Chapter Text
Once upon a time, a king was hunting in a great forest, pursuing his prey so eagerly that none of his men could keep up with him. As evening approached, he stopped and looked around, only to realize he had lost his way. He searched for an exit but could not find one. Finally, he saw an old woman coming toward him—she was a witch.
"My good woman," King Orion said to her, "can you show me the way out of these woods?"
"Oh yes, Your Majesty," she replied, "I certainly can. But there is one condition—if you do not fulfil it, you will never leave this forest and will starve to death within it."
"What is this condition?" asked the king.
"I have a daughter," said the old woman, "who is as fair as any you will find in the world, and well deserving to be your queen. If you make her your wife, I will show you the way out of the forest."
In his desperation, the king agreed, and the old woman led him to her cottage, where her daughter sat by the fire. She welcomed the king as if she had been expecting him. Her name was Walburga. She was indeed very beautiful, with long dark hair and dark eyes—but something about her unsettled him, and he could not look at her without a secret shudder. Nevertheless, he lifted the maiden onto his horse, and the old woman showed him the way. The king returned to his castle, where the wedding was soon celebrated.
King Orion had been married before and fathered two sons with his first wife. Twins, named after the stars they were born under, whom he loved more than anything in the world. Fearing that their new stepmother would mistreat them, he hid them away in a lonely castle deep in the forest. The castle was so well hidden, and the path to it so difficult, that even he would not have found his way had it not been for a magical ball of yarn given to him by a wise woman—when he threw it before him, it unwound itself and led him to his children.
Orion visited them often, but his frequent absences did not go unnoticed by his new wife. She grew curious and determined to learn what kept him away. Bribing his servants with gold, she learned of the previous birth, which had taken the life of the first queen. She learned of the enchanted yarn that led to the child, too.
Walburga could not find peace until the child and any trace of a previous love were gone from the king’s heart, as only she should be in it. So, she crafted small, black garments, fit for a funeral, and, using the magic she had learned from her mother, wove a curse into them.
One day, when Orion had gone hunting, she took the enchanted garments and followed the yarn’s path to the hidden castle. The children saw someone approaching and, thinking it was their beloved father, Sirius, the wild twin, ran joyfully to meet him. But when he reached Walburga, she flung the garments over him. As soon as the fabric touched his skin, he transformed. Where the boy of sixteen had stood, now growled a large, black dog.
Believing herself rid of the only child born by the Queen, Walburga returned to the castle in triumph. But she had overlooked one thing—Regulus, the other twin, born during the same, singular birth which had been the demise of her rival, had not run out with his brother and had not been cursed.
The next day, Orion came to visit his children, but only Regulus remained.
"Where is your brother?" he asked.
"Oh, Father," Regulus replied, "he has run away and left me behind."
He told his father what he had seen from his window—that a black dog had run into the forest, leaving no trace of his brother.
Orion grieved, but he did not suspect his wife’s treachery. Still, fearing that his last remaining child might be taken from him as well, he wished to bring Regulus back to the castle.
But Regulus, terrified of Walburga, begged to be allowed to stay one more night in the forest castle. That night, he said to himself: “I cannot remain here. I must go and find my brother.”
And so, when darkness fell, he ran away, straight into the depths of the forest. He walked all night and the next day as well, without pause, until exhaustion finally forced him to rest.
He lay down between the roots of a large tree, covering his body with his cloak, no mind paid to wild animals or men who may find him.
He woke up with the first rays of sun and found around him an enormous bandit hat and a bloody set of boots. Regulus reached out for the boots, the blood on them had dried but the earth around it was still soiled with it.
‘Someone must have found me in my slumber,’ he thought, ‘but it didn’t end to well for them.’
He looked at his shoes – soft prince’s shoes unfit for walking the forests. He took them off and instead pulled on the boots. They were too big for his feet but he could still walk in them. He took the hat with him, too. It did not fit either, but it may protect him from the rain.
He kept treading through the forest, ceaselessly searching for his brother, who had been the most beloved of people to him for as long as he could remember.
The second night, he was smarter. He climbed a tree and slept leaning against one of the branches, which was sturdy enough to hold him.
When he woke, he found at the foot of the tree an axe, fit to bring it down, but unused. Next to it, he found a new cloak, dirtier and warmer than his fine prince’s cloth, and with a piece of bread in the pocket.
The third night, a scream woke him from his slumber.
He jolted awake and held on to the tree he was hiding in. He peered to the ground and witnessed a curious scene: A bandit with no hat, cloak or boots, and another with all those things were fighting a large, black dog. The bootless man was limping, with unhealed bite marks on his legs. The other one was holding a gun to the dog but his hand shook violently as it growled at him.
The dog pounced and the bandit dropped the gun with a high screech. The men ran away, swearing revenge. The dog chased them for a few paces, barking and growling along the way.
Regulus pressed his body to the tree, hiding in the shadows and ensuring not a sound would come from him.
Soon, the dog returned, pulling a heavy sack behind him. He placed it against the tree and then sat before it like a guard.
Regulus looked down at the dog, how big and pitch black it was – as black as his hair, and as Sirius’s hair had been. He thought of the dog he had seen running from the castle.
He slowly climbed down the tree, forgetting all caution as he drew nearer and the dog looked up and neither growled nor moved.
As Regulus’s foot hit the ground, a flock of birds were ripped from their sleep nearby and under loud cawing flew away. As Regulus looked to the dog again, it was gone.
Instead, his brother stood before him.
“Sirius!” He called overjoyed and they fell into each other’s arms. “I was looking for you. I’ve missed you desperately.”
Sirius wrapped his arms around his brother in turn and pulled him tight. “I miss you, too. You know I would never leave your side willingly. It was the wicked stepmother, Walburga, who cursed me to be a dog. I can only return to being a man for a quarter of an hour each day.”
Regulus told himself not to cry when he heard this. In fifteen minutes, he would lose his brother yet again.
“A curse, you say,” Regulus said slowly and pulled away to look at him. “A curse can be broken.”
Sirius averted his eyes.
The twins were not identical but they possessed the same eyes, passed down by their mother: Two glinting, silver stars sat in each twin’s face.
“I cannot ask of you to do what has to be done to break this curse.”
“Yes you can! I would do anything for you! Tell me what it is I have to do.”
Sirius hesitated again. He picked up the heavy bandit’s sack. “I got food for you. You should have brought a pack and better clothes. Maybe you should return to the castle. You will die out here.”
“I couldn’t find my way if I wanted to. Tell me how to break your curse. Please. I shall never be happy again if I cannot have you back.”
Sirius sighed deeply. He loved his brother and he knew he loved him the same. Had their roles been reversed, Sirius would gladly do what he had to break the curse.
“You must be mute for four years. You must be completely mute, not utter a single word and not laugh even once. Should one noise leave your throat it would be as if you thrust a dagger into my heart.”
Regulus swallowed heavily. “I can be silent. It should not be too hard. Who would I talk to anyway?”
“And,” Sirius continued, “You have to sew garments for me. A tunic, a pair of trousers and a cloak.”
“I have watched the maids at sewing. If I buy fabric in the city-“
“No. They must be made out of stinging nettle.”
Regulus paused. “Nettle?” He repeated. “How should I sew garments from nettle?”
“I don’t know. It is what was told to me by the witch.”
“What witch?”
“I found her in the forest. She seemed to know the curse I was under. But when I tried to go back, she was no more.”
Regulus sat on the ground, and leaned against the large tree. He pulled the sack to him, it was filled with freshly stolen fruits and bread.
“So, I must remain silent for four years, while I sew trousers, a tunic and a cloak from nettle.”
“Must? No. No, you should forget about me and live your life, dear brother.”
“I can’t.”
“Then the only way to free me from this is what I have told you.”
Regulus looked at the apple in his hand. “I will try,” he said finally. “I must try. But… will you stay with me? To protect me form the bandits and so I know you’re alive and well?”
Sirius smiled. “I will,” he said, and then a quarter of an hour had passed and his face grew into that of a beast once more, and the shaggy, black dog returned.
***
The next morning, Regulus wandered on. The dog stayed by his side.
Regulus did not utter a single word all day and night, not even when Sirius returned for a quarter of an hour and helped him pass the time with stories.
Regulus walked and walked until he found himself in a different forest, in a different kingdom. Here, he found a field of nettle and decided to settle nearby. The dog found a small cave, empty of animals, where they could shelter from the rain. He brought twigs and Regulus made himself a bed out of them and the bandit’s cloak.
The next day, he returned to the field of nettle. He had to turn it into fabric to sew with.
He knew that linen was made from flax by harvesting the strands and spinning them into threads. Maybe, if he found a village nearby he could watch the process more closely and understand how it was to be done. He has always had a mind for understanding such things.
In any case, he had to start by harvesting the nettle.
He nodded to himself, chose a long, thick plant, grabbed it by the base and pulled.
He recoiled instantly. His hands burned as he touched the leaves. He almost cried out in pain but swallowed the sound down before it could pass his throat.
He looked about himself until he noticed Sirius, watching from nearby. He meant to shout “I’m okay,” but stopped himself.
This needed to be done. He swallowed down the pain and grabbed the plant again. He broke it off at the stem and tossed it aside.
His hands stung.
He did it again. He grabbed handfuls of plants and tossed them aside. Tears fell from his eyes, but he did not cry out.
When he was done, the dog came and began to run. Regulus followed him in confusion until they arrived at a large, dark lake near the cave they stayed in. Regulus sighed in relief and stuck his burning hands into the cool water.
He smiled at the dog as the coldness soothed his wounds.
***
Regulus spent his days like this. He harvested the nettle and brought it to their camp. Then he snuck through the woods until he found a little farm where he watched a woman turn flax to linen. She hung up the flax and let it hang there for a long time while beating other stems which had already hung for long enough. She beat and peeled them until she could use a contraption of wood and nails to comb them.
Regulus memorised the process.
Sirius sometimes stole a fresh bread or two from the farmer’s family, which Regulus scolded him for with his eyes. It had no effect.
Regulus continued his work. He harvested the nettle until his hands were red and blistered. He removed the leaves and hung them up to dry in little bundles.
Sirius hunted rabbits in the forest and they made a rod out of sticks to catch fresh fish from the lake. Regulus learned how to make a fire and they roasted the meat in the evening. On other days, Regulus ate berries and fruit he found on his way to and from the little farm or on his usual rounds through the forest, always on the hunt for more nettle.
Regulus grew up a prince. If he wanted rabbit for dinner, it was served roasted with a side of potatoes. If he wanted to hunt in the forest, a horse was prepared and a riding party assembled. If he wanted fish, someone else would go and catch one for him – and if he didn’t like it, another dozen would be prepared to please him.
Now, life was this: Walking around the forest with stinging hands, foraging for food.
It was not all bad. Regulus found that he enjoyed the company of the animals when they were alive, too. He talked to them in his mind, never uttering a word out loud, but communicating with his eyes while his head made up stories about his new friends. There was a particular young stag he took a liking to. He called him Prongs for his antlers were the prettiest out of the herd.
So far, he has been lucky. They have only encountered rabbits, squirrels and deer. Regulus hoped they wouldn’t meet a boar any time soon. Or more bandits.
The wildlife attracted another species. They weren’t far from the next castle, and soon the forest was filled with the sounds of men and their horses.
Regulus hid from them. Doubtlessly, they would think him a bandit and hunt him, or maybe they heard from the farmers about the missing bread and produce, and intended to bring him to justice for it.
Yet, sitting in the cave with his hand in the dog’s fur, he found himself yearning for another human’s company. He has always cherished solitude, but now that it was all he had, he was quite fed up with it.
He told himself, he needed to risk a glance at the riders to discern their intention, and maybe their identity. He had wandered so far from the lone castle in the woods that he did not know anymore whose kingdom they were in. It was good to know such a thing.
So, when he heard the riding party yet again, he left the cave, gesturing for the dog to stay.
It was a small hunting party on proud steeds of the best breeding. The saddles were from fine leather, as were the party’s clothing. They were rich men hunting for sport, probably residents of the castle.
Regulus hit between the trees. Three men were hunting, the others were here as servants or guards. One man was a pudgy blond with a reddish nose in his round face. One was a battle-worn brunette, he didn’t have the body of a soldier, but the scars of one. The final man was the most handsome, tall, with a body shaped by sword-fighting and other sports, straight-backed with a head of wild, black hair, half hidden by a feathered hat.
The pudgy one rode past the handsome one. “That stag’s mine,” he said, clearly challenging the others. While the scarred one and the followers rode in the same direction, the handsome one had halted.
He was watching something between the trees, squinting at the shape of an animal.
Regulus followed his eyes and, to his horror, saw Prongs.
Surely, the rider wouldn’t shoot his poor friend, would he? He had the prettiest antlers, but they did not belong in the man’s chambers.
When Regulus looked at him again, he had taken a crossbow. He aimed. Regulus noticed that he had let go of the reins for this. A beginner’s mistake. When Regulus was young and on his first hunt with his brother, a young party member had done the same thing. When his horse startled, the man fell. It gave them all a good scare and later a good laugh.
Regulus found a fallen branch on the floor. He picked it up and just when the hunter intended to shoot, he smashed the branch against a tree, startling Prongs as well as the horse. It reared, hooves striking the air, and the rider slipped and fell on the ground, while the horse ran away without him. The man shouted in surprise and pain as he hit the ground.
“You-“ he called after the horse as he jumped to his feet. “Wait! Stay!”
Regulus smiled to himself. He mustn’t laugh, but it was simply too amusing how the rider tried to run after the horse, which only scared it more.
“Come back!” He called. He stomped his foot, sighing loudly.
Regulus stepped away from the tree he was hiding behind to search for the horse himself when the white steed appeared next to him. It was a magnificent animal. Regulus hadn’t enjoyed hunting all that much (as he wasn’t very good at it), but he had enjoyed horses all the more. His favourite was called Narcissa, an elegant, black and white mare. He had been forced to leave her behind when his father took him and Sirius to the lonely castle in the woods.
Regulus reached out to the horse with tentative hands. He noticed a crest on the reins and the saddle, marking it as property of the royal family.
He looked back toward the handsome rider, who was spinning around, looking for the horse. He took a few steps towards where Regulus was hiding.
Regulus cursed in his head and quickly directed the horse in his owner’s direction, lest he’d find him.
The rider smiled gently when the horse approached. He spoke softly to it and rubbed his neck, soothing it until he could mount again. As he did, something dropped from his pocket. The rider didn’t notice and steered his horse to follow the rest of the hunting party.
When he was alone, Regulus hasted toward the spot the rider had been at to search for the fallen object. It was a leather glove, bearing the same crest as the saddle.
Regulus smiled and quickly slipped between the trees. He pulled on the glove. It fit nicely, and it was still warm from the previous owner with the handsome face.
***
The glove made his work easier. The stinging leaves didn’t touch his skin anymore and he could harvest as many plants a day as he wished, pull off the leaves and hang them up to rot.
When they hung for long enough he copied what he had seen the farmer’s wife do. He beat and stomped on the plants until he got to the fibres inside, then combed them with his fingers. As the farmer’s wife did it, the fibres of the flax slowly turned into fine, hair-like strands. He couldn’t accomplish it with his fingers alone.
So, one night, he snuck on the farm and broke into the shed. It was wrong to steal from these poor farmers. He knew this. He wasn’t their prince. He couldn’t just take.
But he needed the combing device made of wood and nails. It was crudely made and as he looked at it, he was sure the farmers could make another. Surely, they’d understand if they knew about the curse, right?
Back in the forest, he ran the nettle fibres through the nail comb. It was hard work that left him aching, sweaty and breathless. He wanted to complain and scream his frustrations through the forest.
He didn’t.
He stomped his feet, thrashed in the water, and then got back to work.
At night, when Sirius was human for fifteen minutes, he apologised and stroked his aching limbs.
Regulus then twisted the strings into thick, rough threads around short sticks.
When he was certain that it looked roughly like what the farmer’s wife made, he could start to weave the cloth.
He again spent time watching the little farm.
He built a frame out of sticks, held together by the threads he had spun. Then he tied the thread vertically across the frame until it looked like a barred window. He ran out then and had to take more of the rotting plants to beat and comb them.
He tied the fresh thread around a short piece of wood and replicated the motions he had seen when he watched the woman weave cloth for her children’s clothes.
He had to thread it through the vertical lines, up and down, up and down. When one row was finished, then pushed it up and it looked like no progress was made at all.
The cloth was rough, uneven, grey and ugly, but it was cloth. It might even hold if he stitched it together on the sides and at the sleeves to make a tunic out of it.
“You’re doing well, Reggie,” Sirius said at night. “I am so thankful. So proud. I will repay you a thousand times. I swear.”
Regulus wanted to say that his return was payment enough, but he couldn’t.
Autumn came.
They collected thick branches and leaves to close up the entrance of the cave. Regulus made fires at night to keep himself warm curled up in the old bandit’s cloak.
“I will steal fur for you,” Sirius said one night. “It is winter soon and you need more than the summer clothes you’re wearing. The farmers nearby will have some winter furs.”
Regulus shook his head at him. They couldn’t keep stealing from the poor couple.
“Reggie, they’re making cloth. It’s valuable. I doubt they’re living in squalor. They will survive losing a winter fur.”
Regulus, who knew of their small children and their cries when Sirius took two instead of one bread, shook his head again.
“Fine then. I’ll… I’ll seek out some wealthier family. Maybe they’ll give shelter to a dog like me and then I can steal from them when I’m a man again and return to you. Okay? But this way, you will freeze to death.”
And so it happened. Sirius was gone for several days, but he returned with a new cloak, a set of boots and a vest of sheep wool. He carried it in his maw and proudly spit it out in front of Regulus.
Regulus fell to his knees and wrapped his arms around the dog, far more grateful for his return than for the gifts.
Winter came. And with it, the snow.
Regulus stayed close to the fire. He found a sharp piece of bone he used as a needle to stitch the rough, loose cloth together, attaching the front to the back of the tunic, and making the sleeves.
When spring came, the tunic was finished.
With the warm weather, the hunting parties returned, also.
Regulus left Sirius behind to guard their new home and snuck out to watch the men from behind the trees.
His eyes were always searching for one man in particular. He had dreamed about the handsome rider, who had lost his glove. He had been the first man besides his relatives, he had seen in years, and he might have been the most handsome creature he had ever laid his eyes on.
He watched as the man sought out his prey, usually deer like Prongs, and when he was about to shoot, Regulus shot instead – a pine cone from a sling, usually. Sometimes, he hit the man, but usually, he missed him on purpose to scare him away from his animal friends.
***
It was a warm spring day and Regulus had spent it with beating and combing nettle. His limps were aching and he felt smelly and sticky in his clothes.
He took to the lake to wash his garments and take a well-deserved bath in the chilly waters. As his clothes lay out on a stone to dry, he waded into the lake. At first, he had been scared of the fish and plants in the murky waters, but by now, these baths were his only luxury.
He dove into the lake, closing his eyes at the fresh water surrounding him and washing away the dirt and sweat of the day. He resurfaced and sighed contently. He shook the water out of his hair and then leaned back to wash it. He has tried to cut it with the rough tools he owned, but it still fell around his face in soft waves.
He sat in the sand near the riverside, up to his waist in water, leaned back and let his mind drift off in the sun rays.
A crack pulled him back into reality.
Regulus turned around. A boot had stepped on a twig. The boot belonged to a tall man in fine clothing, with a feathered hat and a long cloak. He looked at him with wide eyes, mortified that he was caught watching.
“My apologies,” he rushed to say. His face turned red.
Regulus moved toward the stone to retrieve his clothes.
“Please stay. I won’t hurt you.”
The man stepped back, stumbling over his feet, unable to take his eyes off him. He slipped behind a tree. “See? I’m not looking.”
Regulus climbed on the stone and pulled on his clothes. They were worn and broken, unrecognisable as a prince’s garments.
When he glanced back to the tree, he caught the man looking at him again.
“Who are you?” He asked in wonder and stepped forward again.
Regulus averted his eyes.
“What’s your name?” he asked, coming closer. Regulus remained standing elevated on the stone.
The man looked him up and down. He was even more handsome up close. His hair curled around his ears, and his eyes were of a warm, inviting brown.
“You… You are beautiful,” he said quietly.
Regulus looked at him in surprise. He had been beautiful once, yes. Back when he took frequent baths, his hair was cut by someone who knew the craft and his clothes were bought from the finest merchants.
But now? Untidy, an urchin living in the woods in torn clothes with scarred hands and feet? He doubted it.
“Can you talk?” The man asked. He stood in front of the stone now. Regulus took a tentative step toward him.
He went to his knee offering his hand in greeting. The gesture was familiar, yet so far away from him.
He placed his fingers in the offered palm.
“My name is James,” the handsome man said. He went to press his forehead to Regulus’s hand. “Will you tell me your name now?”
Regulus opened his mouth. He wanted to say it. The man with the warm eyes, the handsome smile, and the smooth voice was on his knees, asking for his name, and Regulus wanted nothing more than to give it.
He couldn’t. He retracted his hand.
James stood up. “Was I impolite again?”
Regulus quickly shook his head.
James turned around and Regulus bit his tongue to not cry out his name. Instead of leaving, James plucked a flower from the riverside and presented it to him.
“I shall gift you all the flowers in the world, if you tell me your name.”
He remembered being courted as a young boy by noble women and men alike. He has always found it incredibly annoying and tedious. They gave exaggerated compliments and made nonsensical promises.
But James… Maybe it was the lack of exposure to such behaviour for the past two years since their father had locked them in the castle in the woods, but James felt genuine in his words.
“I didn’t mean to watch you when you were bathing, I promise,” the man rambled, “I didn’t know you-“
Regulus raised his hand to stop him. He didn’t need to apologise.
He pointed at his lips and shook his head, shrugging.
James frowned in realisation. “You’re mute.”
Regulus nodded. This was the moment for him to leave and never return, was it not?
“Not angry?” James asked.
Regulus couldn’t help the small smile in one corner of his mouth. He shrugged lightly as if to say, “Maybe.”
James smiled and it might have been the most beautiful thing Regulus had ever seen.
He nodded towards his horse. “So, would you like to go for a ride?”
Regulus looked at the magnificent steed. He would love nothing more than to ride it – with or without James was the question.
Back home, before his father’s wedding, when everything was good and well, he had never been known to make it easy for the ones who wished to court him. He would not start with it now. Even if this was not real courting, but simply a man being intrigued by another in the middle of the woods.
Regulus tipped his head from side to side.
“Come on. Please.”
Regulus walked past him to the horse. James was by his side, offering a hand to help him into the saddle.
He again tipped his head from side to side, thinking. He looked back to the lake, then to James again.
He grinned and held up the flowers he had picked before. “I know. Let’s let the flowers decide whether you join me. Shall we?”
He plucked a petal from the flower. “He comes with.” He picked another petal. “He does not. He comes with. He does not. He comes with. He does not.”
Regulus came closer to him and plucked a petal.
“He comes with. He does not.”
When they got to the last few petals, James pulled the flower away from him and hid it in his hand, so he would not know the result.
“He comes with. He does not. And – he comes with!” He threw the rest of the flowers away, grinning from ear to ear. “Well, come. The flowers have spoken.”
Regulus could not resist his smile or his pull. He let himself be led back to the horse.
He had missed riding. The feeling of wind in his hair. The animal under his control. The fresh air around him.
Regulus sat behind James, holding on to his waist.
He did not pay attention to where they were going, too caught up in the memories of his childhood and pony racing with his brother, until James led the horse to a castle.
As they rode into the courtyard, the servants stilled for a moment and bowed their heads towards them.
They could not recognise Regulus, which meant they were bowing to James. Regulus remembered the royal crests on the horse’s saddle and the glove with a shock.
As the horse halted, Regulus slowly dismounted. He stood inside a foreign castle in his old and torn clothes and tangled hair. He felt his stomach churn.
James dismounted as well, still smiling widely. An ostler asked, “Successful hunt?” To which James just laughed.
“James,” an imposing voice echoed through the courtyard. Regulus looked up to see a tall, brunette woman standing on a balcony. She was clad in an exquisite red dress, adorned with furs, and decked in jewels. She wore a crown atop her head.
The Queen.
Everyone around Regulus had stilled yet again and bowed. Even James had taken off his hat. Regulus quickly bowed as well.
“I’m waiting for you,” the Queen said. Her eyes were fixed on Regulus for a moment. They had none of the warmth of James’s.
The Queen returned inside.
James looked at Regulus with concern. “Are you okay?” He whispered. Regulus nodded slowly.
He placed a hand on his back and slowly led him inside the castle.
“That was my mother,” He said. “She thinks I’m not caring enough about our land.”
And so it was settled. James, the handsome rider, was a prince. Regulus’s memory supplied him with Prince James Son of King Fleamont and Queen Euphemia of a small but rich kingdom two neighbours over.
“Barty,” he called to a servant walking by.
The boy stopped and bowed.
“Please do not let my guest lack of anything.”
“Yes, your Highness.”
James touched his arm, looking at him with all the gentleness in the world. “I will be right back. You’re in good hands.”
Regulus wanted to shake his head and pull his arm. He should not be here. It wasn’t just that he was in a foreign castle looking like this, he also had to return to his brother and his sewing.
James left, ignoring his silent plea.
Barty began to walk up the stairs directing him to follow.
Regulus looked back toward James. Surely, he would take him home later. He just had to wait until he was back.
***
James entered the audience chamber where his mother was waiting. He bowed.
Her face was cold with only disapproval visible across it. James had only ever known her to be a soft and kind woman – until his father passed away. Now she was hard and too preoccupied with outside opinion.
“What is the meaning of this?” She asked when James entered. “Who was that boy?”
James swallowed. The mother he knew would rejoice at the news of her son falling in love – no matter who was the target of his affection. But the Queen, this version of her, would disapprove. He knew that.
“A boy from the forest,” he confessed. The Queen’s eyes widened in shock. “I met him at the lake-“
“A prince doesn’t bring a common boy to his castle.”
“But-“
“He leaves immediately.”
She turned away, thus declaring the conversation to be over.
James, who was spoiled in his youth and has not yet learned that he couldn’t always have what he wanted, followed her. “He will stay for as long as he wants. He is alone, and – and mute-“
“My sympathy is assured.”
She let him stand and sat on her throne.
“Mother, you have to understand me-“
“A prince doesn’t fall in love with-“ She stopped herself and looked away. “A prince forbids himself his feelings.”
“And eventually will be married off... I know.”
His mother did not look at him. Her eyes fixed on a spot on the walls.
“To the right woman from a good kingdom to have my children. You will choose her.”
“It won’t be the worst thing in the world.”
But James thought it might.
“I cannot help it, Mother.”
“A prince does not lose his mind.”
“No,” he looked into her eyes. She must understand him. “But his heart.”
The Queen closed her eyes. James sighed and walked away.
***
Regulus was led to a chamber with a bed and a bathroom, where servants combed and cut his hair, washed him properly and presented him with fine clothes befitting a royal guest for him to choose.
He hadn’t seen such clothes in so long, had not been treated like this in so long, he lost himself in it for a while. He didn’t think about Sirius or nettles. He thought about the way the fabric felt on his skin, how he felt clean for the first time in ages.
“You look good,” Barty said when he had chosen a set of green garments and looked at himself in the mirror.
“Not good,” a voice said. Regulus looked up to see James standing in the door. He had taken off his riding gear. “Marvelous.”
He held a new flower in his hand he presented to Regulus. He took it and James pulled him to the window, declaring, “My guest shines brighter than the stars!”
The servants bowed and left them alone.
Remembering his education, Regulus bowed too. James held his shoulders. “Please don’t. Yes, I’m the prince …but right now I wish I wasn’t.”
A foolish sentence, uttered by a man who never had to live without these luxuries.
James decided to lead Regulus through the castle. It had seen better, and brighter days, but at its heart it was beautiful.
“I shall hold audiences,” James complained as he showed him the music room, “Learn how to behave myself, how to reign. Hunting, so I may be the best shot in the entire land. It doesn’t leave much time for music.”
Regulus loved music. He has always loved his musical education the most out of any hour of the day. He was skilled at the vielle and the harp. He gasped in excitement when he caught sight of a marvellous little vielle.
“Do you know how to play?” James asked.
Regulus nodded.
“Will you play for me?” He noticed Regulus’s hesitation to pick up the fine craftsmanship. He gave it to him. “Please, play me a melody.”
Regulus found that he couldn’t resist him easily.
He took the vielle and began to play one of his favourite scores. James watched him, mouth slightly opened and eyes shining with wonder.
Regulus smiled while he lured the gentle notes from the instruments.
A dog barked in the courtyard.
Regulus startled.
It wasn’t Sirius’s bark, but it called him back to reality. What was he doing here? Playing around with a prince while his poor brother was waiting back in the cave? He was probably worried sick. And instead of helping him, Regulus was living out a fantasy about a pointless courtship.
He pushed the vielle back into James’s hands and rushed out of the room.
“What? What happened? Where are you going?” James called after him.
Regulus ran back to the room he had previously been in to retrieve his boots and cloak. Some of his clothes have been taken away, likely to be burned. He unbuttoned the embroidered vest he was wearing. It wasn’t his and he had no use for it in the forest. As the rest of his clothes were gone, he decided to keep the tunic and trousers.
When he turned, a woman stood in the door. In his haste, he hadn’t heard her coming.
It was the Queen holding a small chest. Something about her demeanour was unsettling. It reminded him of something or someone, but he could not remember what it was. It was not her son, that much he was certain of.
Regulus bowed.
The Queen entered the chamber and set the chest down on a table. She tipped back the lid to reveal all manner of jewels – rings, brooches, necklaces, and loose stones.
“See here. Everything a poor thing like you might wish for: Gold, pearls, jewels. All of it can be yours.” She walked towards him, her cold eyes never wavering. “Yes. It is all yours. If you go, immediately, and never return. Do you hear me? Never.”
She turned away and left, not waiting for an answer.
Regulus wanted to tell her in some way that he did not want any jewels and that he would go anyway. He didn’t get the chance.
He stepped toward the chest. The jewels were blinking and sparkling, calling to him. He might be able to buy one of those contraptions that made his work easier like the farmers had. Or he could buy food.
He almost reached out but a part of his brain told him not to.
He used to be smart, and cunning. He was able to see through plots easily. It came with his life at court. He must have unlearned it over the past year, but he could always trust the instinct that someone had ill intentions. This chest was full of ill intentions. It was a trap. He closed the lid, leaving every piece behind, and rushed out of the castle.
He looked at the sun and the structure before him, trying to remember the direction he had come from to find his way back home.