Chapter Text
All things considered, life as a servant in the royal household was not the worst fate. Yes, the work was demanding, especially in Nick’s position as a gardener, often sending him to bed bone sore and too exhausted to clean the grime off of his body. He rose before the sun and quit long after it had set. Yet everyday Nick considered himself lucky. Royal servants were often better treated by their benevolent King, even if they never came into contact with him. Even if the King was cruel, Nick would have stayed in this position.
He loved the gardens, and could name every specimen that grew on the grounds, and he was immensely proud of his work. He knew the rows of greenery better than his own reflection. He knew the best time to plant which flowers so that they bloomed brilliant and divine where the King could view them from his balcony. He knew his favorite flower to plant were chrysanthemums. He knew the best trees in the orchard and which branches yielded the tenderest fruits. Nick had not always lived at the palace, but being in the gardens, his neck and arms turning nut brown under the sun, was the only life he had ever known.
Nick was lucky enough to live on the grounds at the furthest corner, where the flora turned from manicured to wild, in a little hut. The dwelling was invisible unless you were almost on top of it, knocking on the door. Lush trees and gargantuan flowering bushes overshadowed it, and ivy grew from the numerous cracks in the wall. There was one dirt-floored room with scarcely enough space for a sleeping mat, a chest with his few belongings, and a chair. Yes, his humble existence was much better than some others were granted. There were others in lesser households who were abused simply for the sake of being abused. This was the plight of Daisy, a scullery maid in the Buchanan household, whom he had shared a few friendly encounters with at market.
Daisy had never once complained, but what her mouth kept secret, her defeated eyes betrayed. Her build was petite, and underneath all the rags her beauty could be recognized. Nick on the other hand, was tall and wiry, with a mess of hair and a scar like spider’s silk stretching from the tip of his eyebrow to the top of his cheek.
Since their first incidental meeting, Nick did what he could to help, even if the most he could afford some days was an encouraging smile. It always worried him whenever Daisy didn’t show up to market on her usual days. After these disappearances, she would always come back, looking a little smaller, a little more frail than before. The third time after this happened, Nick spoke up.
“There must be something that can be done,” he whispered gently, a fire against Daisy’s masters blazing in his throat.
Daisy smiled sweetly up at him and spoke in a whisper of a voice, “There is nothing that comes to mind, unless you have a miraculous plan hidden in that bag of seed.”
Nick did not allow the burn within him to diminish. “We can petition the King! Tell him about the injustices being done...I know he’d listen.”
Daisy laughed, and it was good to see her brighten up a little. “How you go on! You talk as if you and the King were the most intimate of friends!”
Nick blushed more than a little. “We’re not. He’s a good King, and I have a feeling he would care about this.”
“What? Care about something so dull as a scullery maid in a nobleman’s house? Dull as a speck of dust?”
“Especially then,” Nick said seriously, giving her an encouraging smile, the scar on his face twisting.
Though a grown man and a king, Jay believed he was allowed the occasional pout and his current situation certainly called for one. The meeting with his advisors had ended an hour ago and he was still putting off drafting the address they required of him. Because it was ridiculous. And unfair. Ultimatums always were.
Three nights. That was all they had approved. Three nights, three balls, and if by then he had not chosen a suitor for himself, they would choose one for him. How did they expect him to find true love in just three nights? For some reason, his advisors had grown increasingly concerned with his being unwed and they had the gall to blame it on his “idealistic and overly dramatic notions of romance”. So what if he was swept away in improbable, rose colored fantasies every now and then (all the time)? He was young and with the exception of a friend or two, palace life was lonely. Who wouldn’t be caught up in their own dreams for companionship? Daydreaming of a one true love entering his life in a dramatic fashion wouldn’t ruin the kingdom. According to his advisors, however, it was time to move on.
The door to his chamber opened the slightest fraction, allowing one lithe figure to slip through. As steady and put together as ever, Jordan, Grand Duke and his best friend, stood before him. They were dressed in the traditional navy and gold, their long ebony hair pulled neatly back. Normally, no one was permitted to enter his chambers without express invitation or appointment, but Jordan had never found a need to heed this rule.
“Three nights!” Jay burst once he saw the Grand Duke, who had also been privy to the advisors decision,“Three and then I’ll be bartered off to a strange suitor!”
“A suitor who will be good for the kingdom,” Jordan added, their lip quirking up at one corner.
Jay rolled his eyes, ignoring the tease. “I don’t see what the rush is. Why am I not admitted a leisurely courtship, one where I could deeply and completely fall in love?” He slumped forward onto his desk, his pout increasing.
“Because you have no one to court,” Jordan pointed out unhelpfully. “Besides-” they strode forward and perched themselves atop his desk, looking down their long straight nose “-love is not a requirement for marriage.”
“It is for me!” Jay started up off the desk, affronted by the idea. He knew that Jordan was trying their best to comfort him in their own unique way, but he was distraught and refused to be consoled this moment. The other gently tapped a few fingers to the back of his hand, letting him wallow in his own self-pity. An idea struck him.
“What if we were to marry?”
Jordan let out a bark of laughter, hard and slightly mocking.
“I do not wish to discourage you, but that is, without a doubt, the worst proposal to ever pass your lips.”
Jay bristled, his genius loophole slipping through his fingers. He hadn’t exactly expected it to work, but he hadn’t expected for it to be brushed aside so swiftly either.
“Give me one good reason why we shouldn’t. Our marriage would satisfy the advisors, and you’re better than the alternative, which is a stranger.”
Jordan shook their head as he spoke, a very tired, vaguely annoyed expression settling on their face. “As much as I would love to be your alternative, marrying each other would not solve your problems. We do not love each other-” Jordan gave him a quick glance to confirm this “-and I doubt very much a love would bloom within our sham.”
They were right of course. How annoying. Jordan had always preferred women, while Jay’s preferences had never been limited. Theirs would be a sham marriage. His majesty’s pout increased as he slumped forward onto his desk once more. Somewhere above him, he heard a signature sigh.
‘Don’t be like this,” they scolded lightly, “Honestly, one would have thought you would be thrilled by the proposition of the three balls. Have you not always dreamed you would find ‘true love in a dramatic fashion’? Here is your opportunity!”
Jay humphed, but there was no animosity behind it. Jordan was right again. Perhaps the solution was in the problem. It was at least worth a try. A scene suddenly played out before him. Glimmering lights, dancing all night long with a beautiful stranger, love approaching him unexpected and fast.
“Alright,” Jay ceded, arming himself with a peacock feathered quill, “But if this does not work, I am holding you responsible.”
Jordan laughed and moved off his desk. “I would expect nothing less.”
Later that day, during the height of market, the town heralds delivered a message, directly from the desk of the King:
“His Majesty the King formally invites all of his subjects to attend a royal masque which will be held within a fortnight. The masque will extend for three nights, at the end of which the King will choose someone to ask their hand in marriage.”
Among the crowd were two servants, listening curiously to the message. At the mention of a royal masquerade, a hum of excitement and anticipation rose from the people. Next to him, Daisy sighed dreamily, hopelessly wishful. A sprig of an idea popped into Nick’s head. At the announcement of the King selecting a spouse from the guests, the crowd erupted into a chorus of ‘oohs’, ‘aahs’, and chatter. The uproar was more than understandable. The King was widely recognized as being handsome, with warm dark brown skin, broad shoulders, and curved lips. Nick had occasionally caught glances of him before as he idled through garden paths, but had been careful to watch him from afar where he could see but not be seen.
Once the rowdy nature began to settle, Nick offered to escort Daisy back to the Buchanan’s manor.
“A ball,” Daisy hummed once they had turned onto a quieter road through a light wood, “Imagine what a ball up at the palace might be like.”
Nick flickered his gaze to her face. Her smile was sad, but not hopeless. He knew a ball meant more work from the gardeners, selecting the best fruits and vegetables, along with flowers for decoration. But he was excited. Not because his position offered some proximity to the action, but because of the plot that began to hatch in his mind. The seed had planted himself and now nothing would stop him until his goal was reached.
“Daisy,” he stopped walking and turned to face her head on, “We’re going to that masque.”
Her sweet eyes widened. “You can promise such a thing?”
“What better time to speak to the King about your situation? In any case, I think you deserve a few fantastical nights.”
The corners of Daisy’s eyes began to glisten and she threw her arms around Nick’s neck, which she could barely reach.
“You are such a dear friend,” she sniffed somewhere into his vest before pulling back, “But how do you expect they’ll let the likes of us into the masque?” They both looked down at their tattered, dirty appearances. “I don’t believe my apron or your patched trousers will fit the dress code, and neither of us have any coin for something new. How will we ever pull it off?”
Nick looked down the road both ways. Seeing that they were alone, Nick looked back to Daisy, his eyes bright.
“Wishes.”