Chapter Text
Robert watched from a distance, changed out of his royal clothes to fit in with the common people of Cleeves. The air, standing on the lower level of the platforms that lined the execution stage, was hot, stuffy, and reeked. Robert was used to his servants cleaning him, his room in the castle always smelled of fresh lavender and rose.
His father, King of Cleeves, stood next to the wooden structure that held three ropes, three men standing under them as the executioners looped the knotted ends around their necks.
“These men,” King Robbie’s voice boomed over, and hushed the crowd, “are being charged and hanged for the crime of theft from fellow merchants. All men have pleaded guilty.”
Horace, Philbert, and Norman, all men Robert knew well from his knight-assisted visits to the market. Horace sold cloth, Philbert sold coal and wood for fires, and Norman carved wood. All three men had large families. At least three kids each, wives who are pregnant and care for the house, prepare meals, and make sure their husbands can relax after thirteen-hour days of work.
They had become desperate, growing thin as they couldn't afford to feed themselves and their families. They had stolen bread from a local bakery, rounding the building after they had dumped their unsold goods and rummaged through the trash. The owner caught them and immediately reported them to the knights who crept around the village at night.
“Do you men have any final words?”
“I am all but ashamed,” Horace said, his thinning blonde hair stuck against his sweaty forehead in the blistering sun, “my family will feed better without me. My only regret, is leaving my wife a widow and my sons fatherless.” His wife could be heard wailing in the crowd, held back by knights. Philbert and Norman stayed silent.
“So be it,” King Robbie lifted his hand, but Robert finally stepped forward.
“Stop!” He shouted, emerging from the crowd and beginning to walk up the steps and onto the stage. “Don’t kill these men for surviving!”
“Robert,” His father struded across the stage to him, “what are you doing? Where are your clothes? And crown?”
“Don’t kill these men!” Robert looked towards the executioner. “That’s a royal order! If you kill these men, I’ll have you hanged next to them for treason against Cleeves.”
The executioner let go of the lever that would pull the ground from below the men, stepping away.
“Don’t listen to him, I order you to execute them!”
“Father,” Robert raised his voice, ensuring anyone in the silent crowd below could hear, “you wouldn't have to hang anyone for theft if you simply lowered your taxes on the people and allowed them to afford their families!”
A roar of cheers came from below, Robert’s father pushing him away.
“Look at what you've started.”
“You started this with your absurd taxes! They have families to feed.”
“Families they chose to have, families you should have. You're nearly twenty-eight, when will you find a queen for when you take my throne?”
“I’d never bring a son into a world where you rule!” The hand meets his face quickly, and harshly, stinging his freckled skin as it begins to pinken. Robert looks back, his face turning to a scowl.
“I’ll do it, I'll yell something you don't want the people to hear.”
“… let them be.” Robbie waves a hand, and the executioner moves to remove the ropes from the men, the crowd below roaring once again.
“Inside, now.” He grabs Robert by his arm, jerking him along to the drawbridge, and inside the palace, the two bicker the entire time.
“Unhand me, unhand me!”
“You need to learn self-control.”
“If it keeps you in line, I don't want it! Unhand me!”
“Not until you learn your place!”
“Off! Off of me I say!”
“Why must you make my life so hard?”
“Why must you be so tyrannical? You're well on your way to being a dictator! When I’m king, I’ll have you like Napoleon! Banished to an island far off!”
King Robbie finally lets go, shoving Robert back as they enter the palace.
“Why must you be so unfair? So difficult?”
“For speaking the truth?”
“For turning the execution into a bacchanal!” Robbie raises his hand again, but drops it.
“Ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!” Robert shouts and turns to stomp off, his leading servant following.
“Your highness-”
“Not now, Chase. I refuse to listen to him further.”
“You mustn't cause such scenes, the people will rebel, they'll storm the castle! It's quite popular in France as of now, they may get ideas.”
“Let them! Let them tear this palace to pieces! I'll join them.”
He storms up the stairwell, faster than the old man can chase him.
“Your highness, please!”
“I said I won't hear another word!” He races down the grand halls, past the portraits of his family, stopping in front of the one of him and his mother. She had passed long ago, and Robert couldn't stand his father’s new wife.
She was prideful, enjoyed only the best money could buy, and even then wasn't grateful. She refused to lie in the same bed as King Robert, refused to carry children for him, refused to even sit at her throne when he was at his most the time. She used the palace to throw lavish balls, forcing Robert to interact with guests and pretend she loved him as if he were her own.
When it was just the family in the castle, they never talked, unless it was Robert berating his father and his tyrannical ruling. She ignored Robert, instead prancing around the halls to lash out against any servant or maid who she deemed didn't do a good enough job. He never spoke to her, nor stopped her, but he would help maids, servants, nurses, messengers, or guards that she abused.
His mother, real mother, was beautiful. He looked like her, in face shape, body type, narrow eyes, and ever so crooked nose. Her father and mother were never in love, as she was from Asia, and was arranged to marry Robbie by her family at the age of twelve, Robbie being fourteen, so their families could join forces.
She was a gentle soul, and taught Robert many of the empathetic behaviors he owned. Her voice was soft like the mane of his favorite horse, Beef, her kisses felt like a flower petal tickling his cheek, and her perfumes smelled of lavish honey, vanilla, and roses that grew in the garden. When she fell ill, it was the hardest time of Robert’s life, and when his father remarried two weeks later, he truly began to rebel.
She often fought with Robbie over his ruling, taking control of many ideas or acts he wanted to pass. Robert grieved for years, and sometimes it felt like he still was.
He continued to his room once he noticed Chase had finally made it up the stairs, trying his best to catch up to Robert. He walked forward to his room, and two guards who were posted near his doors opened them for him.
“Your highness, please-”
“I’ve told you many times before, and I’ll tell you once more, call me nothing but my name!” He grabbed the handles and pulled the heavy doors from his guard's hands, shutting them. He looked around his room. From baseboards to ceiling, gold lined his walls, his floors echoed his footsteps over the polished limestone, his bed was large, plush, but he rarely slept in it, opting to sneak down to the horse stables and on the small cot he had built for himself in Beef’s spot.
He had hidden the golden, silver, and crystal-encrusted combs from his father and family from across the seas. He used one he had bought from the market. He refused to wear his blue coats, his right dress shoes, or his trousers. Instead, he wore the clothes the people of the village had gifted him for his kind deeds towards them.
“How am I to be future king,” he would tell the children who played when their parents allowed them a break from family business, “if my people are not well?” He had spent fortunes on medicines for those who begged him to make their fathers, or mothers, or siblings, or children well again. Of course, it didn't always work, but at least he could offer a chance of survival.
His status, title, Prince and Thame of Cleeves, meant nothing to him unless he could use it to get what he wanted from those more powerful than him. If he wished for his father to release a prisoner, he reminded him that one day he would rule the throne, and he could easily allow his father to rot away in the dungeon himself.
Was it wrong of him? Perhaps, not that he cared. He knew his father wouldn’t kill or banish him for two reasons:
One: his new wife would not bear him children, and divorce or adultery was frowned upon, especially for royalty, no new sons to rule one day.
Two: if he were to take the one person who kept the people from revolting against the monarch, who would stop them now?
Robert knew this, and he used it to his advantage. Sprawling around his room, avoiding having to speak to his maids, or his servants, or his father, or his stepmother, or his guards, or the horses’ caretakers, or anyone who roamed the castle. Anything to be left alone.
“Your highness?” His guards open the doors, and Robert is half undressed in front of his vanity mirror. “Should we give you a moment?”
“No need, simply slipping into more comfortable clothes.”
“It’s time for supper.”
“I’m aware, I’m heading to the market for a meal.”
“Chase says your father orders you to be there.”
“That’s a shame then, isn't it?”
“It’s of the utmost importance.”
“… how utmost?”
“The utmost of utmost.”
“Shit, that's really utmost… alright, I will be there. He’s probably going to tell me he’s arranging an overseas marriage. I won't take her, but it will feel nice to be courted.”
The guards nod and close the door as Robert finishes dressing himself. He exits the room, Chase waiting for him.
“I apologize for my outburst earlier,” Robert stares at his feet as they walk, “my anger was not directed towards you.”
“It’s quite all right, your high- Robert.”
“What does father wish to talk about?”
“…I believe it best that you hear it from him.”
“Should I be worried?”
“Very much so.”
“Well, fuck me dead, the bastard is trying to marry me.” Robert laughs loudly, but Chase doesn't return his humor, shaking his head and looking down.
“What type of wine would your highne- w-would you like, Robert sir?” The woman shivers in her spot, feeling the King’s eyes on her as she refers to Robert by his name, rather than Prince or Thane of Cleeves.
“Red wine, to the brim, I figure I’ll need it.”
“Of course sir, right away sir!” She, a timid woman, skimps off and returns with the bottle quickly.
“Thank you, Marine.” He extends a hand, which holds four silver coins, which she takes gratefully.
“You’re going to make them greedy. Soon, they’ll start expecting silver from us every time they do something.” King Robbie stared Robert down.
“No they won't, they know only I will do that.” He takes three large sips of his wine, smacking his lips.
“Robert,”
“Father,”
“I have made a decision.”
“I’m not marrying someone I don't love.”
“It’s not about marriage. I have decided your mother made you too soft, too weak to rule. So, I'm sending you away.”
“Banish me if you wish, the people will only riot, and if you hang them, you'll lose all your precious taxpayers.”
“No you're not banished, just being sent away for a few months. You will go to Brittserburg, and train as a royal knight for Princess Amanda. I've been discussing this with her family for a bit, and now it is set in stone.”
“…you’re sending me to be someone's underpaid pet?”
“Even better! You won't be paid.”
“But… Bittserburg is by the… the forest. Brittlewood.”
“Yes, isn't that fun? You get to protect the princess from human-eating creatures. You have a week to pack and make your way there via horse, I will send people to assist you.”
Robert stares, speechless, before finally lifting his goblet and chugging down the alcohol, ignoring the red that streaks down the corner of his mouth.
“Someone pour me a new glass.” Marine comes back, pouring the liquid carefully until Robert just takes the entire bottle from her, handing her two coins.
“How long will I be gone?”
“Six months. It's a four-day-long journey, and I hope you return as a man, perhaps even with Amanda’s hand in marriage.”.
“This is ridiculous.”
“It’s necessary.”
“It’s ridiculous! You're ridiculous!” Robert chugs down the last of the wine in his goblet, tossing the empty cup onto the table towards his father, and leaves with the bottle for his room.
“This is why you're being sent off!” King Robbie yells while he walks. “Because you can't be a man!”
“I’m more of a man than you are, and will ever be!” He storms up the stairwell, walks down the hall, and doesn't even stop to look at the painting of him and his mother.
“You two,” he points at the guards, “be gone! Stand far away and don’t allow a soul into my room!” He waves his hand. The guards look at each other before quickly scurrying off, and Robert lets himself in.
He brought the bottle to his lips, chugging down wine and only stopping when he gagged and his stomach threatened to spill. A single tear falls from his eye.
“Why am I crying? I don't want to be in this castle! This palace! Anywhere away from him and this terrible place, so why am I crying?” He looks out his balcony windows, opening the doors and stepping out into the breeze. From his room, he can see the lights of the village past the moat and the walls, and the drawbridge. The lanterns are beginning to die out as people pack away for the night, returning home for their families and to begin eating dinner.
“The people... My people. I won't be here to protect them, to stop my father. My people, they’ll be alone.” He leans against the railing, letting more tears fall from his eyes. His balcony sits over the garden. It's beautiful, the trees and flowers sprawled in carefully made patterns and rows.
“My people…” Robert walks backwards into his room, the bottle slipping from his hands and shattering to the floor. He watched as red began to spread over his white floors, sobbing loudly as he could only imagine it as the bloodshed that would come with his absence.
“He can't make me leave. He's sending me to die, I know he is. If I die instead of be killed by him, he can destroy the kingdom. He’s sending me to death.”
He slumps to the floor, cutting his knee on a stray shard of glass, but he pays it no mind, allowing his blood to mix with the wine.
“No… no… NO…” He sobs, laying flat on his floor and staring at the golden patterns on his ceiling.
“To death, he's sending me to death… my people will die… to death…”