Chapter Text
Prince Louis Tomlinson of Doncaster is not, nor was he ever, a poorly behaved son. His parents have always found his behavior to be exceptional; and he has always taken his lessons on both royal etiquette and intellectual knowledge very seriously.
His schedule is packed full of study sessions with private tutors, hours of training with a sword with one of the best fighters in the country, and other activities that vary according to his moods.
In the summers he stands outdoors in the fields of the palace and works on his archery. Perhaps on a colder winter day he will sit by a hearth inside the castle walls and practice an instrument of his choice until his fingers nearly bleed.
He’s only sixteen, but he takes pride in the fact that he is most likely one of the most well rounded boys in the kingdom. Now, of course, that has everything to do with the fact that his father is the king - but nonetheless, he works very hard. He won't deny himself that.
In almost every sense of the word, Louis is perfect. His family made sure of it; he was crafted and shaped like clay into a prince that his country needs during a time of food shortages and economic collapse.
His people love him, as his mother tells him. They speak of him in the villages as though he is their savior, and that someday he will take the crown and rescue them from their destitution.
His parents look at him at the dinner table as though he is immortal, as if he is their most prized possession in a house full of jewels and artifacts. To put it simply, Louis is aware of his importance.
But as of right now, he is breaking the rules that have been set for him. He, in general, is excellent at abiding by the guidelines he’s been given. He’s always been taught that privilege comes with restriction.
However, Louis is sneaking through his mother’s rose garden on the southern side of the palace under the moonlight tonight. He is assumed to be asleep, but has snuck out of his window and climbed down the vines of the wall, on his way to the forest.
The garden ends abruptly, and he is met with a wall of trees. They are dark and luminous, but have fascinated the young prince for years. It’s only recently that he’s begun to visit them these past couple of months, and they are less threatening to look at now.
“You’re late,” Harry frowns, arms crossed over his chest as he emerges from the shadows. He’s dressed in his usual attire - that of a peasant. His shirt is loose and off-white, his trousers brown. His black boots are obviously worn out from constant running. Louis is not unaware of the fact that this boy is a thief, but he tries to forget about it.
“I’m sorry,” the prince apologizes, greeting him with a light hand on his arm and a weak smile. “One of the maids was very chatty tonight. I had to wait for her to leave.”
“Did you not simply dismiss her?” Harry raises a brow and leans his back against a particularly tall tree, and crosses one foot over the other.
“I am not as rude as you are, Harry,” Louis rolls his eyes. “You have a heart of stone.”
“My heart is soft for you,” the curly haired boy promises him softly, and the prince can’t help but grin back at him.
They met four months ago, when Louis had retreated to the forest for a few hours of the night, as he always does. Before Harry, he adored being alone on the outskirts of the palace grounds, where no one was there to survey his every move.
That warm spring evening, they had bumped into one another, none more surprised than the other. Louis hadn’t told him he was the prince, considering his sleeping clothes wouldn’t give it away. Harry, though, had admitted he was running from a shopkeeper in the nearest village.
Their secret meetings became a nightly ritual, and when Louis had finally managed the courage to tell his new companion that he was royalty, Harry had hardly batted an eyelash.
“I’ve missed you,” the blue-eyed boy admits from where he’s standing, and Harry raises a playful eyebrow upon hearing it.
“Oh, have you?” He asks, taking a step closer and placing a hand on Louis’s cheek. “In that case, allow me to make you aware that I have missed you very much as well.”
The prince closes the distance between them, and they kiss carefully. Louis can’t think of a better word for it than that - Harry is always gentle with him, as if he’ll break. He presses his lips to Louis’s as if the other boy’s mouth will disintegrate upon contact.
When they pull away, both blinking slowly, their faces drenched in a quiet happiness, Louis admires his facial features so that he can remember them when they’re apart. Harry has wide, green eyes and big, pink lips. His hair is messy and curly, and his cheeks always seem to have a little bit of dirt on them.
He must not be able to bathe as regularly as Louis does. Sometimes the blue-eyed boy lets it slip from his mind that not everyone lives as he does.
“Come with me,” Harry pleads. “We will be happy together. I promise.” Louis hates when he asks this. It feels as though the thief is reaching into his chest and tugging on his heart itself. What is he to do? Abandon his country and his family and his people for one boy?
Though, that being said, sometimes looking at Harry’s magnificent smile makes him think that one boy might be worth all of that.
“You know I cannot,” he whispers into the darkness, and the thief’s face falls. He looks as though he had known that answer was coming, but was still hoping he wouldn’t have to hear it. Again.
So they kiss again, and again, until they are breathless and Louis is no longer a prince and Harry is no longer a poor peasant, but they are instead just Harry and Louis and that’s it.
~
The day of Louis’s eighteenth birthday is the worst day of his entire life, so far. He had predicted his father was arranging an engagement for him, of course. There were hints and signs. Women were practically thrust at him during elegant balls, and he had pretended not to notice the politicians watching them from the corners of the rooms.
They were all older men, picking apart his interactions with different young ladies - all of them lovely, but none of them taking his interest. They were deciding which of the girls would suit him best, and would make the best alliance. Kings kept arriving at the palace, showing off their teenage daughters, desperate for a strategic bond with Doncaster.
And what is more bonding than a family connection?
“Her name is Princess Amelia, you’ve met her before,” his father informs Louis, who had been summoned to the throne room five minutes ago. “And you will wed her in the early summer.”
“Very well. Thank you, Your Highness.” He would call him ‘Father’, if there weren’t other diplomats around. Louis bows his head at the king, who promises to speak to him again at the dinner table about the arrangements, and is dismissed.
He has known this would happen for the entirety of his life - never, once, had it been a secret. Princes are wed to Princesses, that is simply how it goes. And yet, the shock hits him like a tidal wave. His breath is caught, and he stumbles down the corridors until he reaches his chambers with shaky steps and a beaten heart.
~
That very night, as he stands before Harry in their secluded sanctuary, he wants so desperately to cry. He doesn’t, though, and melts into the welcoming kiss he receives. It is likely the last that he will ever feel, so he pulls the boy closer to him and makes it last a little longer.
“What was that for?” Harry asks with a breathless laugh, and Louis is shaking his head sadly. The curly haired boy is immediately serious. “Louis. What’s the matter?”
“I’ve been betrothed,” The prince murmurs. Harry stills, standing up a bit straighter, and his lips purse into a straight line. Louis is panicking, immediately. “It was arranged without my knowledge. I’ve got no choice, I-“
“I do not know what to say,” Harry’s fists are clenched and he isn’t looking at him anymore.
“How can you be mad at me for this? We both knew this would happen,” Louis is pleading with him now, his voice hushed and tears trickling down his cheeks.
“I am not mad at you, Prince,” The thief mutters. “I’m mad that I allowed myself to grow so close to you. I’ve been very stupid.” He’s backing away now, but slowly, and Louis feels as though his throat is closing up. He can’t leave, he needs him here.
The thief looks so striking under the pale blue light of the moon. His cheeks are illuminated by the milky splashes of light making their way through the trees, and Louis wants to cry into his broad shoulder. He wants Harry to tell them that they’ll be alright.
The problem is, they had both known that this would never last. Neither of them was stupid enough to think they would be able to drag out such a scandalous affair - but, regardless, they had neglected to end it before something like this could happen.
“Please - these past two years-“
“Have been a waste of our time,” Harry whispers, and his eyes cast down to the leaves on the dirt floor. “Goodbye, Your Highness.” He’s never called Louis that, not once.
When he’s gone, Louis falls into a tree and cries until he can’t hear Harry’s footsteps anymore.
~
5 Years Later
The Kingdom is in distress, and though it isn’t Louis’s place to dissolve such a problem, he is paying careful attention to how his father is handling the matter.
Thanks to the ongoing poverty, a revolutionary group has broken out and are supposedly recruiting members in the poorest villages. They are planning a massive attack on the monarchy, and no one is to say how large their numbers are.
They are extremely secretive, and though the king’s army has tried, they cannot find where they meet or how they are spreading the word about their organization.
The dinner table is quiet and tense tonight, as it has been for the past month. Louis’s father and mother exchange nervous glances here and there, and even the servants are stiff and cold and silent. Usually they at least smile and say a quick “enjoy” as they place the food on the table.
“The council and I agree that security needs to be taken more seriously within the palace walls. Starting tomorrow morning I’ll be hiring new guards and creating new routes for patrol.”
“What if you hire secret revolutionaries?” The queen asks, putting her fork down on the table. Louis chews silently, his eyes flickering between his two parents.
“We cannot become so paranoid,” The king shakes his head. “We will lose our minds in the process.”
Louis’s wife, Amelia, says nothing, but gives the prince a concerned look. He places his hand onto hers, reassuringly, though there is nothing he can physically do to make the situation any less stressful for them.
She isn’t terrible. There’s no pressure on them to produce children just yet, considering his father is still alive, and they have become close friends. They do not love each other though, not in the way that they should. It’s a shame, but an expected shame that come with such marriages. At least he doesn’t mind her presence.
Of course, she is not Harry. It pains Louis to think of the curly haired boy he had loved so dearly as a teenager. They had spend nearly every night together, either talking about their personal lives or napping in each other’s embraces. They would stare up at the stars and point at constellations. They would kiss like old lovers, and quarrel like young friends.
Louis wishes so much that he could have that with Amelia. He feels something for her, but it is not an all encompassing passion that drives him to want to do risky things, like sneak out of his room to meet her in the middle of the evening.
~
When Louis retreats to his chamber that night, he enters his large bedroom with a hearty sigh and begins shedding himself of his formal dinner attire. The balcony doors are open, letting in the cold March air, and he huffs out a sigh as he shuffles across the room to close them. The maids must have neglected to shut the doors when they finished tidying up.
There are a few lit candles in the room to guide him, but he blows them out one by one until only the moon provides any light for him. With an exhausted yawn, he climbs into his large bed and rests his head against the pillow. Though it isn’t for more than four seconds before a large hand is clamped over his mouth and he’s immediately thrust into a terrific panic.
Louis thrashes, but there’s two of them above him. He can’t make out their faces in the darkness, but they’re tying his legs together. Someone pins his arms above his head, and there’s suddenly a face up close to his.
His breath catches, and he feels as though he’s about to faint. It's Harry.
“No one is going to hurt you if you keep your mouth shut,” The curly haired boy, older than Louis remembers him, growls under his breath. “So cooperate.”
And what is there to do? Louis is trained in the art of the sword, but he has nothing at the moment. He is outnumbered, without weapons, and too tired to resist. The other boy, who Louis does not recognize, throws him over his shoulder.
He’s crying, but no noise escapes him. They’ve used a rope to gag him, and are now outside on the balcony. The boy carrying him climbs over the railing, and seems to be hesitant about jumping.
Eventually, they make their way down the stone wall with care, and somehow arrive at the bottom. Louis is too traumatized to understand how they did it. Maybe they brought another rope to aid them.
There’s a horse drawn wagon, and they sit him in it carefully. Harry sits beside him as they begin to move, the wagon bumping on every rock and stick. Louis sways back and forth, and looks up at the boy he used to know so well with disgust.
He’s going to die, probably. He’ll be murdered by whoever these people are and his body will be sold for money or something sick like that. He’s going to puke. Almost as if Harry is reading his thoughts, he says,
“We aren’t going to do anything to you. So please calm down and stop breathing so heavily.” Louis rolls his eyes. He’s just been kidnapped, what the hell is he supposed to do? Shrug and move on with his day?
When they’re deep enough into the woods, and a long spell of silence has passed, Harry unties the rope from the prince’s mouth.
“What are you doing?” Louis demands, wrists still tied behind his back.
“We’re holding you for ransom. And if you do what we say, we’re going to get along just fine,” Harry assures him in a calm voice. There are a few others in the cart, but none of them have spoken. They watch Louis, though, and it’s unsettling.
“Ransom? You want money?” The boy asks, and Harry shakes his head.
“I want the crown. That’s what we all want, for all of us to share. We want a people’s republic instead of this ridiculous monarchy.” Harry leans back against the wooden wall of the wagon and takes a deep breath.
“Who’s we?” Louis asks, afraid of the answer.
“The Revolution, of course,” Harry flashes a smile so familiar to Louis that he’s immediately in pain. “And you’re looking at the leader.”