Work Text:
The prince of Euchronia is, put bluntly, a spoiled brat.
He’s a kind boy, to be sure. Idealistic, just like his father. Well-meaning. However, he is still, in the end, a royal pain— stubborn and unyielding in any and all matters, giving all knights, retainers, and teachers who must watch over the boy a headache. Whether it be riding his sword through the halls, sneaking off to unknown corners of the palace to read— he does as he wishes, with little regard for those charged with his safety.
And among the many, many ways in which the prince makes his minders tear their hair out, perhaps worst of all of them, the behaviour they wish most fervently he would cease—
"Louis!"
The prince collides with his legs without so much as a warning, laughter spilling from the younger boy's lips as he hangs onto Louis' thighs. At least this time, the prince avoids the sharp edges of his armor— he can recall one incident where the boy's impulsive tackle lead to a cut and some bruising due to the impact with the hard metal.
"…Your highness." He sighs, though Louis makes no effort to remove the young prince. Indeed, based on the laugh that follows, the prince knows well that there is no true anger in his tone. Instead, the sight of the shorter boy— his blue eyes glinting up at him with a playful spark— only makes his heart swell, warmth pooling in his chest.
No one in the palace truly understands what draws the two of them together. It is only the prince who knows of the fake horns upon his head, a shared home burnt to ash. And likewise, he doubts many are aware of the prince's true origin— false claims of a miracle child without horns used to disguise the truth. Not all within the palace's walls buy it, of course— and the church evidently knows the lie for what it is, if the massacre at the sanctum is of any indication.
In truth, the prince's borderline obsession with some random soldier only makes matters worse— the nobles place such excessive value on 'knowing one's place', after all. Never associating with the lesser. Even with the family name Guiabern protecting him, a Count's son is hardly a match for a prince. And even as Louis' renown builds, it does nothing to stymie the suspicious and bitter looks pointed at him whenever he is by the prince's side.
But then again... as it has been established, the prince is stubborn. No amount of dirty looks could ever dare to pry the prince's hand away from Louis'. And so long as the prince pulls him along like so, he will follow without question. One day, the Utopia that the king had promised the two of them will come to fruition— and when that day comes, no one will ever be able to dare to interfere with the two of them ever again.
He truly can't wait.
For now, however...
The prince entwines his fingers with Louis' without a word, smiling up at him as he pulls him forwards. "Louis, let's go to the gardens today! I want to show you something—"
His words are interrupted as a shout echoes down the hall— the prince's swordsmanship teacher seeming to have only now realized his charge has vanished. The prince looks up at him, eyes wide—
And just like the fool he surely is, he hoists his highness up, running towards the gardens with him in his arms. It's impulsive and foolish— and if they are seen, it will surely be the end of him. But as the prince laughs, arms wrapped around Louis' neck, his warmth reverberating throughout the entirety of Louis' body—
He thinks to himself that perhaps to die for a reason such as this, with his prince's arms around him, all to steal away just a few moments for the two of them to be alone—
Or, perhaps, to die for him...
Surely, it would be the most worthy end of all.