Chapter Text
The sun was beating down hot on them now, there was almost no wind out here even at the edge of the castle grounds. Whatever shade had been brought was not doing its job. He wiped sweat from his forehead and flinched when he grazed the heavy crown on his brow.
High Prince Ryland Grace was a lot of things, a brother, a friend, a prince -of course- and researcher whenever he fought to be. He was also, unbelievably completely and utterly pissed to be sitting out here in the heat watching this insane tournament take place.
By the time they’d realized the old rules were still in writing, it had been too late for him and Colt to burn them. It was truthfully an insane storm of events that if it had happened to anyone else, he would have a hard time believing it.
His eldest brother had been killed in battle years ago, fighting the war kingdom from far across the land. That had put Colt next in line for the throne. An ‘heir and a spare’ had been their parents' plan. It wasn’t their fault they’d been surprised with twins.
He supposed that’s why Colt had been okay with gallivanting off on his adventures when the twins had turned 18. They had regents and advisors in place, and Ryland had been more than occupied with his own problems so to speak, and had let Colt go off with not too much more than a promise to be careful and send letters. That had been his first mistake. Colt had been injured severely while halfway across the oceans, there had been no way for Ryland to reach him. He had healed slowly but surely, but had been almost another ghost, so rarely responding to letters. Just enough to confirm he was still alive, but not enough for him to hold onto his position as high prince as he’d hoped. He knew Ryland had never wanted the throne. Ryland knew he never got what he wanted.
Colt had only just barely returned by the skin of his teeth two summers ago, burdened with new scars but bringing the joy of new friends, allies, and even his betrothed, a duchess from the far countryside. Still, there was nothing to be done about his new moniker as “Prince Colton the Severed” and the twins had decided that Ryland could simply hold the throne in practice while both brothers and their combined councils could rule together.
Until they found out about the marriage clause.
It was one of their least favorite regents that had unearthed the forgotten, dusty, scrolls. Because of course it was. They brought the old bundle of rules forward as if it had been made of gemstones, and not absolute insanity. The same rules that had tied their mother down to their war lord of a father. ‘If the heir to the kingdom remains unmarried by their thirtieth summer, a tournament to find the strongest suitor shall take place, with the champion joining their majesty in holy matrimony by the year's end.’
They’d tried everything. No one would even hear of the thought of Colt resuming his position of heir, even after he and his wife Jody had married. They’d gone through every inch of the castle library, sent words to every archivist they still had, no one could find anything to dispute the law.
Now, he was watching men and women from all across this kingdom and several others filing in to test their skills for the prize of him. He felt like a piece of meat for sale, perhaps he was nothing more than that, baking relentlessly in the sun. He groaned, leaning back to slump down into his seat.
Colt was by his side as always, he’d been very insistent on doing so after they had found out about the contest. He knew Colt blamed himself quite a bit for this predicament, though they’d argued about it being out of their control countless times.
On the other side of him was his best friend, Rocky. Though that was Ryland’s nickname for him as Rocky’s actual name was very long and in another language altogether. He was a mountain dwarf from the south, where their mountains were more volcanoes than anything else. Rocky had joined his circle several years back after coming to the kingdom in search of an apprenticeship, only to quickly realize he was a master in his craft compared to many here, and assumed a position in the Prince’s council more befitting him. With him he had brought his partner; Adrian. Adrian's real name was a complete mystery and for all their insistence they were a sun elf, Ryland had long harbored a theory that the designer was a fae in disguise.
Adrian was back at the castle with Jody, Colt’s wife. They were saved from the tortures of the afternoon by simply their status. Ryland was pretty sure he’d rather join stable boys cleaning up after horses than be sitting here any longer.
He huffed again, and somehow sank even further into his chair. Colt elbowed him. He elbowed back.
“Quit it” he mumbled.
Colt waved merrily to a passing crowd of soldiers, it was only because he was his twin that he could tell it was Colt’s fake, mean, smile he often fell back on in court proceedings. “You need to pretend you’re enjoying this,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I don’t need to do anything but sit here and let myself be sold off apparently” he griped back. “Every second I'm sitting out here on display is one I'll never get back”
He heard Rocky sigh loudly behind him.
“I told you, my plan would have worked just fine you know-”
He turns in his seat to face his friend, almost wanting to laugh at the notion he's bringing up again. “Rocky- there's no way marrying you would have worked! Besides! I'd never want to come between you and Adrian!”
Rocky laughs, “Adrian is very secure! They know they're already wayyyy out of my league. All I said was -I didn't see anything about marrying your friend and getting messy divorce a few years later?” he hummed out. “it could work!”
Colt slumped to one side, face propped up in his hand. “except there's no way the kingdom would buy it- and there's no divorce allowed for a king. You'd have to like, die or something.”
Rocky nods solemnly. “I could do a great fake death, Adrian says I'm a wonderful actor”
“Adrian is blinded by love” he says as he turns back around. “This is ridiculous”
Colt hums from his chair, “You’ve said that already, multiple times”
”Because it’s true! Even if I did want to get married- it would never be like this!” He spits out, almost hateful. Sweat drips down his back, his robes are infuriatingly heavy in the summer sun. He wanted to find whoever planned this outfit out for him and strangle them, or make them wear it in the baking heat. He would kill to be back in the large library at the castle, wearing clothes he chose himself, reading books he chose, and never doing anything he didn’t decide on.
He wanted to make a choice for himself. Against his better judgement, he started thinking about one of the last big choices he made on his own. His chest clenched involuntarily, and he couldn’t pretend it was from the weather. His aching chest was a familiar friend by now, older than most things in his life at this point, and he swallowed back the bile that rose in his throat. This whole tournament was bringing up awful memories. Memories that didn’t slip through his hands like sand, but rained down on him like sharp shards of glass, cutting into him relentlessly.
“Ry?” Colt’s voice snapped him out of his misery, and he realized he’d been staring off into the distance, just slightly back towards the castle walls.
”what?” He didn’t want to snap at his brother, but his patience was razor thin today.
“Would you . . . Have you ever thought about getting married?”
The question took him aback a bit. Ever since Colt’s return even the slightest hint of romance or love coming into conversation had him turning up his nose, making his displeasure quite clear. He was actually half convinced Colt probably thought he didn’t feel any sort of romantic attraction at all.
And he didn’t, not anymore, at least.
“No.” He shook his head decisively. “I don’t want to get married. This is for the kingdom” he said coldly.
He felt a twinge of guilt at the emotions that flashed across his brother’s face. He looked away and busied himself with trying to tell the time. The sun was just past its midpoint, hopefully they only had another few hours left.
That was another point of frustration, there wasn’t even going to be any fighting today. This was simply the first day for travelers to settle in, set up their camps across the fields, and prepare themselves for the real fighting tomorrow. He was literally just sitting out here to ‘supervise’ or as he really knew; sit here and look pretty, these people want to know what they’re fighting for. It made him want to be sick, unless that was still the heat.
They sat there under the canopy in silence for what seemed like hours, but was truly only maybe fifteen minutes. As appropriate for the time of day, a member of the kitchens brought them a meal that he barely touched. He was pretty certain Rocky and Colt worked together behind his back, taking bites bit by bit until it looked like he was doing something other than wasting away.
He didn’t want to be here. That was the only thought that could keep running through his mind. He wanted to go home. And when he tried to think of what that actually entailed he realized he was dreaming of long forgotten fantasies again. He let himself sit atop his cage of a throne and waved politely but refused to smile, letting his brother and his best friend take over for him. The hours began to dwindle and they saw fewer and fewer patrons arrive.
At one point, after a nondescript man had nodded to them politely before flinching back at his glare, he wondered if he could actually scare them all off. If he sat here long enough, with his frozen heart and his stony expression, could he frighten away every contestant that meant to claim him? Could he bare his teeth like the animal he sometimes felt he was and bite back? At that thought, the image of him tearing into some nameless champion flashed through his mind. The idea of them crowning a winner that he could turn to and rip their throat out in front of nobles and peasants alike was almost enough to make his stomach turn. He thought of what they’d do to a mad man like him- would they lock him away in his library like a maiden from the old stories? Or simply send him away to the countryside in a cabin with locks on the outside, guards at every corner?
Suddenly, he thought of running away. He didn’t even think of a destination or a plan, just the idea of standing to his feet and sprinting away. Throwing his outer robes away and letting the wind tear his crown from his head, he’d run as far and as fast as he could and let the horizon come to him. He’d run far to enough to thaw his heart, and then hard enough to let it give out. Let his servants and subjects find his cold body in the fields beyond his kingdom- the kingdom he never wanted, never asked for. He wanted them to find him sprawled beneath the stars and know that he gave everything to get away from all of this.
Colt shook his shoulder gently and he blinked. It was dark out now, and his eyes were so dry they burned from how long he’d been staring at nothing. He turned to look at his brother, he was standing now.
“Hey,” He said gently, speaking like one would to a child. “It’s time to go”
He stood listlessly and let Colt guide him to their horses. While the castle was still within walking distance, it was the difference of almost half an hour compared to a few minutes. He remembered walking here this morning however, and realized Colt’s back was probably hurting after sitting out here for so long. He reached his horse, Mary.
She was a beautiful silvery grey, with white spots all down her back. He’d spent countless long afternoons talking to her in the stables or out walking the castle grounds. She probably knew more about him than anyone else in his life at this point, he realized with a pang of sadness. As they began the trek back to the castle he ran his hands through her long white mane.
“What are we going to do Mary?” He whispered brokenly as they reached the gates.
She didn’t answer, just like any other time he’d spoken to her of course. He never minded her silence before, but tonight it made him feel even more isolated.
He shooed every guard and attendant away from his chambers, he didn’t want anyone to see him like this. He didn’t want to pretend for anyone, even his brother and the rest of his family. He threw his stupid outer robes and silk garments across the floor and barely bothered to dress in his nightclothes before sitting heavily upon the edge of his bed. His hand twitched towards his bedside table, the locked drawer beckoning him. He was so tired, and felt absolutely numb after today's performance. He gave in and pulled the hidden key from under the table itself.
The drawer was quiet when it opened, because he couldn’t bear the thought of it getting rusty. Page after page of letters were carefully folded together by date, pages soft and aged with time. He picked one from near the end, but not too close.
‘My Grace’ It read. Always ‘My Grace’ and sometimes- very rarely- ‘My Love’
‘Summer is coming to an end, and I’m excited for the fall harvest just around the corner. I know we’ve both been very busy, but you should know I’m thinking of you always. I see the light of your library window from the servants quarters, and my brother nearly caught me out after dark delivering my last letter to you. The way the light casts shadows in the garden reminds me of your hair, your smile, the shine of your glasses.’
There’s a space in the page here, like the writer had paused to contemplate something.
‘Okay, maybe everything makes me think of you. I’d say that wasn’t true, but you’d know I was lying.’
Despite the heartache curling in his ribs, despite reading this letter countless times, he laughs. It’s wet around the edges, cracking with heavy emotion, and he has to hold the paper away from himself at the risk of crying on it. He’d sobbed over another letter once, and it had never dried right, the words blurry and unreadable if he hadn’t already memorized them. He continues reading, he always finishes a letter if he starts it.
‘Truthfully, I wish I could be by your side always. I know it’s a silly dream, but a dream I like to imagine sometimes, when the days stretch on and I miss you the most. But I treasure any time spent with you, and I know I shall see you again shortly if only because you are as impatient as I am.’
‘Yours, Always.’
As he folds the letter closed and locks safely away with the dozens of others, he can’t help the burning feeling in his stomach at the anonymity of the letter. It had been necessary at the time, but he wishes so desperately to see that name written somewhere, for anything that proved his grief had somewhere to go. Someone to hold onto hopelessly.
He curls up in his quilts, they do nothing for the numbness in his chest, and falls into restless sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~
He knows better than to read letters before bed. He always has dreams after reading, but that’s never stopped him. At the end of the day, he’s a glutton for punishment, and down to his core, he’s a coward who cannot move on, cannot forget.
He laying out underneath the biggest oak tree in the garden, and thinks briefly of how he and Colt had climbed it once as children and gotten stuck. It had taken their nursemaids hours to find them, and they had needed a ladder and several treats to get them to come down.
He huffs a breathy laugh, and the man curled in his side tilts his head up to look at him.
“What’re you thinking about?” Simon asks quietly. He’s often quiet these days, they're getting older and sometimes think too hard about what growing up has in store for them.
He runs his hand up Simon’s back and into his short choppy hair. “Nothing, just something me and Colt did as kids” he’d shrug if he wasn’t laying sprawled across the grass with the man propped atop him.
”Do you miss him? Your brother” Simon clarifies.
Grace hums, “A little, he hasn’t been gone very long, only half a year at this point. He’s been good about sending letters though” he grins, rolling over. He braces himself on his hands and revels in the pretty red at the edges of Simon’s face as he crowds him in. “Not like you though, I think you write me more letters than the rest of the kingdom combined” he drawls.
Simon’s hands come up to frame each side of his waist, squeezing just slightly like Simon knows he loves. The little cheater. Grace's arms tremble for just a second and he’s forced to lower himself onto his elbows. Though now he’s certainly much closer to Simon face- almost nose to nose now- so it's not a bad deal all things considered.
“I’d like to think the kingdom doesn’t love you nearly as much as I do” Simon whispers so softly into his mouth. Grace can’t reply any other way but to lower his lips onto Simon’s. Sighing breathily into the other man’s mouth. Simon’s hands clench tighter in his shirt and press in with the intention of holding Grace up and keeping him in place. It’s not like he’d rather be anywhere else.
They don’t part until Grace can barely breathe, gasping for air as he holds himself up over Simon. Simon does the most gentlemanly thing he can, and rises up until they’re both sitting up, the weight taken off of Grace’s arms. Simon lifts his hands to cradle Grace’s face like he’s something precious. Pressing kiss after kiss into his mouth, across his cheeks, down his jaw, just barely beginning to grow stubble. He keeps talking, though if it’s for Grace’s ears or his own he’s not sure. Simon has always had an impeccable talent for melting his brain.
“I love you-“ kiss
”more than all the stars” kiss
“in the sky” kiss
He pulls back and leans into his lips one more time, just a breath away. He pauses, and Grace finally opens his eyes again, just barely. Simon grins at him, all sweet innocence.
“I’d love you even more if you brought me a new book”
He chokes on a laugh, throwing his head back to giggle unabashedly.
“Are you- are you serious!?!” He manages to choke out.
Simon shrugs at him, “I finished the last one already!”
Grace keeps laughing, shoving Simon back, Simon just laughs and laughs even as he falls back to the grass. He pulls his arms to rest behind his head. Grace doesn’t even bother to hide the way his eyes trace the strong muscle of Simon’s arms. He’s very strong, hardened by long days of labor out in the gardens within and the fields beyond the place. Simon just smirks up at him like he knows what Grace is thinking.
“Okay tough guy,” he ignores the way Simon smiles wider, grinning bright. “I’ll try to get you another book soon, okay? Did you still want the one about northern trees?”
Simon nods before rapidly devolving into a discussion of the last book Grace had brought him, one with impressive colored illustrations of flora and fauna from their regions surrounding the kingdom.
He closes his eyes and lets himself get carried away in the sound of Simon’s voice. In between one second and the next it’s replaced with the sounds of screams. Alarms blare in the distance.
He was laying in the garden with Simon, but now he’s throwing himself out of bed, rushing to the window and ripping the curtains to the side. The west side of the castle is on fire, he can see guards running back and forth. It’s only when he sees some break off to begin fighting several robed figures that he realizes this is no freak accident. They’re under attack.
The West side of the castle isn’t much, mostly storage, some extra rooms for visiting diplomats and officials. Attached to the west wing however, are several long buildings meant for any live-in workers and attendants, those with nowhere else to live.
Simon. He has to get to Simon.
He’s running from his chambers as fast as he can, still in his nightclothes. He doesn’t even have shoes for godsakes. He hopes it makes him faster. He needs to be faster. He has to get to Simon- he has to- he has to-
Someone tackles him and he screams, he fights like he’s dying right then and there, and it takes the man above him shouting his name multiple times to realize it’s just one of his own guards; Carl. He’s wearing a full suit of armor, which is extremely out of the ordinary- but so is this attack on the castle.
Carl keeps talking to him, but he doesn’t hear it. He doesn’t register anything except the fact that Carl is dragging him away from the fire, the fight, he’s pulling him deeper into the castle to be better protected. He’s the only heir they have.
He doesn’t remember it, but his dream does its best to fill in the gaps. He’s screaming and fighting the whole way, till his feet are scraped bloody on the stones, he tears drapes off the walls and decorations from their stands down every passage, he tries attacking Carl himself, several times at different points in the journey. He and another guard grab him by the arms and he nearly dislocates his shoulders trying to stop them from locking him in a dungeon of all places. Carl keeps the key safe and they leave him there the rest of the night. He spends it screaming and crying out into the dark for a man who cannot hear him, who he cannot save.
He claws out through the gaps in the bars, but whoever is guarding him is too far away to reach. He screams till he’s hoarse, he thinks he’ll never sound the same after this, how can he when Simon is in danger? No one knows to search for him, to find one lonely gardener amongst dozens of others, no one knows that Grace will die without him- he’ll shrivel up and waste away and burn into nothing and explode like a dying star and- and-
He wakes up with a muffled scream climbing out of his throat. He turns into his pillows and lets it loose. He gathers his blankets and screams and screams and screams until he might pass out- god he wishes he would. He craves the black nothing of real unconsciousness. He doesn’t pass out, and instead resorts to crying. Big heaving sobs he still has to muffle still into sheets wet with his tears.
It’s been almost ten years since they were attacked by a neighboring war kingdom. Eden had sent multiple people to infiltrate the castle itself, and their coup would have been successful if not for the fast action of Carl’s superior and the rest of the guards. The main palace itself had only been damaged slightly, and the prince had lived through the night despite the mental breakdown that had been circulated as rumor through the staff. They said he went mad from fear, that he was terrified without his brothers at his side.
They were wrong.
Grace remembers with horrific clarity the next few days after the attack. It had taken them hours to retrieve him from his impromptu holding cell. They’d tried and failed to catch him that time when he had run the whole length of the castle to find the servants' barracks nothing but ash. They’d pulled him sobbing from where he’d tried to wade through burning and broken wreckage. One of his advisors had let him know with a sickening lack of empathy that only a few servants had been killed in the fire. Only a half dozen at most, there was no need for such dramatics.
That had been the first and only time High Prince Ryland Grace had ever assaulted a member of staff. He’d been fired thereafter, leaving with his bruised face and broken nose hung low. Grace mourned the victims of the fire with such passionate grief many courtiers had been worried he’d simply fade away into a husk of a man.
Many people had been injured in either the fire or the actual attack. Six workers had died from the fire itself or fire related injuries. One woman who worked in the kitchens, two young stable boys, two gardeners, and Simon.
Simon. His Simon, who had never been afraid to question his authority as prince, had even bargained for books in exchange for keeping Grace’s escapades to the garden a secret. Simon who had waited so patiently for Grace to realize one day that they had been dancing around each other far too long. His Simon who wrote him letter after letter and hid them away where Grace would find them. Simon who had loved him so wholly and completely he felt like he could be worthy of his princehood. Simon had made him so brave.
Simon’s body had never been recovered. One of three that had become nothing more than ash to add to the soil of the gardens.
He’d been silent for weeks after. At first, from the damage he’d done to his throat, then from the grief that weighed on him so heavily he choked on it. Physicians from all over had visited him under the impression he was sick, and found nothing wrong. No one understood their prince’s suffering, and they never would. He’d never told anyone about Simon, except for the occasional whisper to Mary when they rode far out to the edge of the fields beyond the castle walls, where he could think about Simon with almost no heavy sadness holding itself over him.
He smothered himself with the blankets again. He was rung out from the dream, always absolutely exhausted from reliving the worst night of his life. He didn’t have that nightmare as often anymore, but when he did, he typically spent the next day turning away appointments and hiding in his study.
He couldn’t do that tomorrow. The tournament.
The thought of tomorrow sent a fresh sob shaking through him. The second worst day of his life was one sunrise away. He wanted to run away again, feeling like that trapped animal from before.
He wanted Simon. He would have fought for him. He laughed brokenly. Simon had been so strong, but not a fighter. His strength had come from long days in the sun, pruning back weeds and cultivating the life that bloomed all over the castle. He hoped desperately that whoever he ended up with hated flowers. Hated the outdoors. He’d find solace in Simon’s garden and sit under the oak tree with its long healed burns and pretend like he could make his own choices again.
He made the choice to lay there in bed until the sun rose, and if he did it with long rivers of tears carving down the sides of his face, then that was his choice too.