Chapter Text
Ten meters, a slight breeze north.
The bow quietly creaked as he pulled the string back, pointing at the white chest of the deer in front of him.
The deer looked around, chewing, unsuspecting despite the obsidian arrowhead pointed directly at its heart.
The breeze slowly disappeared. He let the arrow fly.
Bullseye.
James rose out of the bushes, feeling every tendon pop around in his legs. With a grunt, he stretched towards the sky, scraping the leaves off of his knees. He walked over to where the deer fell, impressed with his shot. The arrow had pierced right through the front of its chest, right through the heart, killing it instantly. A gorgeous deer, too, a stag with its horns still attached, strong but well-fed off of the sprouting forest grass. It checked all components of the commission he took, as well.
James tied the deer to the hunting frame and hoisted it over his shoulders with mild difficulty, and began the hike back to the castle. It wasn’t a far walk, maybe two kilometers, but he was still sweating profusely in his steel armor and warm spring air.
Even from afar, James could hear life flourish within the castle walls. He passed a farmer out in the fields who gave him a cheer for his catch. James returned the gesture with a triumphant fist and a whoop.
He made a beeline right to the butcher’s quarters, attempting to dodge around the residents to not hit them with a flying stag hoof. As he walked into the stone building, increasing drastically in temperature, James yelled, “Ulrich! You called?”
“James, my good man!” Ulrich– or, Lars, as James affectionately called him– greeted him with a bright smile and a ricocheting thunk of the knife to the cutting board. “I didn’t expect you here, with such a catch!”
“The deer are happy out there. It’s a glorious springtime,” James laughed, dumping the game on the center table. “We’ll have no shortage of food for the Carnival.”
“I’m impressed,” Lars said, patting the deer down. “This’ll suffice more than enough. I might have to pay you extra, goodness.”
“No need. It was nice getting to hunt again. I haven’t taken a commission like this in a long time.”
“If you insist,” Lars shrugged, digging in his pockets for five coins. “Well, come around the tavern this next week. Stag Stew’s back on the menu, courtesy of yours truly.”
“Absolutely I will,” James chuckled. “And remember the carrots this time, will you? Drinks will be on me, too. Courtesy of yours truly.”
“That’s the spirit,” Lars laughed, the glint of a gold tooth catching in the furnace light. “I’ll see you around.”
“See you around.” He echoed, and left for the royal grounds.
The castle bloomed around him, quite literally, bathed in the celebrations of spring. The maids and gardeners were planting hoards upon hoards of colorful flowers along the pathways, hanging vines and ivy from the windows, the earthy scent slapping him in the face and making his eyes water.
He sneezed. Even after living here since he was a baby, he still wasn’t accustomed to the pollenated air. How amusing– He, First Knight under the Phantom Lord, bested by a measly flower stigma.
He retreated behind the castle, rubbing his eyes. A few Knights were setting up training dummies for the children later in the day. There really was no need for sword-training now, as war was becoming that of the past.
Thankfully. James glanced to the azure sky, untouched by clouds.
The war in the Eastern Providence had lasted four long, long years of James’s life, and although the West was recovering for about two years now, it was still fresh on his mind. Even simple tasks like picking up his sword or donning his armor in the morning sent jolts of memories through his mind, remnants of the hell he had been through. Seeing the kids excitedly play with wooden spears reminded him too much of himself, sixteen and ready to rain destruction upon the enemy, before it ripped him apart.
He knew life would never go on the same. Gods, this was too nice of a day to be wallowing in the past. He couldn’t go back and change it, anyways.
James continued a mindless walk around the castle, counting the stone slabs under his shoes.
“Sir James!” He heard a familiar voice call.
James whipped his head around, looking for the source of the voice. “General Jason?”
Jason appeared around the corner, a rolled-up piece of parchment in hand. “Ah, there you are. Goodness, I was looking all over for you. Ulrich’s a terrible directionist.”
James cracked a grin. “Lars? He has his flaws, I suppose.”
“Moving on,” Jason waved the roll around. “I was directed to give this commission to you, specifically.”
James blinked. “Specifically?”
“Yes,” Jason handed him the cylinder. “For you.”
“From whom? By Gods, look at this paper.” James thumbed over the edges of the parchment, blindingly white. It was obviously bleached– obviously expensive and important. It was held together by a piece of red string in a neat bow.
“Just– read it.” Jason sighed, almost exasperatedly. “It’s a… fairly interesting one.”
“If it involves the horse stables, I’m giving this back to you.”
“I can promise you that it has nothing to do with the stables.” Jason snorted. “It’s better. I must take my leave now; I have a meeting with the treasurer soon. I trust you’ll complete it?”
“Of course.” James said, confused. When his general left, he untied the bow and let it hang unfurled.
Commission Assigned to: Bodyguard of the Prince of the Phantom Lord.
James’s eyes shot open. Only four people knew his real purpose. Those four people were the Lord, the Queen, General Jason, and himself. Hell, he didn’t even know if the Prince knew it at all.
Because in James’s twenty-two years of life, he had never met this Prince he was ‘assigned’ to protect.
His entire life had developed directly on castle grounds. Ever since he was a child, he was raised by the housemaids and grandmothers of the royal kitchen, trained by the best hired swordsmasters in the land, taught of the world by the Lord himself.
But he had never seen this so-called Prince, despite living within potential centimeters of him. Word was constantly circulating through the servants about his fencing matches, his writings, his musicality. But no sign of his existence, at all. Not even a trace.
Granted, James was barred from the third floor of the castle. That was royally reserved. But living for as long as James had, up in that tiny portion of the castle…? It didn’t seem right.
But now he had proof. Somebody assigned him this commission. Someone specifically assigned it to him, rather than posting it on the open commission board in the center of town. James was so distracted he forgot to read the rest of the request.
Urgency: As soon as possible, but not of innate importance.
Requested by:
Commission: I’d like a bouquet of flowers.
… What?! James glanced up, taken completely off-guard. He was expecting an undercover mission, an infiltration, a negotiation, considering this was from royalty…
A bouquet of flowers. The Spring Carnival wasn’t for at least another month and some. Why was this commission for him, a Knight, and now?
I’d like a bouquet of flowers. Preferably monochromatic red, with white and pink sprinkled in. Nothing overtly large, per se, but a nice arrangement that can fit inside a medium-sized vase. I trust your eye for artistry, so do as you please.
… What kind of devilish request was this? How… vague? How informal? James guessed this person had never written a commission before.
But since this was addressed to his true title, he shouldn’t berate on them too much. This was directly from royalty. He had to fulfill it, no matter what.
Begrudgingly, he got to work.
The maids down on castle soil were more than eager to let him borrow a few roses. Despite his denials, they chirped and crowed about who’s the lucky woman? and let us know if she likes it! He rolled his eyes, letting them gossip as they snipped the reddest roses for him. James sighed in annoyance. He couldn’t wait to hear the rumors surrounding his name tonight.
He walked back into town, the roses wrapped in traditional brown paper. The commission also wanted white and pink, and asking the maids would be too much trouble, for both them and himself. Maybe the medicine woman had some he could buy.
He approached her stall with a smile. “Hello.”
“Hello, sir.” She greeted. “A surprise seeing you here. Can I do anything for you?”
“Do you, uh, have any pink or white flowers?” He asked, holding up the rose bundle. “I’m making a bouquet, and I need something other than red in here…”
“Oh, darling!” She mused, and James predicted her next words. “May I ask who the lucky girl is?”
“It’s a commission. Just a commission. I’m not seeing anyone.”
She smiled wide, her cheeks flushed. “Aw, that’s what they all say. Yes, I have the perfect ones, let me get them from the back.”
The medicine woman returned with an enormous armful of pink and white flowers alike. “How many, sir?”
James cleared his nose loudly. “Only a few. Probably… three or four each?”
With the added chrysanthemums and tulips, the bouquet suddenly popped to life, and James paid her despite her refusals.
As he arranged the flowers around, it felt a little stagnant. The color was perfect, but it seemed to be missing something. A little sprinkle. A little texture.
Small white daisies grew just outside the castle walls. That might be the key.
James walked down to the gate, trying to ignore the looks he received. The timing was probably amusing– the First Knight carrying a very delicate bouquet in the middle of March. He internally laughed at the absurdity of the request. Maybe the commissioner just wanted to embarrass him.
The daisies were the perfect addition– with a few thoughtfully placed, it tied the whole mess together. However, it was a bit of a large array; the request wanted a medium vase, but how medium was the commissioner thinking? Ask a commander and a potterer what classifies as a medium vase, and they will have different answers.
James made the trek back up to the castle grounds, his shadow already lengthening beneath him. Did making a bouquet really take that long? What an odd day. Now he just had to deliver them, and then he could hop down to the tavern and enjoy Lars’s cooking.
Wait. The commission didn’t have a receiving address.
… For Christ’s sake.
He stood still in the garden entry. Jason was in a meeting, so he couldn’t ask him. Since the commission was discreetly given, no one else would have any information.
James knew it was from within the castle, no doubt about it. But if it was royalty, he might have to enter the third floor of the castle…
There was no other choice. As a last resort, he could blame the commission, but even that was extraordinarily risky. Hopefully the Lord and Queen were in the studies, in the basement of the castle, so he could slip by unnoticed.
He entered through the massive wooden doors, his heart beating.
The staircase leading up to the third floor was dimly lit, even though the sun was still out. James had ran around the first and second floor first, searching for the commissioner when he really knew he’d come up dry, looking like a fool.
The steps were made of polished wood, a pristine rug covering them. They didn’t creak as he walked up; they were terribly unused.
The velvet curtains were drawn over all of the windows, emitting only a sliver of white light in to illuminate the carpets. This was all uncharted territory to James. The layout followed the second floor’s architecture, but the antique décor that was visible was so delicate that he thought merely a breath would shatter it to pieces. Single stalks of lavender sat in marble vases, jade beads adorned the hem of the curtains, porcelain tea sets with blue glaze were shown off on sandalwood tables. Light barely reflected off of the family portraits of the Lord and Queen, but none of the Prince. It was like he was purposefully erased from family history.
The world outside had slowed to silence, the third floor of the castle eerily devoid of life. James could hardly hear the bustle in the garden outside, only his short breath as his head filled with a high-pitched buzz.
But, just above the deafening silence, there was a melody. A plinking sound, so faint, one might mistake it to be coming from downstairs.
Music. James followed his ear to the left, through the oddly unlocked double doors, and down another blackened hall. Despite the stillness, he was expecting for the Lord or Queen to appear at any given second, scare the life out of him, and exile him from being where he shouldn’t.
As the music got louder, James could make out notes. It was a lute being played, a sparse but pleasing melody– a sign that this floor wasn’t completely deserted. Maybe this person could help him figure out the request information. Or send him back downstairs with hopefully just a warning.
Or maybe this person was the commissioner he was looking for.
James climbed one last set of stairs and discovered the source. At the end of the thin hallway, a door was slightly cracked open, spilling golden light into his eyes. The lute was in there, he could hear it.
Part of him didn’t want to interrupt the player. It was a very nice song, so much lighter and sweeter than the crude harmonies strummed out in a bustling tavern or by a campfire to pass time and raise spirits.
So much more comforting. So calming and so gentle.
James blinked himself out of his trance and approached the door. “Excuse me,”
The playing paused. “Yes? How can I help you?” The voice from within was soft.
“I received a commission for a bouquet of red flowers from within the castle, but there’s no meeting place attached, and the requested by section is blank, so I do not know who sent it. I have the bouquet here, and I was wondering if you could help me figure out who–”
“Oh, you have the flowers?” The voice brightened. “Wonderful! I was the one who sent that commission. Please, come in.”
Hesitantly, James pushed the door open to the bright room. Upon entering, this was the only room on the third floor that had all of its windows flung open, the curtains lightly catching in the breeze.
Upon entering, he was greeted by a face he had never seen before.
It was a young man, sunkissed with ringlets of curly black hair reaching past his collarbones, and a prominent freckle on his right cheek. The lute rested in his lap, and he had a small smile on his lips.
“Ah, what a perfect arrangement,” he said, placing the lute on his bed and accepting the flowers still in James’s hands. “You have an incredible eye for balance, my knight.”
My knight.
It all made sense. The commission, the invisibility, the unknown man sitting in front of him.
“... My prince?”
The man grinned, shuffling the bouquet into an empty vase on his desk. “You could say that. Thank you for the flowers–”
Gods above. He’s real.
What an unbelievable sentence, but James could only drop to a knee in sheer shock. Twenty-two years of being reminded of his unfulfilled job as a protector to the elusive Prince of the Phantom Lord, now standing centimeters away from what he previously believed to be a fraud, a ghost, a fleeting remembrance.
Finally. His purpose was standing right in front of him.
“No, no, please, drop the formalities.” The prince suddenly said, abandoning the flowers to quickly move in front of him. “It’s my pleasure, please.”
“My prince, I’m afraid I can’t just do that.” James’s voice wavered. “I’ve gone my entire life protecting you from afar, and now that I am meeting you for the first time…”
Without warning, the prince dropped to his own knees, his face in James’s peripheral. His heart leapt up in his chest, struggling to keep his head bowed.
“My knight. Raise your head.”
James swallowed, his mouth running dry. An order was an order. Reluctantly, he let his eyes travel up to meet his prince’s gaze, and oh–
He’s beautiful.
The prince got to his feet, pulling James up with him. “My apologies, for calling you up here against castle laws. But I can imagine that you are curious to know where I have been for the past– well, several years.” He stated, and looked at James like he was expecting a genuine answer.
A conversation with a royal? Was James in the right castle?
“Yes, my prince.”
“Good– I have no qualms telling you. For the past five years I have been negotiating with the East, and for the last I have been in the town myself, helping rebuild and replenish. The Lord and Queen disapprove of me. They condemn me for tending to the enemy.” The prince returned to his desk, resuming placing the flowers in the vase.
The prince was in the town James fought so hard against, working to rebuild. A twang of uneasiness flicked through his gut. “You… helped them?”
“You must understand, my knight. I know you fought valiantly against the East and I know they are your enemy.” The prince explained, a hint of pleading in his tone. “But the war tore down their homes, and the women and children suffered beyond comprehension. I am not against you; I am against meaningless death and destruction. I could not wish the kiss of war on even my worst enemy, for the suffering it causes is immeasurable.”
James thought for a moment. Too much was happening at once. The invisible prince, now standing in flesh and blood in front of him, had not only participated in the same war two years ago, but had been over enemy lines to help them rebuild. He should side with the Lord and Queen on this– this was treason.
But his blood didn’t boil– their morals were the same. Both men hated the loss of war, and nothing could change that view for either of them.
“Yes, my prince. I understand.”
“Thank you. I’m sure you understand it better than I ever could, and I have nothing but respect and praise for the work you have done.” The prince turned to face him with a crooked smile, the bouquet now completely in the vase.
James felt blood rush to his ears. “My prince–”
“Take my words, my knight!” He interrupted with a wave of his hand. “I speak from the heart. If you would be so kind, to revisit me again tomorrow morning? We have… many years of catching up to do.”
“I– am I allowed up here now?” James quietly asked, hoping his face was not as red as he thought it was.
The prince pursed his lips briefly. “I cannot lie to you: no. But if the Lord and Queen have a problem, they can come to me directly. I’ve lived twenty-three times around the sun, I mightily know what I’m doing.”
A meeting, behind royalty’s back, with the man he was destined to protect, even after over two decades of silence. This had to be a dream of some sort. “...Yes, my prince. I will come after my morning training.”
“Enlighten me; what is your name, my knight?”
“My… name?”
If James couldn’t get any more shocked, that was a lie. Every word that came out of the prince’s mouth had him scrambling for coherent sentences, bewildered that he was even conversing with him. It was custom that royalty does not meddle with the lives of their servants– and even though James trained as the First Knight under the Phantom Lord, he wasn’t entirely sure if he knew his real name, usually referred to as “Knight” or “Sir”, never becoming more familiar than that.
“It’s only natural. You know mine, I must know yours.”
Except that James didn’t know his name. Only as The Prince of the Western Providence.
“I’m James.”
“James,” the prince mused, his name slipping off of his tongue so naturally. “A fine name. Your surname?”
“Hetfield.” He replied, his own name sounding foreign. The last time someone asked that was when he was knighted, nine years ago.
The prince hummed, long and low. “Fitting. A field of golden wheat in the setting sun, just like your hair.”
James couldn’t even relish in the utter depth of the compliment because someone banged on the still-cracked door, scaring the soul out of his poor body.
“Prince Hammett! It’s almost dinnertime, get dressed!” A woman’s scratchy voice yelled, and without waiting for an answer, walked away, leaving James clutching at his chest like he was trying to keep his heart from exploding out of his ribcage.
The prince– Prince Hammett sighed. “I must go. I apologize for the scare, she usually does that.” He rose to his feet and adjusted his brooch in the dresser mirror. “Meet me back here after the sun has risen above the horizon tomorrow.” He met James’s gaze in the mirror, and winked.
Even if James wanted to voice his oppositions, his mouth wasn’t attached to his brain. Prince Hammett’s brooch glittered a stunning emerald green, the gold frame carved to mimic the shape of flower petals.
“Oh, and, call me Kirk, please. Ease up on the formalities.” He said, giving his hair a fluff before turning to face him. “You can exit when the coast is clear– there’s no one up here, anyways.” And with that, he whisked past James and out the door, leaving a faint scent of vanilla behind him.
James decided himself to be nothing less than starstruck. In the span of no more than ten minutes, he had met his prince, his purpose, heard about his intervention with the war in the East, was invited to return to the prince’s room in secret, was complimented thrice by him, and learned his full name.
Kirk Hammett, hidden Prince of the Phantom Lord, lute player, writer, fencer. James could finally put a name to a face.
A beautiful face, at that.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but when he opened them again, the outline of his prince’s smile was still engrained in the back of his eyelids.
He was going to get a headache. He had to leave the room before it occurred.