives me strength. I take a deep breath, straighten my back, and enter the ballroom.
I spot Monty across the room - like Felicity, on their mother’s other side, he’s looking rather unhappy to be there. The Queen is smiling - that’s how she always looks these days: tired, but smiling.
The King’s throne has been removed about a year ago.
Monty leans in to say something to his mother. She nods and he stands up, descending the stairs and disappearing into the crowd. I lose sight of him. Panicking mildly - I’m here for him, and I’m pretty sure I’d drown in a crowd like this on my own - I head in the same direction I saw him go.
Maneuvering past all the people - and mostly the wide dresses - takes me a considerable while, and when I’ve finally crossed the hall, he’s gone. I spin around. People all around, laughing and talking, but he’s nowhere to be seen.
Maybe this was a bad idea after all.
I turn to the nearest balcony, planning to get some fresh air, and then he’s suddenly in my way.
He really looks fantastic. I was present at some of his fittings, just so I could tease him about looking ridiculous and to - well - admire the sights, but nothing could’ve prepared me for this. His clothes are a rich, deep red, detailed with gold thread. He’s wearing his crown - gold with rubies - and his hair still looks messy. His mask is red and golden, and he’s wearing the earring I gifted him. He’s downright gaping at me, mouth hanging open and eyes big, though I’m sure I’m not doing much better. My heart leaps. If anyone is going to recognize me tonight, it’s going to be Monty, so it’s all or nothing right now.
“You look gorgeous,” is what he blurts out, which already throws me off balance. I’m struggling for words and say something, Percy, he’ll figure it out followed right away by no, don’t say anything, he’ll recognize your voice and that is followed by me wondering if that’s something Monty would recall about me and all of this in three seconds as I stand frozen on the spot.
“So do you,” I eventually manage. Okay, Percy, keep it together, you can do this. “You must be the Prince.”
He blinks. His mouth starts to form words without saying any aloud, and he’s still staring at me and I sort of very much want to run away. “...I am. But you’re…”
Desperately in love with you. “No one,” I say quickly. “No one at all.”
He stares at me for a moment longer. He says “I’m confused” at the same time as I offer: “Would you like to dance?”
We’re caught in an awkward struggle for words for another second, and I know I messed up, I know I should’ve had a better approach, I know I ruined my chance so I say “I’m sorry”, turn around and start to walk away.
A hand grabs my wrist. When I turn around, he’s looking up at me, big-eyed. “I’d love to dance.”
We both know it would be unwise for us to be seen dancing together, so we make our way to the balcony. We round the corner, out of sight but still close enough to hear the music drifting outside through the windows. We stop. He’s still staring at me as if I’m a dream, and it makes my heart flutter inside my chest.
“All right,” I say. I want to take his hands and realize I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing. “I… have no idea how to dance.”
That seems to break his trance. He smiles, and while his eyes still holding that careful confusion, they now shine with fondness. “That’s all right,” he says. He takes one of my hands and places his other on my waist. “Just follow my lead.”
I do. It’s awkward, and clumsy, and we stumble into each other a lot. In the end I think he might be doing it on purpose. We laugh, clinging to each other, and in the end he has his arms around my neck and I have mine resting around his waist. As the song concludes, his nose brushes mine and he’s beaming and I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy.
“Would you like to see the gardens, my lord?”
I falter and open my eyes. He’s looking at me, as if he’s checking for my reaction. “What… did you say?”
“Would you like to see the gardens?” he repeats carefully.
“No, I meant...”
He blinks innocently. “Oh, the ‘my lord’? Pardon me for assuming. It’s just that most people at this party are nobility, and with your clothes, I thought…” Then he grins, a bit wickedly, and nudges my crown. “Or is it ‘Your Highness’?”
I temporarily forget how to breathe.
“I…” I struggle, unable to remember a single word. “I’m- I…”
He refuses to break eye contact, our faces still so close I could kiss him, and he’s got me thoroughly pinned. I came here with the foolish idea I could seduce him, but Prince Henry “Monty” Montague is so much more experienced in this than I am.
“Oh, right,” he says. “You aren’t anyone, are you? So I suppose your title should be kept a secret as well?”
Lacking the ability to do anything else, I just nod.
“I see.” He touches his nose to mine again. “But I must be able to call you something if we intend to share our evening. Ah.” He feigns getting an idea, then leans in - for an alarming moment, I think he’s going to kiss me - but he stops with his cheek brushing mine, then whispers in my ear, maddeningly slow: “What about ‘darling’?”
My breath catches. He moves back again and must see what a complete and utter mess I am at the moment, for he softens, raising a hand to brush a curl out of my face. “I’m sorry, am I overwhelming you?”
Overwhelming is the understatement of the century. I can’t function anymore. My brain has checked out at the door and all I’ve got left is a pounding heart and a burning desire to kiss him.
So I act on the only impulse I’ve got left.
He lets out a sound, muffled by lips, and moves back - for a second I think I’ve overstepped, but then he grabs me by the lapels and kisses me back, hard . One hand finds its way into my hair, thumb lingering on my jaw, and I’ve got my arms around his neck and this is everything . Everything I ever dreamed of, everything I ever hoped for, he’s everything I ever wanted. And it feels amazing - impossibly even more amazing than I imagined it would be, and not for lack of an imagination on my part. His mouth opens against mine, and good Lord take me now . Or rather, don’t. Please let me stay here forever, kissing the most beautiful boy in the world, on the edges of reality.
He starts trailing kisses down my jawline, then my neck, pushing aside my collar, and I need to do something before this kills me. I’m gasping for breath as I take his face in my hands and force some distance between us. He looks up at me, wide-eyed, red-faced and disheveled, and I did that to him . The question is in his expression with an absurdly delightful nervousness.
I try to steady my voice. “I believe you were going to show me the gardens, Your Highness?”
He falters for another moment. “...Yes,” he then breathes. “I believe I was.”
The night air is cool and the sky is brilliant with stars. The farther we stray from the palace, the more clearly I can see them, and it takes my breath away. Only a few clouds wander across. I think I spot a few shooting stars. I’m still very aware of the blood rushing through my veins and the warmth on my cheeks, but the soft evening breeze helps me gather my wits.
Monty’s still at my side, three feet between us as we follow the path into the gardens, and I’m sort of glad. If he’d be within reaching distance I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t be able to restrain myself from throwing my arms around him and kissing him again. I kissed him. I kissed him . After five years of nursing an impossible crush, I finally kissed him. And he kissed me back. And now we’re here, distancing ourselves from the party and finding peace in the night and the stars and each other.
“Is there something in particular you’d like to see?” he asks me, as we’re passing by the pond. His tone is still so ridiculously formal that it drives me out of my mind. But if that’s the game he wants to play, he’s about to meet his match.
“I trust you’ll be able to provide an interesting tour, my lord,” I reply, voice remarkably even. “Growing up here, you must know all the worthwhile places.”
He scoffs. “I’ve never particularly cared for the royal gardens. My favorite thing about them is that they’re ideal to sneak away to with someone I met at a party.” He grins. “Though I’m sure you’re not interested in any of those spots.”
I swallow, trying to steady my voice, even though it comes out a bit higher than I mean to: “Why would I not be?”
He abruptly shuts up, clearly flustered, and I consider it a victory.
“I… see,” he manages. He clears his throat. “Well, you know they always advise to keep the best for last.” He’s composed himself again, and flashes me a roguish grin. “Would you like to see the flower garden first?”
I’ve been in the flower garden hundreds of times before, in all seasons. It harbors many good hiding spots so it was favored by Monty and I when we were playing hide and seek as children. As we got older, Monty kept using its dark corners to hide himself, and I would go find him as well, but that was for different reasons entirely.
It’s completely different now. The flowers are silhouettes in the moonlight, swaying gently on the breeze, their perfume even more overwhelming. Monty’s walking in front of me, arms folded behind his back, and I’m pretending to study the roses. He stops near a bush of flowers I can’t name - I think they’re blue, though I can’t tell for certain in the dusk - and pulls one toward him. He frowns, looking between me and it, so ostentatiously I know he’s trying to get me to ask. So I do: “Something caught your eye, my lord?”
“Yes,” he replies. “See, I’ve always thought this was the most gorgeous flower in the gardens. I’m trying to see if it compares to you but it simply… doesn’t.”
I almost choke on my own breath, and I know I’m blushing again. I’ve been at the receiving end of Monty’s flirting so many times, often far worse than this, but right now I’m completely in pieces. Normally, his flirting is meant in a purely platonic sense, because we’re friends and that’s what we’ve always been, but right now he doesn’t know . Right now, all I am to him is a stranger he met at a ball, but he’s interested in me nonetheless, really interested in me, and it’s knocking me off balance.
“But.” He picks the flower, then slowly approaches me, and I lose the ability to think straight. “Why compare?”
He stops less than half a foot away from me and raises the hand holding the flower, calmly, leisurely. He carefully places it in my hair, assuring it stays in place. Then, as he lowers his hand again, he traces my jawline with his thumb, so gently that I feel breakable but safe in his hands nonetheless. His breath is still against my lips as he stops, cradling my chin, and smirks. He taps my cheek. “And here I thought you couldn’t get any prettier.”
He kisses my cheek, swiftly, then turns his back and starts walking again, and I’m somehow more undone by that than by our actual kiss from earlier. I brush my fingers over the spot where I can still feel his lips, dazed, and he’s halfway through the garden by the time I can finally convince my feet to start moving again.
He’s waiting for me by the entrance to the maze, eyes on the distant castle, looking perfectly innocent. I know I have to strike back about now, but my head is short-circuiting and no words are coming. “The maze?” I ask, when he’s close enough to hear me. “Are you trying to get us lost?”
“Would you like to be?” he retorts, and there goes the little composure I had left. He smiles. “I know my way in here, don’t worry. Stick close to me and you’ll be fine.”
Truth is, I know this maze almost as well as he does, and I intend to take advantage of it. So when he takes the right in a crossroads, I quietly take the left, following the loop around until I can see him again. I hide behind the corner and watch as he stops, realizing I’m not following him anymore. He turns. Then he goes back a few steps. He spins a full circle, looking around, his back to me. “Uh, darling?” he calls.
As quietly as I can, I sneak up on him. When I’m right behind him, I wait.
“Darling?” he asks again, sounding a little nervous. “Where’d you go?”
I throw my arms around him and lift him off his feet. He yelps, fighting back for a moment, until I put him down so he can turn around in my arms and he sees me. His surprised expression turns peeved, and he tries to suppress a smile. “Hey! You scared me!”
I start laughing, and then so does he, and then we’re clinging to each other while the tears well up in my eyes. The night is starting to chill but right here with him, I feel warm and happy and safe.
When we finally calm down, he lifts his head from where he had it resting against my shoulder. His eyes meet mine and I’m overwhelmed by the love I find in them, love that’s familiar and new all the same. And while our night of flirting and trying to mess with each other has been fun, nothing compares to quiet moments like this, simple and beautiful, where loving him feels like the most natural thing in the world.
He tilts his head up, eyes sliding shut, and I meet him halfway. This kiss isn’t like the one from earlier - it doesn’t have the heat and the hunger; instead, it’s serene and simple, earnest and deep, and it speaks of an understanding I can’t explain. It’s perfect. It’s as it was always meant to be.
Something wet hits my cheek, and I think I’ve started crying, but when another droplet falls on my hand, I realize that it’s raining. Monty’s noticed it too. He moves back, breath still hot against my lips, and looks up; those gorgeous blue eyes looking at the sky and me getting lost in them.
“We should get inside,” he says, still a bit out of breath.
“Yeah,” I reply.
Neither of us move.
It starts raining harder and we slowly disentangle ourselves, still red and smiling. He laces his fingers with mine. “Follow me,” he says.
As we go deeper into the maze, the wind picks up, and the rain turns more violent. We start running. Thunder rumbles above us. We finally reach the little cabin at the heart of the maze. It’s raining so hard it’s difficult to see. Monty pushes the door open and pulls me inside, and I slam the door behind us.
A loud roar of thunder startles us both, and we start laughing.
I’m absolutely soaked. The outer layers of my clothes are heavy with rain, and I feel droplets rolling down my spine and chilling me to the bone. I rub some water out of my face, letting myself slide down to the floor.
“Wow,” Monty says, out of breath. He’s still smiling. “That was intense. You all right?”
“Well.” I spread my arms a little, looking at my clothes. “I’ve been drier.”
He laughs. “Yeah, me too.”
This cabin is another one of those places Monty and I spent a lot of time as kids. The entirety of the castle grounds was our playground, really, but we favored spots like this - hidden spots, where we could pretend no one existed in the entire world but us. The cabin is small and made from wood, with a door and three windows, a table atop a rug and two sofas next to a bookcase. A comfortable place to spend rainy afternoons.
He offers me a hand and helps me to my feet again. I expect him to let go, but his hand lingers against mine, fingers tracing lines in my palm. He hesitates. When he speaks, it’s quietly. “You know, you might catch a cold if you keep wearing those wet clothes.”
My breath catches. We make eye contact, and he’s suddenly looking a bit shy - a very rare expression for him. He looks away quickly, clearing his throat. “No, I’m sorry, I don’t know what I was thinking, I shouldn’t have-”
I place a hand on his cheek and turn his face toward me again. He’s burning, especially with my hands still frozen from the cold rain.
“Yes,” I say, feeling like I’m jumping off a cliff.
His eyes widen. “Yes?”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and nod. “Yes,” I repeat. “I do think it’s best if I take these clothes off.” I brush some wet strands of hair clinging to his forehead aside. “And I think you should, too.”
He’s looking at me in a way he’s never looked at me before, eyes briefly going down to my mouth, then back up. Then, he settles into a careful smile. “Would you like some help with that?”
His fingers dance over the clasp of my cape, tentatively, waiting for my permission. I nod. The weight of the cape slides off my shoulders, falling down at my feet. He traces the embroidered gold on my coat, then lets his hands slip under, arms looping around my back, then going back up, briefly lacing his fingers behind my neck, looking at me as if he can’t believe this is real. I’m not entirely unconvinced it’s not a dream, either, but I choose to enjoy it while it lasts.
He pushes the coat off my shoulders. Then, he begins unbuttoning my waistcoat, starting at the top and moving down. I put a hand in his hair, pulling his head toward me and pressing a kiss to his forehead. He looks up, beaming and bright, and that takes away all the restraint I have left in me. I kiss him, and he kisses me back, and suddenly all the serenity is gone, and I’m taking off his clothes and he continues taking off mine and we stumble backward, further into the cabin. We almost trip twice; the second time I catch him and turn us around so I’m pressing him against a wall. I’m about to congratulate myself for such a smooth move, when the momentum we’ve still got makes my crown fall down my face and hit me in the nose. Monty’s weighted breathing breaks into a laugh. I temporarily have to let him go to put the crown aside, taking off his while I’m at it, glaring at him all the while.
“Aw, don’t look so sour, darling,” he teases. “It happens to the best of us.”
I let him persuade me with small kisses to my face and down my neck into mellowing. I feel his hands under my shirt and I start. He notices and pulls back. “Sorry,” he says. “They’re a bit cold.”
I take his arms, guiding them up so his hands end up in mine. I wrap my hands around his, bringing them to my lips to press a kiss against his knuckles. Then I place them to my chest, at the height of my heart, and keep them pressed there to warm up.
Monty watches it for a while, a small smile forming. “Your heart’s beating fast. Something got you excited?”
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Should I be?”
He looks insulted for a moment. Then his eyes get a mischievous glint. “Oh, you wait for it.”
He turns so that it’s me being pressed into the wall, kissing me with so much force that the back of my head collides with the wooden panelling. I kiss him back with at least as much enthusiasm, and then we’re crossing the room again and I’m pulling his shirt over his head. The backs of his legs collide with the sofa and he sits down, dragging me with him, and I almost pitch face first into the window. Monty laughs as he pulls me back toward him so I wind up straddling his legs. My mouth finds his again as his hands go under my shirt, moving down, until-
I gasp. Monty gives me some space to breathe, going back to sucking on my neck. I catch my own reflection in the window. It startles me. I look like… well, first of all, a mess. Second of all… I’m still wearing that mask.
Monty doesn’t know.
Would it make a difference? If I’d have made a move, just as myself, would we still be here, right now, like this? What if I’d tell him at this point? What would he say? Oh, hi Percy, I had no idea it was you but I do now so good to know! Anyway, I’m as madly in love with you as you are with me, so now that that’s out of the way, where were we?
In spite of having Monty so close to me, I suddenly feel cold. Shame wells up. God, what am I doing here? How will we ever move past this? I can’t keep lying forever, and if Monty would find out… if he’d find out after …
He’d feel betrayed. He doesn’t have many people he’s close with to start with. And, well, neither do I. And I risked it all for what? One magical evening?
As sick as the thought makes me, it feels like I’m taking advantage of him.
And Monty deserves better than that.
“Monty,” I say, still out of breath. He doesn’t respond, doesn’t even seem to have noticed I’ve frozen up completely. “Monty. Darling. Stop.”
I take his face in my hands and make him meet my eyes. He’s looking distracted and confused - scared, even.
“What is it?” he asks.
“I can’t.” I force out the words. His eyes widen, and he instantly pulls his hands back. “No. Wait. It’s not you. I just... I can’t do this without you knowing who I am.”
He watches me for a while, eyes darting left and right as if he’s trying to read me. “Tell me, then.”
I take a deep breath and make a decision. “Close your eyes and count to thirty. Then you can open them again.”
He hesitates for a moment. Then he nods. Trusts me. And closes his eyes.
I treat myself to another moment of observing him. His hair is still clinging to his face with the rain. He’s blushing fiercely, lips pinked and slightly parted, and there’s something desperate in the crease of his brow. Waiting patiently, still a little out of breath but perfectly serene. He’s gorgeous, always, no matter what. No matter what he thinks of himself, he’s always been perfect to me. He’s come so far and he’s so brave and wonderful and everything I ever wanted and could never deserve.
Monty deserves the world. He deserves so, so much better than what I can give him.
I press one final kiss to his lips.
Then I run.