Chapter Text
The first shot of pain came when Ramil was just ten.
It was one of the rarer moments that Ramil had finished his lessons early. He could feel the sweat still clinging onto him despite having already changed out of his fencing clothes. He had taken his favourite book and sat in the corner of the library pressed up against a shelf, feeling the breeze of cool air hit his face. There was something comforting about the scent of the books and reading each word immersing himself in the protagonist’s fights that took him away from the pressures in reality— a well needed escape for Ramil.
Just as he was getting comfortable, invested in the story, a sharp spot of pain fell across his arm– causing Ramil to drop the book from his hands. The book clattered onto the ground, the pages snapping shut with a thud. Panicked, Ramil rolled up his sleeve. His eyes locked onto the spot where he felt the impact, spotting a faint pink patch that had quickly faded away— leaving him wondering the pain had come from his own imagination.
Looking around the library, Ramil tried to find anyone that could’ve been hiding, attempting to hear any signs of another person’s breathing.The aircon still hummed silently in the background but only the sound of his own breaths were heard.
Just as he reached for his book to continue reading, it had come again. This time on his back, he felt three hard slaps— but there was no sound that accompanied them. The first one had shocked him, knocking him off his hands and onto his knees. The second one had made him crumble, falling to the floor in a fetal position— desperately trying to shield himself from the pain. The third had left tears streaming down his face.
The most painful thing though, was what Ramil didn’t know. That somewhere else in Bhuchongpisuit, there was another boy— his soulmate— also curled up and crying with him.
The pain didn’t happen again for the rest of the year. Long enough that Ramil could almost conclude the incident was the fault of his imagination. Almost.
He was eleven, going onto twelve. Just barely two years older, but he didn’t feel like it at all. The expectations piled onto him quickly. The childhood joys that everyone spoke of, playing around in the Bhuchongpisuit gardens, swimming in the pond just behind the castle, slipped away before he could even grasp it. Replaced with the duties of being his father’s heir, fencing practice, Emmalian history and archery creeping in onto what little remained of his childhood.
The coach had already left after training— letting Ramil take a short break to rest and cool down. He stood, still in his fencing gear, hands interlocked behind to stretch out the tension built in his shoulders. It came as a jab to the side of his neck, causing Ramil to tense up. It was sharp, unlike the first unexplained pain he felt years ago. It came in waves, hitting his neck just where it connects to his shoulder. It stopped and started in the same, precisely timed manner, rounds beginning and ending as soon as they started. Like fencing, his brain supplied.
Before he could continue his thought, a sting hit his ankle, the feeling akin to his bones squirming under his skin made him double over in pain before it quickly dissipated as fast as it came. Ramil was sure that he wasn’t dreaming it this time. There was no time or space for daydreams in the Bhuchongpisuit house.
There was a boy who dreamed on his behalf instead. Lying on the floor of the makeshift fencing room, feeling the glare of his father burn through him, “What will people think, when they see a Ronawi, the son of the Minister of Defence, so weak like this?” The boy wishes to be strong, to be someone that would stop being a disgrace to his father.
It came up during a scheduled tea appointment with Ava, Ramil had asked, “P’Ava, do you ever randomly feel pain?” The older princess had held her scone midair, thinking,“If I fall and get hurt I guess! Why do you ask P’Ramil?” She answered. Ramil glances to the side, checking to see if there were any guards still secretly in hearing distance of their conversation.
When he had spotted none, he continued in a whisper, “Sometimes, I feel pain out of nowhere, it comes and it never leaves a mark but believe me P’Ava— it’s not just my imagination!”
Ava’s eyes widened, matching his hushed tone, she replied, “My father says that’s a sign of a soulmate bond.” Her eyes sparkled, putting down her teacup, “P’Ramil you have a soulmate waiting for you!” She began droning on, dreamily, “A girl waiting for her prince charming to come save her, oh! that’s straight out of a fairytale, P’Ramil!” He didn’t say anything else, only smiled and nodded through his tea and snacks. There was something off about it, having a soulmate— Ramil didn’t know how to feel, about love of all things. But I know he isn’t a girl. I just know it.
The day Ramil turned fourteen marked a hectic day at the Bhuchongpisuit castle. The yard held a large group of boys, mostly near or the same age as him. Prancing around and playing, waiting for their turn to be called in to pass the basic background check to begin the series of trials required to become the Prince’s companion. As he looked down, none of the rowdy and loud boys caught his eye. But what did, was the quiet one, sitting and watching the rest spar with each other from a distance. Even from the balcony, the difference was stark. While the rest were adorned in well tailored formal jackets and white button-up shirts, he sat in a corner with a cream shirt that looked a size too big for him and a brown jacket tied around his shoulders.
When that same boy appeared a few hours later before him, his face was serious and his sabre was gripped tightly in his hands. He could see now that the boy had a smaller frame compared to him. Still, he wasn’t intimidated by Ramil. He placed a hand to his chest, bowing. Ramil approached, hand stuck out in front of him, offering a handshake instead, “Ramil Bhuchongpitsuit.”
The boy shook his hand, “Paytai Ronawi, nice to meet you, Your Highness.”
The announcer begins, “En garde.”
Ramil feels the weight of the sabre sitting in his hand, the joy of victory over the previous candidates still thrumming through his blood. Not a single victory, maybe I’ll finally prove to father that I’m too good for him to find a match.
“Prets.” He stares into Paytai’s eyes, focused and waiting for the command to begin.
“Allez!”
Paytai made the first move, his bold uncaring movements let him score five points against Ramil when the round had started. Learning this, Ramil changed strategies, playing more defensive in order to try to counter Paytai’s fast and decisive attacks. Despite that, Paytai quickly adapted to the change, fighting fiercely and winning three points more against Ramil. In a blink of an eye, Paytai had scored fifteen points against Ramil’s ten points, winning the match by a large margin.
Paytai cracked a grin, bowing slightly with his sabre tucked behind his back, “It was an honor to spar with Your Highness..”
Still shocked from having been defeated, the compliment falls from his lips without him noticing, “Y-your fencing skills are excellent.”
Paytai blushes, hands behind his back and mumbling a thank you. In the moment, Ramil lost all focus on the servants around him working to free him from his lamé. Instead, he couldn’t stop thinking about the boy he had just sparred with. Paytai Ronawi– who are you?