Story the first
Mar. 4th, 2006 04:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrSMP Fairytale, and a rewrite I am quite pleased with for all it's merely yet another fluff fest. Ah, well.
The ground was muddy whenever he fell; the night air was chilly and wet. It seemed like a quiet night, despite the curses and crashing as they dragged him along through the thick forest to the meeting spot.
Wesley wondered what he’d done to deserve a meeting this time. Besides breathe the same air. But though he went over the day again and again, nothing stood out. He hadn’t even seen them until they’d come at him with the ropes and blindfold.
What would they do if he asked them to forgo the blindfold and ropes? By this point it really wasn’t much of a mystery where the meeting spot was – they’d left him alone after every single meeting, did they really think he didn’t know how to get to and from by this point? But saying so would only make it all worse, so Wesley kept his mouth shut. They’d never bothered to gag him; he didn’t want that to change.
Though he really did wish they’d just let him walk. He was down to his last jacket, and it was already so worn and mended that even putting it on made him fear for it. Wesley winced as he felt a branch catch and tear, tripped and tried to regain his footing, failed and was cuffed soundly as they picked him up again. It stung, but not enough to bother crying out.
At least the marks on his back had been able to heal this time.
He caught himself on his hands just in time to avoid eating more dirt as they threw him down. They’d finally reached the meeting spot. Rough hands tore the blindfold from his eyes.
“So it’s time for another meeting, Wesley.”
Wesley said nothing, did not bother looking up, merely stared at the ground and braced himself for the beatings that would not be long in coming.
“Did you have fun trying to flirt with the princess today? Think you might stand a chance?”
That was why he was here? For talking to Princess Trina? So stupid. They’d only been talking about the statues in the Memorial Hall. The day before that they’d discussed the paintings. He was going to be beaten because he and the princess shared an interest in art? At least they didn’t seem to know of the other conversations. Of course he hadn’t been flirting with her – no woman alive would ever be of interest to him. Not in that way. “I wasn’t—” A hard backhand cut him off, and for a moment all Wesley could see was stars.
“We didn’t give you permission to speak, peasant.”
Wesley didn’t bother to point out that he wasn’t exactly a peasant, just spit out the blood filling his mouth and waited for the next blow.
“So why were you talking to the princess? Did you think you might gain an edge over us? We warned you about getting above your station.”
Never mind that his station, Wesley thought bitterly, was technically above theirs. Except for the small part where no one that mattered was willing to admit it.
He didn’t care. He didn’t. It didn’t matter. He was fine.
The second backhand took him by surprise, though he should have anticipated it from the momentary silence. Blair and Florin only did two things where he was concerned – talked or beat. And they never did them at the same time.
Wesley spit out more blood, and resigned himself to another week or so of walking around with a black and blue face. It didn’t matter. Who was there to care what he looked like?
No one. Not a soul. The princess was his only friend, and it was a friendship better kept secret.
The next blow he was prepared for, and familiarity made it possible to minimize the damage, though he still would not be able to move without pain until just before they decided to beat him again. Did they even notice how perfectly spaced the meetings were? Wesley wasn’t going to give them that much credit.
But the beatings abruptly ceased. Had someone…? Wesley looked up, a faint flicker of hope that someone had come…but no. They’d brought a bag. That was different. Perhaps a new whip?
Wesley waited, unable to see much despite the bright, full moon overhead.
Though what he did finally see, he refused to believe.
A book. Did they even know how to read? Then the moonlight caught the tome, made the engraved runes shimmer.
That was bad. What did Blair and Florin know about magic? Probably not even as much as most nobles bothered to learn, which was just enough to be thought fashionably knowledgeable.
They laughed, and Wesley felt his blood turn to ice. That laugh was different…menacing. Why couldn’t they have just flogged him? What were they going to do? Gods above, he’d only been talking to her about a statue. For twenty minutes.
His eyes stung, but Wesley had given up crying years ago. He held them back, and focused on the copper taste of blood in mouth, refusing to give in to the fear that made him shake.
Magic. They shouldn’t be messing with that. Twenty minutes! About a statue! Why?
“So what shall it be, Blair my brother?”
“Hmm…what’s in the pond?” Florin’s boots squished in the wet grass and mud as he examined the pond in the dark.
Wesley didn’t realize until the bugs and frogs and animals stopped just how noisy the forest had actually been. A croak sounded, startlingly loud, and was abruptly cut off as Florin crowed a victory. “This! Perfect, wouldn’t you say? By daylight I’d even hazard it looks like him.” His gloating turned to a curse as he tripped – but much to Wesley’s disappointment recovered.
Florin knelt down beside him, holding a large, squirming creature in his hands. Bizarre that they’d dirty themselves so. Wesley felt more afraid than ever.
“We’ve decided, upstart, that if you are so desperate for a companion that you’d disturb our princess, that we would do you a favor and find you the perfect mate. And we’ll even make sure you’re together forever!”
“Together…” Wesley started to ask, then stopped. But they hadn’t appeared to notice, as Florin struggled to hold the creature in his hands and Blair flipped through his book.
“Together forever,” Blair said with a sickening chuckle. “Bonded forever.”
Wesley froze, then began to twist and fight against the ropes, desperate to get away. “You can’t – don’t – please—“ Blair backhanded him hard enough that Wesley fell to the ground, too dazed to move.
“Be quiet while we do you a kindness.”
The haunting words of magic filled the clearing, slow and stilted rather than smooth and melodious – but the words were said correctly, and Wesley could feel the tug as the spell worked.
A forbidden spell. Banned decades ago. Where had they even found it?
When the spell was finished, they laughed coldly and congratulated each other on a job well done. They’d actually done it. Wesley didn’t know whether to retch, scream or cry. Eventually he managed to sit up, throwing off the ropes they’d been kind enough to loosen before they left him alone in the forest as was usual.
Except this time he wasn’t entirely alone. He was with a toad.
Bonded to a toad.
In a different time, they’d also used the word mated. For life. Once it had been intended for safety, protection. But it wasn’t long before the spell was misused, contorted. Especially once it was discovered that if one died, so too the other.
After that, it had been declared forbidden.
He’s always wanted someone to be with, a companion for life. So many hours, waking and sleeping, had been spent dreaming about a man who was never going to be at his side. Wesley had never expected anything approaching his fantasy to become reality…but he thought he’d find someone eventually. With whom he could talk. Laugh. Curl up against at night.
Wesley looked at the toad sitting so still in the grass, too overwhelmed by the spell to even move, and cried for the first time since his mother had died.
What seemed like hours later Wesley ran out of tears, misery dulled by pain, cold and exhaustion. Climbing stiffly to his feet, he began to make his way out of the clearing.
But the sound of something in the grass, and a long, low croaking sound made him stop.
He couldn’t leave it. The thought was unbearable. Wesley bit back a sound that would have been either a scream or a sob.
A toad.
Spinning around, acting before he could think, Wesley whipped off his jacket and scooped the toad up in it. The air was cold but he ignored it, feeling more settled – the tug of the spell – now that the toad was taken care of.
Quietly, quickly, he made his way through the forest and back across the fields to the castle. It took nearly an hour by foot, in his state, but he reached his room before even the servants began to stir.
Stripping out of his clothes, Wesley cleaned up as best he could with the pitcher of water a servant had left for him beside the fire. After dressing, he poured out the used water and filled a pale porcelain bowl with what remained and then fetched and arranged a spare blanket from his bed beside it.
What did one do with a toad companion? Perhaps he could set him loose in the garden for a bit tomorrow; the princess had a nice, pretty little pond there, it would be easy to check on him…
Wesley laughed at himself, the sound bordering on hysterical. But laughing reminded him just how much his face hurt, and that he was out of the salve he used to numb the pain. Settling the toad, cautiously petting it for a moment, Wesley the picked up a small mirror to see just how bad off he was.
His dark brown hair was wet, the tight curls a tangle. In the morning it would take him an hour or more to fix them, and because of the damp days the curls would frizz unmercifully. At least the bruises would hide his relentless freckles. He laughed weakly – the blue would also match his eyes, unless the bruises wound up being more black.
By morning he would barely be able to move any part of his face. Even opening his eyes was going to hurt. But this late, there was little he could do for the swelling. No servant, even the one who had been kind enough to leave him a pitcher of water, was going to answer his summons at this hour.
Climbing into bed, Wesley blocked out the wretched day, the pain, everything except the man who, even were he alive, would have been dead to Wesley.
The dream was so familiar Wesley felt no need to open his eyes. He knew the dark hair by feel, so soft. The skin by touch, smooth and warm over hard muscle. The man by scent, like fresh water and green grass, a wild edge, so much better than the tamed scents of the garden. The eyes would be green, and filled with affection, desire, even though Wesley knew he wasn’t anything to look upon, even in his own dreams.
“Wes…” a deep voice whispered against his skin, lips moving against his throat, his jaw, cheek, finally claiming his lips, kissing him like he was someone worth kissing.
“Prince,” Wesley whispered back, afraid as ever that to speak louder would be to wake up, lose the only moments of joy in his life. Slowly he opened his eyes, drinking in the sight of his handsome prince, thirsty for it, aching for it.
The Prince smiled back and leaned in to kiss him again. “You’re lovely, Wes.”
Wesley laughed, but did not argue, merely gave himself up to the Prince’s devoted attentions.
Except he pulled back, and began to touch him differently, a frown on his face. And Wesley abruptly realized that his face hurt, a great deal in fact. Which wasn’t fair – this was his dream, he wasn’t supposed to be in pain here. Pain was for the waking, the daylight. Not now. Had his misery finally found a way to follow him here?
Gentle fingers touched his cheeks, murmuring words that Wesley could not quite catch.
“Sleep, Wes. Feel better. Don’t let them get to you. I’m here now.” Another kiss, sweet and warm, and then no more.
Wesley woke up immediately, too used to being cautious, wary, to know how to wake slowly. He sat up, hands going to his face to see how bad the damage was, to gauge how much laughter he would be forced to endure that day.
His face didn’t hurt. Not a bit. Wesley frowned. Had he used the salve and forgotten? No…he’d been intending to go into town for more ingredients today.
Movement caught the corner of his eye, and Wesley jumped, turned.
To see the toad curled up on the pillow on the right side of his bed. It blinked at him, then slowly moved toward him and plopped into his lap. He pet it without thinking, smiling sadly when he realized what he was doing.
Attached to a toad. He hadn’t even thought it possible to bond to anything but another human. No wonder the spell was forbidden. What a disaster that must have been, back when it was common.
“How did you get up on the bed?” He asked, fingers smoothing over the bumps and ridges, growing familiar. Its skin was both dry and slick, strange on his fingers, but petting it was strangely soothing. Sighing softly, shaking his head that he was reduced to talking to a toad, Wesley carefully set it aside and rang for a bath and breakfast.
When the bath had come, he scrubbed until no trace of last night remained. He dried off and wandered glumly toward his wardrobe. What he was going to do for a coat, he didn’t know. Blair and Florin had ruined his last good one. Perhaps he could patch the maroon one…
Opening his wardrobe, Wesley reached – then stopped and stared. Rubbed his eyes. Turned to make sure he was in the correct room, and was not about to get in serious trouble, then returned to gawking at the contents of his wardrobe.
New clothes. Beautiful clothes. As fine as any worn by the Grand Duke, at least. Silk, velvet, lawn, superfine, brocade…and colors more diverse than maroon and brown and black. These couldn’t be his. Had someone made a mistake? Delivered these to the wrong room?
Wesley frowned, considering. Finally he shrugged. The worst they could do was take the clothes away, and he would be no worse than he had been before. Decision made, he selected black breeches and a velvet cloak of dark plum. A strip of linen tied in a simple knot, and another search turned up boots polished to a mirror shine.
He felt better than he had since the day of his arrival.
A quick glance in a small mirror and an even shorter fight with a comb assured only that his tight, frizzy curls had won another battle.
His freckles, spread across nose and cheeks, had won the war a long time go.
Wesley sighed and sat down to eat, going over his mind all he had to do that day. The morning was his, permission granted by the royal curator to do as he pleased. Then in the afternoon he would be helping to rearranging various pieces for the pending visit of the various dignitaries vying for the princess’s hand.
So the morning would be spent riding into town for more of the herbs and such he needed for his salve. Perhaps he’d have enough left over for something trivial…
Something brushed up against his boot, and Wesley looked down to see the toad had abandoned the bed. Sighing softly, he scooped it up and let it rest in his lap, not certain what else he could do. Which reminded him he didn’t know what to do with it.
Would it be safe in the princess’s pond?
Of course it would. She would make sure of it, he knew she would. And they couldn’t do worse than they already had to punish him for talking to her.
Decided, and suddenly unable to sit still, Wesley settled the toad in the crook of his arm, grabbed a light wool coat from the wardrobe – still bemused at how he’d come by the clothes – and went in search of Princess Trina.
Princess Trina looked nothing like her deceased parents and very much like her deceased cousin. More than a few rumors had flown, once, about their remarkable likeness. Her dark hair was arranged in pretty ringlets at the back of her head, a few slipping over her shoulders to tease across her modest neckline. Fair skin, pale link lips and bright green eyes to which the color of her morning gown had been matched exactly. More than a few men had aspirations, and a few did not even want the throne that came with her. “Good morning, Wesley.”
“Good morning, Princess.”
“Sit, won’t you?” She smiled “Did you sleep well?”
Wesley nodded. “Yes, thank you. Yourself?”
“As well as ever,” Trina replied, her smile growing tired. “Did you and the Curator decide on the arrangement of the paintings? What of the statues?”
Wesley smiled, something he rarely felt like doing. “We’ll decide today, Princess. And I’ve already mentioned every one of your suggestions and requests to him, never fear.”
“Thank you, Wesley.” The princess noticed what was settled in the crook of his arm as he sat down beside her on a wide stone bench. Just beyond it was a small pond, the water rippling as fish nipped at the surface for breakfast. “What on earth is that?”
Arranging the toad on his lap, absently petting it, Wesley slowly explained what had transpired overnight.
When he finished, tears ran silently down Trina’s cheek. “Those—those—those bastards!” She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, then laughed weakly and dropped it. “I can’t believe them, that’s beyond the pale! We have to tell—“ Her shoulder sagged. “But what good would that do?” She asked bitterly. “He probably knew they were going to do it.” More tears ran down her cheeks, and she bit back a sob as she accepted a kerchief from Wesley. “I wish Alton…he would never have let the castle become what it has. A prison. A terror.”
“I…” Wesley swallowed. “I wish he was here too. More than anything, though I never knew him.”
Trina gave him a water smile, then leaned forward impulsively to hug him. “I hope they’re all watching and writhing in complete jealousy and anger – ah, though I don’t want them hurting you again.”
Wesley returned the embrace, resisting the urge to kiss her cheek. Like the little sister he never had, and he would endure a hundred times his own misery to see her happy. “I don’t care if they do, Princess.” He gave her a rare grin. “Besides, they only think I just talked to you yesterday. I don’t think they know I see you here all the time.”
Trina patted his cheek affectionately and then gave the toad a second look, the last of her tears drying on her cheeks. “What’s his name?”
“Name?” Wesley repeated. “I never gave it a thought. Suppose he does need a name, doesn’t he? The least I can do for the poor thing…”
Trina laughed, the sound lilting and playful. “Look at these bumps right over and between his eyes. The yellowish ones. Don’t they look sort of like a wobbly crown?”
Wesley obediently looked, and nodded. “You’re right, they rather do.”
“So we should call him prince. Prince Toad of the Castle Pond!” She reached out, then paused. “May I hold him?”
“Of course.”
Gingerly she picked him up, then stood and moved around the bench to the pond, setting Prince at the edge of it. “Here you are, Majesty. Do you approve of your kingdom? And your fine beau?” She gave another tinkling laugh and stood up, shaking out her skirts. “I will see he’s not harmed. I can’t do much in this palace, but I can keep everyone out of my garden.” Clasping her hands in front of her, she smiled as Wesley stood up. “Going into town?”
“Yes. I’ll be back before lunch, most likely.” He smiled as she clearly hesitated. “Would you like some more of your candies?”
“Do you mind? No one else in this wretched place eats them, and the cooks won’t waste their time on such peasant stuff, even for me.” She reached into a hidden pocket of her gown and withdrew a small purse. “Here, take this.”
“I can’t—“
“Oh, just do it. So you can buy me lots of them.” A sheepish smile. “I eat them like nothing else exists, even though I eat like a princess. Have a good trip, Wesley. I’ll take good care of Prince.”
“Thank you, Princess.” Wesley smiled once more, then turned and left.
When he returned, it was to laughter. Far more genuine in sound than he’d ever heard. Wesley paused out of sight, worried that someone else was with the Princess, but relaxed when he heard her speak.
“Would you like some tea, Prince Toad?” Trina laughed. “How about a biscuit?”
Wesley stepped into view, and could not resist a smile to see Trina sitting on a blanket stretched across the garden path with a small picnic, the toad in a place of honor on a green silk pillow. “What in the world are you doing, Princess?”
“Having a picnic in honor of my hero!” Trina said with a laugh as she stood to greet him. She held out a hand, in which was clutched a small, golden ball. “See what he found? I had no idea it’d been lost in the pond!” Her eyes were bright with happiness, though he could see there was a sad edge to it. “Alton and I used to play here all the time…we were tossing this ball back and forth, and I missed a catch. We looked everywhere, even in the pond as best we could, but never found it.” She beamed. “Not an hour after you left, he hopped into the water and I left to tend to my duties. When I came back, he was lying on a rock and the ball was nearby.” She hugged him, then danced away to resume her seat on the blanket. “Join us?”
“Wish I could, Princess. Town kept me longer than I liked, however, so I’d best hurry along to meet the Curator. I only stopped by to visit Prince and hand over your lemon drops.” He handed over the promised candies, squeezed her hand affectionately, spared a look and smile for Prince, then hastily went on his way.
He ignored everyone he passed, knowing they were only doing the same. Once, when he first arrived, he’d attempted to be polite no matter how coldly he was snubbed. But one could only endure so much, and he’d given up.
A voice made him go cold, and Wesley closed his eyes as he passed by the hallway to the west wing so that he would not look.
At the tall, slender man with walnut hair and clear blue eyes. Handsome, charismatic. The Grand Duke, Princess Trina’s guardian now that her parents, aunt, uncle and cousin were all dead. All but the last from illness or infirmity.
Despite the freckles and curls acquired from his tavern-wench mother, Wesley’s resemblance to him was unmistakable. But the likeness meant nothing to the Grand Duke, and his cold refusal to acknowledge he had a son had assured Wesley’s miserable existence in the palace.
If not for the Curator, who had taken Wesley on as an apprentice, there was no telling where he would otherwise be. So long as he ignored the Grand Duke, the man was willing to tolerate his existence.
He could have left anytime; returned to his mother’s small village. Nearly did. But his fifth day at the palace he’d encountered the Princess, crying quietly in her garden. So much like the way his mother used to cry. No matter what, he couldn’t leave her. Even when the meetings with Blair and Florin started on the sixth day.
But it was the second day that had really made him stay. Rather, the painting he had discovered that day. The one he’d stared at for hours, until the Curator finally stirred him from his gazing.
Wesley paused in the Grand Gallery, home to portraits of all the royal family. The painting was three years old, finished mere months before Prince Alton had gone missing, presumably killed, on one of his solitary morning rides.
The man in the portrait was every dream he’d ever had made real. As real as they could ever be, anyway. A masculine version of his cousin, Princess Trina. Tall, broad-shouldered, hair ink-dark and eyes glass-green. A warm smile, laced with confidence. He’d been all but king, when his parents had fallen ill. When his uncle finally succumbed to a weak heart, followed quickly by the wife that couldn’t live without him.
He’d gone riding one morning, and his horse had returned in so terrible a state he’d been put down. The prince’s body had never been located.
Ever since, the Grand Duke controlled everything until Princess Trina came of age. Which would not be for another year, though Wesley thought that at seventeen she was already far too old for her age.
From the moment he’d seen the painting, he’d been in love with the man it portrayed. And how like him, to never learn his lesson and fall in love with a painting and the memories of a sad Princess. But if his excuse for a life proved nothing it else, it made clear just how abjectly stupid he was.
At least the beautiful painted prince could never tell him no.
Swallowing a sigh, good mood of the morning lost, Wesley whispered a goodbye to the painting and continued on toward the Curator’s office.
Exhaustion consumed him. Trekking to and from town, arguing with the Curator, moving, moving again, more arguments with nobles all too willing to show him their contempt had left Wesley exhausted.
All night he’d waited for Blair and Florin to appear, to take him for a meeting when they saw how the last one had left him unmarked. But they’d not appeared once during the day, though he would have thought his humiliating bonding would be the subject of choice. He’d waited and waited, and with that on top of everything else he felt completely wrung out.
Prince lay nestled in the crook of his arm. Though he had planned to leave the toad in the pond, something had tugged at him, pulled until he could not resist going to check on the unfortunate creature stuck with him. There the toad had been on the bench, as if it had been waiting.
Meaning he was far more tired than he realized. Absently he deposited the toad on the bed, and nibbled absently at the dinner that had grown cold waiting for him as he changed. Losing another battle with his hair, resigned to the mess it would be in the morning, Wesley finished his dinner without enthusiasm and climbed into bed.
“Beautiful Wes…” the word were breathed into his ear, lips brushing softly, traveling to tenderly kiss his temple, kissing his cheeks. “One day, I will kiss ever freckle on your body.” Strong, confident hands parted his sleeping gown, mapped his skin. Wesley shivered, his own hands seeking for skin to touch, touching chest and shoulder, brushing lips and cheek, sinking into thick, soft hair. He pleaded silently for the dream, so achingly real, to last forever.
Arms tugged him close, pulled him flush against a body that felt solid and warm and real.
But it wasn’t, and the truth stung his eyes. Even in his dreams, reality sought to take his joy away. Wesley clung to his phantom prince and pushed unhappy thoughts away. He stared into glass-green eyes. “I wish…”
The Prince kissed him, slowly, softly. “Wish away, Wes. When I’m free, I’ll grant every last one.” Another kiss, stronger than the first. Possessive, consuming.
Wesley held on tighter, everything suddenly too real to be anything but a dream.
Because the Prince was dead. Would be dead to him even if he were alive. He was in love with a dead man. A painted man. Though he dreamed, reality would not give up its wretched hold.
“Soon, Wes…” the Prince murmured, and then it all melted away.
Wesley opened his eyes and stared up at the top of his canopy bed, little more than a dark blur. Waking up had never been his favorite thing to do, but it was quickly becoming something he loathed, despised and detested.
Movement in the hollow between shoulder and neck made him freeze, but then he relaxed and smiled faintly, reaching up with one hand to pet the toad curled up against him. A strange companion, but the kindest one he had outside of his brief, secret meetings with the princess. “Good morning, my Prince of the Royal Pond. Did you sleep well?”
Laughing, Wesley slowly sat up, shifting the toad to his lap as he leaned against the headboard, staring unseeing at the fireplace across the room. “I guess I could do worse, given the pickings around here. What a sad affair I am, to have a toad prince by day and a dead prince by night. I don’t know if that’s better than being completely alone or not.” He was still laughing at himself when someone knocked on the door.
A servant entered and set a breakfast tray on the table, then bowed to him and spoke. “The Grand Duke bids you join him in the breakfast salon as soon as you are fit. He also bids you bring your new companion.” Another bow after Wesley nodded, then he turned sharply around and departed.
Wesley made a face at the breakfast tray. Summoned to the breakfast salon, but obviously not to join in the meal.
And it would seem the humiliation he’d been expecting was imminent. Unable to eat, Wesley dressed quickly in a dark blue coat and gray breeches, then scooped up Prince and made his way to the salon.
Princess Trina caught his eyes for a heartbeat, and he could see she was making herself sick with misery. So he was definitely going to suffer. His eyes went immediately to the Grand Duke. He bowed. “Good morning, sir. You requested my presence?”
“Yes. I wanted to see the new strange pet I’ve heard about. And I see it’s true.” His lips curved in a mocking smile. “It suits you, Curator’s apprentice. Though I suggest you not let it slime all over the statuary.”
Around the room assembled nobles muffled their laughter in drinks or looked away, shamefaced. On either side of the Grand Duke, Blair and Florin sat back smugly in their seats. Unlike Wesley, they took after their own golden, blue-blooded mother. But they shared the same clear blue eyes. Currently filled with cruel amusement and adamant dislike.
Because if the Grand Duke had acknowledged his bastard son, Wesley would have been older than both of them and the one to someday assume the title.
Wesley waited.
“I hear you and dear Trina have been talking lately.” The Grand Duke touched a napkin to his lips, then sat back in his seat. Around the room, a nervous silence fell. “Answer me.”
“Only about the paintings and statues, Grand Duke.” Wesley looked at him. “Nothing beyond that.”
The Grand Duke shook his head in disapproval. “Perhaps in the hallway. What of in the garden?” At his sides, Blair and Florin stiffened with surprise. Obviously they hadn’t known about his talks in the garden.
“She granted permission for me to keep the toad in her pond,” Wesley answered, hoping and praying that yesterday’s conversation had been the only one observed. And how depressing, that now he dare not risk seeing her there. He would have to find another place for Prince as well now.
And what did it matter if he talked to her? Honestly, he was no threat to the Grand Duke’s ambitions except insofar as he wished he could take her away somewhere. But they would never get far, and they had nowhere to go.
“I see,” the Grand Duke said. “Well, find another place for it and do not speak to her again without my express permission. She is not to be troubled by the likes of you. Do not forget that you are here by my good graces, Curator’s apprentice.”
“Yes, your Grace.” Wesley bowed.
“You are dismissed.”
“So the rumors were true, eh?” The Curator was an old man who refused to act like one, except when it suited his purposes. He was tall and bony and if he had any of the ailments suffered by the elderly, he never mentioned them until he wanted something.
Wesley suspected that centuries from now, when the kingdom was nothing more than dust, the Curator would be standing in that dust fussing over the loss of his paintings. Not even the Grand Duke would cross the man too much, hence Wesley’s continued presence in the castle.
“He’s quite a catch, as toads go.” Laughing at his own wit, the Curator set down the accounting book he was perusing and moved closer to Wesley. “Name him?”
“The Princess said he should be called Prince.” Wesley absently pet the bumps that vaguely resembled a crown.
“Hmm…” The Curator held a monocle to his left eye. “Good enough name, I suppose. Interesting mix of browns, a little bit of green.” He let the monocle drop to fall against his dark rust jacket. “I think you could have done better, lad, but you could have done worse. And to think those nitwits aren’t in chains.” He shook his head. “A fine state this place has fallen into. Next they’ll be burning my collections.”
Wesley shook his head. “I doubt it. Not unless they got rid of you first, which I think they’d have a hard time doing.”
“Aye, that’s true enough.” The Curator frowned at the toad, lost in thought. “Interesting toad,” he said. “Make sure it doesn’t mess up anything in the Grand Gallery while you’re supervising the rearranging.” He handed over a bundle of papers. “I’ve made a final list, and you’ll oversee the fools I’ve chosen to do the work. Don’t let them give you any guff; I want no harm coming to my paintings. If you feel any changes need to be made last moment, go ahead and make them. I’ll approve everything tonight.”
“Yes, sir.” Wesley accepted the list, hiding a smile to see that every last one of the princess’s requests had been incorporated into the rearrangement. With potential grooms coming from all four bordering countries, and seven more distant, every last detail must be accounted for. The library, galleries, gardens and even the miscellaneous paintings and statuary scattered through the palace were to be rearranged to flatter the guests.
In the Grand Gallery, Wesley immediately set the servants to work, watching and calling orders as the men moved those paintings that could be moved, rearranging them alongside the ones too large to be moved. Prince was set on a bench, eventually joined by a lunch that Wesley never got around to eating.
The day wore on, and bit by bit the hundreds upon hundreds of paintings in the enormous grand Gallery were rearranged. And there would be more to do tomorrow.
Wesley looked up at the sound of running feet, ready to flay alive the person who would behave so in the gallery – and caught a crying bundle of silk and lace that smelled like vanilla and cream. “Princess!” he choked, embracing her even as he wondered how long it would be before they killed him now. “What’s wrong?”
“H-h-he’s going to make me marry!” She cried into his jacket. “One of them! I don’t want to!” She tried to say more, but gave up and dissolved into tears. Wesley fished out a handkerchief and pressed it into her fingers as he held her close.
It didn’t take a thought to figure out ‘them’ referred to Blair and Florin. Anyone who spent a second in the Grand Duke’s presence could have told you that was his scheme the whole time. The problem was that there was no way to blame any sort of crime on him. Those that could and would have stood against him were long dead. Even Prince Alton had not survived.
Wesley soothed her wordlessly, hating himself for being so useless.
Around him the men, who had kept working after the princess’s initial outburst, again fell still. Wesley did not even bother looking up, knowing from habit that his wretched brothers were at the far end of the hall.
He didn’t resist when the guards roughly hauled him away, the princess crying quietly beside him. But he did flinch when Prince was grabbed, feeling the toad’s pain at being handled so carelessly.
It didn’t bother him that the Grand Duke and his sons were so abusive, Wesley thought as he was deposited in front of the Grand Duke, who sat arrogantly on the throne in the minor hall. They’d been so almost right from the start, mere days after his disastrous arrival. No, what really bothered him was everyone else.
The ones that laughed and supported the Grand Duke. He wondered which ones had helped him achieve his current place.
Worse were the ones who hated every bit of it and did nothing. Just like him. But…didn’t it count for something that he spoke to the Princess anyway? Took the beatings? Stayed despite the fact that one wrong move guaranteed the Grand Duke would cease to tolerate the Curator’s wishes and finally do away with Wesley?
He didn’t expect anyone to help him. There was no point in helping an unwanted bastard child, a mere peasant. But everyone watching as he and the Princess were punished should be helping her. Princess Trina was all that remained of the proud royal family that had ruled for centuries, the line unbroken. A beautiful, female equivalent of the Prince dearly beloved by all who knew him.
They did nothing.
It made him furious.
“So it would seem you’re a liar after all, Curator’s apprentice.”
Wesley stared at the carpet, flinching as he felt someone, probably the guard, harm Prince. He was being held too tightly, treated roughly. The poor toad had less to do with anything than even the poor Princess. It had only been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Would you like to try and explain yourself, Curator’s apprentice?”
He was dead, he knew he was. And he knew how they’d do it, and how they’d make it useful. All because he dared to find a friend in the Princess. Was the Grand Duke so insecure as that?
“My name is not Curator’s apprentice,” Wesley said. “My name is Wesley.” He looked up, blue eyes blazing. “It should be easy enough for you to remember, seeing as it’s your name as well. Just like our hair is the same. And our eyes. The same build, the same height. My face might differ slightly, but it still resembles yours. Try it out, Grand Duke. Wesley. Quite easy to say.”
The hall fell silent. The Grand Duke looked at him, face blank but blue eyes just as fierce. “Feel we have nothing to lose, do we?”
“Precisely,” Wesley replied. “I’ve been beaten, whipped, left naked in the forest. My nasty little brothers have tried nearly everything on me. I’m sure given time, they would have done all of it. I never touched the Princess once, except in friendship. While you abused me, and the nobility ignored or mocked me.” Cold derision slipped into his voice as he spoke. “Princess Trina was kind to me. Nothing more. I’m no threat to your machinations, father. All I wanted was to meet you, after mother passed away. But she was right – you were her biggest mistake.”
The Grand Duke matched Wesley’s cold voice with a chilling laugh. “Do not be so dramatic. I’m not killing you – talking to the princess is not a crime.” He motioned to the guard holding the toad and held it up by one leg, making Wesley wince. “Your mate suits you. If I were you, I would be grateful such thought was put into your bonding.” He switched his gaze to the princess. “Do you know anything about this spell, Princess?”
“It’s forbidden,” the Princess said quietly, hands clasped, eyes on the carpet.
“Yes,” the Grand Duke said. “I suppose it is. But the King may permit anything, and as I am standing in that place until you come of age, I will permit it this once. It’s so fitting, how could I not? An ugly toad for an ugly toad. Do you know why it was forbidden?” He asked the question idly, as if he was conversing simply to pass the time.
Princess Trina shook her head, though her face was pale.
“Because they realized several flaws in the spell too late. Creating spells is a tricky business, because it is hard to know all the layers of a Word. They can mean many things, especially when you begin to combine them. All manner of problems began to appear with this spell. Horrible things happened. So they banned it.”
Though it was obvious she wanted to cry, and that her hands would be trembling were she not holding them together so tightly, the princess merely nodded.
“Blair, Florin.” The Grand Duke beckoned to his sons and handed the toad over to them. Everyone around them, even those who normally supported the Grand Duke, had gone dead silent. Risky, to be so brazen in front of people who could turn against him, but why would they? In one small meeting he had just made clear that he and his sons were familiar with forbidden spells, that he could and would kill a man to force the princess’s obedience, and the man he would kill was his bastard son. “Take care of this for the Curator’s apprentice. I’m certain he’s far too busy helping prepare for the festivities without his beloved underfoot all the time.”
“We’ll take very good care of it, father.” Blair smirked as he took the toad. He knelt in front of Wesley. “Nothing will happen to him.” The unspoken ‘yet’ clogged the air. “Would you like to kiss your beloved goodbye?” The brothers grinned, laughed.
Wesley looked sadly at the toad, who seemed to stare solemnly back, dark eyes unblinking. It held still in Blair’s rough hold, and gave a feeble croak. The poor thing. Prince had nothing to do with the entire situation, yet if the Princess disobeyed once, the toad would be killed to get rid of him neatly and tidily.
Looking into the smirking faces of his brother, the cold blankness of his father’s face, Wesley leaned forward and gave the toad a brief kiss. “Sorry, Prince,” he whispered. “I wasn’t a very good bonded, was I? Thank you for the company, though.” He could hear Blair and Florin laugh – even the Grand Duke was amused to see him kiss a toad – but Wesley ignored them all. He was done.
Then the screams started. Blair gave a hoarse shout of surprise, knocking the kneeling Wesley over as he stumbled back, away from something Wesley couldn’t see at first. When he finally struggled up, he saw a hazy sort of light in front of the Grand Duke, who watched with a frown from the throne.
The light grew, consuming the room, making it hard to see. Then it went from hazy to blazing, and Wesley closed his eyes against it.
He opened them again when everything seemed to go dark. And could not believe what he saw.
His painting. Alive. Wesley shook his head. No, not his painting. Its subject. Which wasn’t possible. Prince Alton was dead.
“Grand Duke,” Prince Alton said coldly.
The Grand Duke didn’t appear fazed by the fact that the toad had turned into a dead prince.
“That is not your seat,” the prince continued. “Get out of it.” Instead of waiting for the Grand Duke to obey, he reached out, grabbed and threw the Grand Duke off the dais and to the floor beside Wesley. Then he turned to Blair and Florin, throwing out words that made the room heavy and cold.
Wesley watched as they dropped soundlessly the floor and lay still.
“Get up,” Alton told the Grand Duke coldly.
The Grand Duke stood, brushing off his ornate coat. “I don’t know what game is being played here, but—“
Moving quickly, Alton descended the dais and backhanded the Grand Duke hard enough to send him reeling back. “Game? There is no game. But there is murder, and attempted murder, and a whole list of further crimes. You and your sons will hang – for the death of my parents, the death of my uncle, attempting to murder me, and for abusing the Princess and Wesley.”
“Him?” The Grand Duke’s expression faltered, showing his surprise and disbelief. “What has that peasant to do with anything?”
Alton ignored the question. “Would you like to try and deny the charges?”
“Of course I’m denying them.”
“Deny all you like,” Alton said. “It will not change your fate. You should have made certain your stupid sons knew what they were about.” He threw his arms out. “Do I look stupid to you? Gullible? Did you forget, Grand Duke, that magic was always my obsession? Did you really think those two fools could best me? They defeated me for a time, but even without their unintentional help I would have found my way back!”
The Grand Duke frowned, control over his emotions gradually slipping. “Their help?”
“The bonding!” Alton threw his head back and laughed. “Your sons attempted to kill me, but I managed to change the spell at the last. My power as a toad was limited, but someday I would have found a way to get what I needed. Then your sons, in their maliciousness, took care of it for me. All the power I needed and more was provided through the bonding. It took only for the bonding to be made complete for me to free myself.”
Swearing, the Grand Duke gave up any attempt to remain controlled and lashed out with words of his own.
Alton laughed, and spoke three. The Grand Duke fell at his feet, as still and silent as his sons. He shifted his cold gaze to the nobles gathered in the room. “It is only because my parents would not want it that I don’t punish every last one of you. But I won’t forget that in my absence, every last one of you let these things occur. Believe me, I know exactly what has been done – or not done, as it were. Get out.”
The assembled nobles wasted no time in fleeing, pale-faced and confused.
“Alton!” The Princess, so still until then, moved in a flurry of yellow silk to embrace her cousin. “I can’t believe—you—how—“
“Shhh, Trina.” Alton kissed her brow, then held her tightly. “Everything is okay now. I’m sorry I left you alone.”
Trina dissolved into sobs while Alton gently soothed her.
Wesley watched them. Watched him. There was an edge there, brought on no doubt by all the events surrounding his supposed death. He was far more beautiful in person than in paint. A dream come true.
Except the bitter reality was that he may as well still be dead, so far as Wesley was concerned. Because when all was said and done, he was a peasant – and worse still the bastard son of the Grand Duke.
It was all too much, and looking at him caused a pain Wesley couldn’t bear. But he watched him a moment longer anyway before finally fleeing.
He barely heard the knock at the door several hours later, stirring from where he’d fallen asleep pretending to read. A glance out the balcony doors told him it was late. Too late for anyone to be bothering with him, unless one of the maids was bringing him a late dinner. “Come in,” he called, voice hoarse with sleep.
The book tumbled to the floor as he hastily stood, realizing it wasn’t a servant entering his room. “Majesty!”
Alton frowned. “Why did you leave?”
“Leave?” Wesley returned the frown with one of his own. “Should I have stayed?”
“Of course.” Alton stopped before him. “Couldn’t you feel I didn’t want you to go?” So handsome, it still and would always hurt to look at him, at those glass-green eyes filled with a kindness so few had ever shown him.
“What?”
Then Alton surprised him by smiling, one hand going to Wesley’s mop of curls, stroking them with something like familiarity. Bringing up memories, shadows of dreams that Wesley had been trying hard to suppress. Every night he’d dreamed of this man, and the past two nights the toad had slept with him. His cheeks burned with humiliation. “Through the bond. When I was a toad, I know you felt when I was upset or bothered. So why didn’t you notice I was upset to discover you had vanished?”
“I…” He’d thought it was just him. Why would the Prince care if he was there or not?
Alton laughed softly, burying his hand in curls and tugging Wesley closer. “My poor, lonely Wes. I’ve much to teach you about magic, and the bond which connects us. You only seem to feel it when you sleep.” Fingers ghosted over his face, nose and cheeks, those glass-green eyes locked to Wesley’s clear blue.
Wesley drew a sharp breath. No one called him Wes, not ever. Only the Prince of his dreams.
“I’m sorry I had to ignore you for so long, today, Wes.” Alton smiled ruefully. “There is much to which I must attend.” The hands dropped from his hair and face to wrap around Wesley’s shoulders. “I fear I will have to neglect you much in the coming days, to set everything to rights. But tonight is free, because we deserve and have earned at least that much.”
“But—what—” Wesley shook his head. “You’re not real, are you?”
Alton laughed, and Wesley could feel it all along the lines of his body, so close did the prince hold him. “Very real this time, Wes.”
“How?”
“Because of you. No one else, I think, would have been willing to accept a toad, and care for it. And no one else loves me like you do, enough that the bond took and held, and gave me strength enough to break the spell keeping me a toad.”
Wesley could only stare.
Alton chuckled. “If you were better at feeling things through the bond, Wes, you would know I love you too. But you’ll get the hang of it, eventually.” He ducked his head, pressed soft kisses to Wesley’s temple, cheek, and the corner of his mouth before finally taking a real kiss.
It felt new and familiar all at once, like every dream he’d ever had. The prince still smelled like fresh water and grass, a spring breeze through a sun-bright meadow. He felt warm, and tasted the same. Too real for him to dare believe.
“So what do you say, Wes?” Alton asked at last, green eyes bright even in the dim light, dark lips wet and curved in a smile. Reality, if that’s what it was, was quickly outstripping his dreams. “Do you mind being stuck with a Toad Prince?”
Hearing Alton call himself a toad pulled a laugh from Wes, who still could not reconcile the two images. But he did remember how the toad sat quietly in his arms, and how he’d woken to find it curled up against him. The dreams that for the past two nights had almost seemed real. Willing to begin to believe, he realized they probably had been real. He smiled, arms tightening around Alton’s waist. “I would be honored.”
“Silly, silly Wes,” Alton said with a laugh, leaning in to kiss him again. “Tis I who am most honored.”
The Toad Prince
The ground was muddy whenever he fell; the night air was chilly and wet. It seemed like a quiet night, despite the curses and crashing as they dragged him along through the thick forest to the meeting spot.
Wesley wondered what he’d done to deserve a meeting this time. Besides breathe the same air. But though he went over the day again and again, nothing stood out. He hadn’t even seen them until they’d come at him with the ropes and blindfold.
What would they do if he asked them to forgo the blindfold and ropes? By this point it really wasn’t much of a mystery where the meeting spot was – they’d left him alone after every single meeting, did they really think he didn’t know how to get to and from by this point? But saying so would only make it all worse, so Wesley kept his mouth shut. They’d never bothered to gag him; he didn’t want that to change.
Though he really did wish they’d just let him walk. He was down to his last jacket, and it was already so worn and mended that even putting it on made him fear for it. Wesley winced as he felt a branch catch and tear, tripped and tried to regain his footing, failed and was cuffed soundly as they picked him up again. It stung, but not enough to bother crying out.
At least the marks on his back had been able to heal this time.
He caught himself on his hands just in time to avoid eating more dirt as they threw him down. They’d finally reached the meeting spot. Rough hands tore the blindfold from his eyes.
“So it’s time for another meeting, Wesley.”
Wesley said nothing, did not bother looking up, merely stared at the ground and braced himself for the beatings that would not be long in coming.
“Did you have fun trying to flirt with the princess today? Think you might stand a chance?”
That was why he was here? For talking to Princess Trina? So stupid. They’d only been talking about the statues in the Memorial Hall. The day before that they’d discussed the paintings. He was going to be beaten because he and the princess shared an interest in art? At least they didn’t seem to know of the other conversations. Of course he hadn’t been flirting with her – no woman alive would ever be of interest to him. Not in that way. “I wasn’t—” A hard backhand cut him off, and for a moment all Wesley could see was stars.
“We didn’t give you permission to speak, peasant.”
Wesley didn’t bother to point out that he wasn’t exactly a peasant, just spit out the blood filling his mouth and waited for the next blow.
“So why were you talking to the princess? Did you think you might gain an edge over us? We warned you about getting above your station.”
Never mind that his station, Wesley thought bitterly, was technically above theirs. Except for the small part where no one that mattered was willing to admit it.
He didn’t care. He didn’t. It didn’t matter. He was fine.
The second backhand took him by surprise, though he should have anticipated it from the momentary silence. Blair and Florin only did two things where he was concerned – talked or beat. And they never did them at the same time.
Wesley spit out more blood, and resigned himself to another week or so of walking around with a black and blue face. It didn’t matter. Who was there to care what he looked like?
No one. Not a soul. The princess was his only friend, and it was a friendship better kept secret.
The next blow he was prepared for, and familiarity made it possible to minimize the damage, though he still would not be able to move without pain until just before they decided to beat him again. Did they even notice how perfectly spaced the meetings were? Wesley wasn’t going to give them that much credit.
But the beatings abruptly ceased. Had someone…? Wesley looked up, a faint flicker of hope that someone had come…but no. They’d brought a bag. That was different. Perhaps a new whip?
Wesley waited, unable to see much despite the bright, full moon overhead.
Though what he did finally see, he refused to believe.
A book. Did they even know how to read? Then the moonlight caught the tome, made the engraved runes shimmer.
That was bad. What did Blair and Florin know about magic? Probably not even as much as most nobles bothered to learn, which was just enough to be thought fashionably knowledgeable.
They laughed, and Wesley felt his blood turn to ice. That laugh was different…menacing. Why couldn’t they have just flogged him? What were they going to do? Gods above, he’d only been talking to her about a statue. For twenty minutes.
His eyes stung, but Wesley had given up crying years ago. He held them back, and focused on the copper taste of blood in mouth, refusing to give in to the fear that made him shake.
Magic. They shouldn’t be messing with that. Twenty minutes! About a statue! Why?
“So what shall it be, Blair my brother?”
“Hmm…what’s in the pond?” Florin’s boots squished in the wet grass and mud as he examined the pond in the dark.
Wesley didn’t realize until the bugs and frogs and animals stopped just how noisy the forest had actually been. A croak sounded, startlingly loud, and was abruptly cut off as Florin crowed a victory. “This! Perfect, wouldn’t you say? By daylight I’d even hazard it looks like him.” His gloating turned to a curse as he tripped – but much to Wesley’s disappointment recovered.
Florin knelt down beside him, holding a large, squirming creature in his hands. Bizarre that they’d dirty themselves so. Wesley felt more afraid than ever.
“We’ve decided, upstart, that if you are so desperate for a companion that you’d disturb our princess, that we would do you a favor and find you the perfect mate. And we’ll even make sure you’re together forever!”
“Together…” Wesley started to ask, then stopped. But they hadn’t appeared to notice, as Florin struggled to hold the creature in his hands and Blair flipped through his book.
“Together forever,” Blair said with a sickening chuckle. “Bonded forever.”
Wesley froze, then began to twist and fight against the ropes, desperate to get away. “You can’t – don’t – please—“ Blair backhanded him hard enough that Wesley fell to the ground, too dazed to move.
“Be quiet while we do you a kindness.”
The haunting words of magic filled the clearing, slow and stilted rather than smooth and melodious – but the words were said correctly, and Wesley could feel the tug as the spell worked.
A forbidden spell. Banned decades ago. Where had they even found it?
When the spell was finished, they laughed coldly and congratulated each other on a job well done. They’d actually done it. Wesley didn’t know whether to retch, scream or cry. Eventually he managed to sit up, throwing off the ropes they’d been kind enough to loosen before they left him alone in the forest as was usual.
Except this time he wasn’t entirely alone. He was with a toad.
Bonded to a toad.
In a different time, they’d also used the word mated. For life. Once it had been intended for safety, protection. But it wasn’t long before the spell was misused, contorted. Especially once it was discovered that if one died, so too the other.
After that, it had been declared forbidden.
He’s always wanted someone to be with, a companion for life. So many hours, waking and sleeping, had been spent dreaming about a man who was never going to be at his side. Wesley had never expected anything approaching his fantasy to become reality…but he thought he’d find someone eventually. With whom he could talk. Laugh. Curl up against at night.
Wesley looked at the toad sitting so still in the grass, too overwhelmed by the spell to even move, and cried for the first time since his mother had died.
What seemed like hours later Wesley ran out of tears, misery dulled by pain, cold and exhaustion. Climbing stiffly to his feet, he began to make his way out of the clearing.
But the sound of something in the grass, and a long, low croaking sound made him stop.
He couldn’t leave it. The thought was unbearable. Wesley bit back a sound that would have been either a scream or a sob.
A toad.
Spinning around, acting before he could think, Wesley whipped off his jacket and scooped the toad up in it. The air was cold but he ignored it, feeling more settled – the tug of the spell – now that the toad was taken care of.
Quietly, quickly, he made his way through the forest and back across the fields to the castle. It took nearly an hour by foot, in his state, but he reached his room before even the servants began to stir.
Stripping out of his clothes, Wesley cleaned up as best he could with the pitcher of water a servant had left for him beside the fire. After dressing, he poured out the used water and filled a pale porcelain bowl with what remained and then fetched and arranged a spare blanket from his bed beside it.
What did one do with a toad companion? Perhaps he could set him loose in the garden for a bit tomorrow; the princess had a nice, pretty little pond there, it would be easy to check on him…
Wesley laughed at himself, the sound bordering on hysterical. But laughing reminded him just how much his face hurt, and that he was out of the salve he used to numb the pain. Settling the toad, cautiously petting it for a moment, Wesley the picked up a small mirror to see just how bad off he was.
His dark brown hair was wet, the tight curls a tangle. In the morning it would take him an hour or more to fix them, and because of the damp days the curls would frizz unmercifully. At least the bruises would hide his relentless freckles. He laughed weakly – the blue would also match his eyes, unless the bruises wound up being more black.
By morning he would barely be able to move any part of his face. Even opening his eyes was going to hurt. But this late, there was little he could do for the swelling. No servant, even the one who had been kind enough to leave him a pitcher of water, was going to answer his summons at this hour.
Climbing into bed, Wesley blocked out the wretched day, the pain, everything except the man who, even were he alive, would have been dead to Wesley.
The dream was so familiar Wesley felt no need to open his eyes. He knew the dark hair by feel, so soft. The skin by touch, smooth and warm over hard muscle. The man by scent, like fresh water and green grass, a wild edge, so much better than the tamed scents of the garden. The eyes would be green, and filled with affection, desire, even though Wesley knew he wasn’t anything to look upon, even in his own dreams.
“Wes…” a deep voice whispered against his skin, lips moving against his throat, his jaw, cheek, finally claiming his lips, kissing him like he was someone worth kissing.
“Prince,” Wesley whispered back, afraid as ever that to speak louder would be to wake up, lose the only moments of joy in his life. Slowly he opened his eyes, drinking in the sight of his handsome prince, thirsty for it, aching for it.
The Prince smiled back and leaned in to kiss him again. “You’re lovely, Wes.”
Wesley laughed, but did not argue, merely gave himself up to the Prince’s devoted attentions.
Except he pulled back, and began to touch him differently, a frown on his face. And Wesley abruptly realized that his face hurt, a great deal in fact. Which wasn’t fair – this was his dream, he wasn’t supposed to be in pain here. Pain was for the waking, the daylight. Not now. Had his misery finally found a way to follow him here?
Gentle fingers touched his cheeks, murmuring words that Wesley could not quite catch.
“Sleep, Wes. Feel better. Don’t let them get to you. I’m here now.” Another kiss, sweet and warm, and then no more.
Wesley woke up immediately, too used to being cautious, wary, to know how to wake slowly. He sat up, hands going to his face to see how bad the damage was, to gauge how much laughter he would be forced to endure that day.
His face didn’t hurt. Not a bit. Wesley frowned. Had he used the salve and forgotten? No…he’d been intending to go into town for more ingredients today.
Movement caught the corner of his eye, and Wesley jumped, turned.
To see the toad curled up on the pillow on the right side of his bed. It blinked at him, then slowly moved toward him and plopped into his lap. He pet it without thinking, smiling sadly when he realized what he was doing.
Attached to a toad. He hadn’t even thought it possible to bond to anything but another human. No wonder the spell was forbidden. What a disaster that must have been, back when it was common.
“How did you get up on the bed?” He asked, fingers smoothing over the bumps and ridges, growing familiar. Its skin was both dry and slick, strange on his fingers, but petting it was strangely soothing. Sighing softly, shaking his head that he was reduced to talking to a toad, Wesley carefully set it aside and rang for a bath and breakfast.
When the bath had come, he scrubbed until no trace of last night remained. He dried off and wandered glumly toward his wardrobe. What he was going to do for a coat, he didn’t know. Blair and Florin had ruined his last good one. Perhaps he could patch the maroon one…
Opening his wardrobe, Wesley reached – then stopped and stared. Rubbed his eyes. Turned to make sure he was in the correct room, and was not about to get in serious trouble, then returned to gawking at the contents of his wardrobe.
New clothes. Beautiful clothes. As fine as any worn by the Grand Duke, at least. Silk, velvet, lawn, superfine, brocade…and colors more diverse than maroon and brown and black. These couldn’t be his. Had someone made a mistake? Delivered these to the wrong room?
Wesley frowned, considering. Finally he shrugged. The worst they could do was take the clothes away, and he would be no worse than he had been before. Decision made, he selected black breeches and a velvet cloak of dark plum. A strip of linen tied in a simple knot, and another search turned up boots polished to a mirror shine.
He felt better than he had since the day of his arrival.
A quick glance in a small mirror and an even shorter fight with a comb assured only that his tight, frizzy curls had won another battle.
His freckles, spread across nose and cheeks, had won the war a long time go.
Wesley sighed and sat down to eat, going over his mind all he had to do that day. The morning was his, permission granted by the royal curator to do as he pleased. Then in the afternoon he would be helping to rearranging various pieces for the pending visit of the various dignitaries vying for the princess’s hand.
So the morning would be spent riding into town for more of the herbs and such he needed for his salve. Perhaps he’d have enough left over for something trivial…
Something brushed up against his boot, and Wesley looked down to see the toad had abandoned the bed. Sighing softly, he scooped it up and let it rest in his lap, not certain what else he could do. Which reminded him he didn’t know what to do with it.
Would it be safe in the princess’s pond?
Of course it would. She would make sure of it, he knew she would. And they couldn’t do worse than they already had to punish him for talking to her.
Decided, and suddenly unable to sit still, Wesley settled the toad in the crook of his arm, grabbed a light wool coat from the wardrobe – still bemused at how he’d come by the clothes – and went in search of Princess Trina.
Princess Trina looked nothing like her deceased parents and very much like her deceased cousin. More than a few rumors had flown, once, about their remarkable likeness. Her dark hair was arranged in pretty ringlets at the back of her head, a few slipping over her shoulders to tease across her modest neckline. Fair skin, pale link lips and bright green eyes to which the color of her morning gown had been matched exactly. More than a few men had aspirations, and a few did not even want the throne that came with her. “Good morning, Wesley.”
“Good morning, Princess.”
“Sit, won’t you?” She smiled “Did you sleep well?”
Wesley nodded. “Yes, thank you. Yourself?”
“As well as ever,” Trina replied, her smile growing tired. “Did you and the Curator decide on the arrangement of the paintings? What of the statues?”
Wesley smiled, something he rarely felt like doing. “We’ll decide today, Princess. And I’ve already mentioned every one of your suggestions and requests to him, never fear.”
“Thank you, Wesley.” The princess noticed what was settled in the crook of his arm as he sat down beside her on a wide stone bench. Just beyond it was a small pond, the water rippling as fish nipped at the surface for breakfast. “What on earth is that?”
Arranging the toad on his lap, absently petting it, Wesley slowly explained what had transpired overnight.
When he finished, tears ran silently down Trina’s cheek. “Those—those—those bastards!” She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, then laughed weakly and dropped it. “I can’t believe them, that’s beyond the pale! We have to tell—“ Her shoulder sagged. “But what good would that do?” She asked bitterly. “He probably knew they were going to do it.” More tears ran down her cheeks, and she bit back a sob as she accepted a kerchief from Wesley. “I wish Alton…he would never have let the castle become what it has. A prison. A terror.”
“I…” Wesley swallowed. “I wish he was here too. More than anything, though I never knew him.”
Trina gave him a water smile, then leaned forward impulsively to hug him. “I hope they’re all watching and writhing in complete jealousy and anger – ah, though I don’t want them hurting you again.”
Wesley returned the embrace, resisting the urge to kiss her cheek. Like the little sister he never had, and he would endure a hundred times his own misery to see her happy. “I don’t care if they do, Princess.” He gave her a rare grin. “Besides, they only think I just talked to you yesterday. I don’t think they know I see you here all the time.”
Trina patted his cheek affectionately and then gave the toad a second look, the last of her tears drying on her cheeks. “What’s his name?”
“Name?” Wesley repeated. “I never gave it a thought. Suppose he does need a name, doesn’t he? The least I can do for the poor thing…”
Trina laughed, the sound lilting and playful. “Look at these bumps right over and between his eyes. The yellowish ones. Don’t they look sort of like a wobbly crown?”
Wesley obediently looked, and nodded. “You’re right, they rather do.”
“So we should call him prince. Prince Toad of the Castle Pond!” She reached out, then paused. “May I hold him?”
“Of course.”
Gingerly she picked him up, then stood and moved around the bench to the pond, setting Prince at the edge of it. “Here you are, Majesty. Do you approve of your kingdom? And your fine beau?” She gave another tinkling laugh and stood up, shaking out her skirts. “I will see he’s not harmed. I can’t do much in this palace, but I can keep everyone out of my garden.” Clasping her hands in front of her, she smiled as Wesley stood up. “Going into town?”
“Yes. I’ll be back before lunch, most likely.” He smiled as she clearly hesitated. “Would you like some more of your candies?”
“Do you mind? No one else in this wretched place eats them, and the cooks won’t waste their time on such peasant stuff, even for me.” She reached into a hidden pocket of her gown and withdrew a small purse. “Here, take this.”
“I can’t—“
“Oh, just do it. So you can buy me lots of them.” A sheepish smile. “I eat them like nothing else exists, even though I eat like a princess. Have a good trip, Wesley. I’ll take good care of Prince.”
“Thank you, Princess.” Wesley smiled once more, then turned and left.
When he returned, it was to laughter. Far more genuine in sound than he’d ever heard. Wesley paused out of sight, worried that someone else was with the Princess, but relaxed when he heard her speak.
“Would you like some tea, Prince Toad?” Trina laughed. “How about a biscuit?”
Wesley stepped into view, and could not resist a smile to see Trina sitting on a blanket stretched across the garden path with a small picnic, the toad in a place of honor on a green silk pillow. “What in the world are you doing, Princess?”
“Having a picnic in honor of my hero!” Trina said with a laugh as she stood to greet him. She held out a hand, in which was clutched a small, golden ball. “See what he found? I had no idea it’d been lost in the pond!” Her eyes were bright with happiness, though he could see there was a sad edge to it. “Alton and I used to play here all the time…we were tossing this ball back and forth, and I missed a catch. We looked everywhere, even in the pond as best we could, but never found it.” She beamed. “Not an hour after you left, he hopped into the water and I left to tend to my duties. When I came back, he was lying on a rock and the ball was nearby.” She hugged him, then danced away to resume her seat on the blanket. “Join us?”
“Wish I could, Princess. Town kept me longer than I liked, however, so I’d best hurry along to meet the Curator. I only stopped by to visit Prince and hand over your lemon drops.” He handed over the promised candies, squeezed her hand affectionately, spared a look and smile for Prince, then hastily went on his way.
He ignored everyone he passed, knowing they were only doing the same. Once, when he first arrived, he’d attempted to be polite no matter how coldly he was snubbed. But one could only endure so much, and he’d given up.
A voice made him go cold, and Wesley closed his eyes as he passed by the hallway to the west wing so that he would not look.
At the tall, slender man with walnut hair and clear blue eyes. Handsome, charismatic. The Grand Duke, Princess Trina’s guardian now that her parents, aunt, uncle and cousin were all dead. All but the last from illness or infirmity.
Despite the freckles and curls acquired from his tavern-wench mother, Wesley’s resemblance to him was unmistakable. But the likeness meant nothing to the Grand Duke, and his cold refusal to acknowledge he had a son had assured Wesley’s miserable existence in the palace.
If not for the Curator, who had taken Wesley on as an apprentice, there was no telling where he would otherwise be. So long as he ignored the Grand Duke, the man was willing to tolerate his existence.
He could have left anytime; returned to his mother’s small village. Nearly did. But his fifth day at the palace he’d encountered the Princess, crying quietly in her garden. So much like the way his mother used to cry. No matter what, he couldn’t leave her. Even when the meetings with Blair and Florin started on the sixth day.
But it was the second day that had really made him stay. Rather, the painting he had discovered that day. The one he’d stared at for hours, until the Curator finally stirred him from his gazing.
Wesley paused in the Grand Gallery, home to portraits of all the royal family. The painting was three years old, finished mere months before Prince Alton had gone missing, presumably killed, on one of his solitary morning rides.
The man in the portrait was every dream he’d ever had made real. As real as they could ever be, anyway. A masculine version of his cousin, Princess Trina. Tall, broad-shouldered, hair ink-dark and eyes glass-green. A warm smile, laced with confidence. He’d been all but king, when his parents had fallen ill. When his uncle finally succumbed to a weak heart, followed quickly by the wife that couldn’t live without him.
He’d gone riding one morning, and his horse had returned in so terrible a state he’d been put down. The prince’s body had never been located.
Ever since, the Grand Duke controlled everything until Princess Trina came of age. Which would not be for another year, though Wesley thought that at seventeen she was already far too old for her age.
From the moment he’d seen the painting, he’d been in love with the man it portrayed. And how like him, to never learn his lesson and fall in love with a painting and the memories of a sad Princess. But if his excuse for a life proved nothing it else, it made clear just how abjectly stupid he was.
At least the beautiful painted prince could never tell him no.
Swallowing a sigh, good mood of the morning lost, Wesley whispered a goodbye to the painting and continued on toward the Curator’s office.
Exhaustion consumed him. Trekking to and from town, arguing with the Curator, moving, moving again, more arguments with nobles all too willing to show him their contempt had left Wesley exhausted.
All night he’d waited for Blair and Florin to appear, to take him for a meeting when they saw how the last one had left him unmarked. But they’d not appeared once during the day, though he would have thought his humiliating bonding would be the subject of choice. He’d waited and waited, and with that on top of everything else he felt completely wrung out.
Prince lay nestled in the crook of his arm. Though he had planned to leave the toad in the pond, something had tugged at him, pulled until he could not resist going to check on the unfortunate creature stuck with him. There the toad had been on the bench, as if it had been waiting.
Meaning he was far more tired than he realized. Absently he deposited the toad on the bed, and nibbled absently at the dinner that had grown cold waiting for him as he changed. Losing another battle with his hair, resigned to the mess it would be in the morning, Wesley finished his dinner without enthusiasm and climbed into bed.
“Beautiful Wes…” the word were breathed into his ear, lips brushing softly, traveling to tenderly kiss his temple, kissing his cheeks. “One day, I will kiss ever freckle on your body.” Strong, confident hands parted his sleeping gown, mapped his skin. Wesley shivered, his own hands seeking for skin to touch, touching chest and shoulder, brushing lips and cheek, sinking into thick, soft hair. He pleaded silently for the dream, so achingly real, to last forever.
Arms tugged him close, pulled him flush against a body that felt solid and warm and real.
But it wasn’t, and the truth stung his eyes. Even in his dreams, reality sought to take his joy away. Wesley clung to his phantom prince and pushed unhappy thoughts away. He stared into glass-green eyes. “I wish…”
The Prince kissed him, slowly, softly. “Wish away, Wes. When I’m free, I’ll grant every last one.” Another kiss, stronger than the first. Possessive, consuming.
Wesley held on tighter, everything suddenly too real to be anything but a dream.
Because the Prince was dead. Would be dead to him even if he were alive. He was in love with a dead man. A painted man. Though he dreamed, reality would not give up its wretched hold.
“Soon, Wes…” the Prince murmured, and then it all melted away.
Wesley opened his eyes and stared up at the top of his canopy bed, little more than a dark blur. Waking up had never been his favorite thing to do, but it was quickly becoming something he loathed, despised and detested.
Movement in the hollow between shoulder and neck made him freeze, but then he relaxed and smiled faintly, reaching up with one hand to pet the toad curled up against him. A strange companion, but the kindest one he had outside of his brief, secret meetings with the princess. “Good morning, my Prince of the Royal Pond. Did you sleep well?”
Laughing, Wesley slowly sat up, shifting the toad to his lap as he leaned against the headboard, staring unseeing at the fireplace across the room. “I guess I could do worse, given the pickings around here. What a sad affair I am, to have a toad prince by day and a dead prince by night. I don’t know if that’s better than being completely alone or not.” He was still laughing at himself when someone knocked on the door.
A servant entered and set a breakfast tray on the table, then bowed to him and spoke. “The Grand Duke bids you join him in the breakfast salon as soon as you are fit. He also bids you bring your new companion.” Another bow after Wesley nodded, then he turned sharply around and departed.
Wesley made a face at the breakfast tray. Summoned to the breakfast salon, but obviously not to join in the meal.
And it would seem the humiliation he’d been expecting was imminent. Unable to eat, Wesley dressed quickly in a dark blue coat and gray breeches, then scooped up Prince and made his way to the salon.
Princess Trina caught his eyes for a heartbeat, and he could see she was making herself sick with misery. So he was definitely going to suffer. His eyes went immediately to the Grand Duke. He bowed. “Good morning, sir. You requested my presence?”
“Yes. I wanted to see the new strange pet I’ve heard about. And I see it’s true.” His lips curved in a mocking smile. “It suits you, Curator’s apprentice. Though I suggest you not let it slime all over the statuary.”
Around the room assembled nobles muffled their laughter in drinks or looked away, shamefaced. On either side of the Grand Duke, Blair and Florin sat back smugly in their seats. Unlike Wesley, they took after their own golden, blue-blooded mother. But they shared the same clear blue eyes. Currently filled with cruel amusement and adamant dislike.
Because if the Grand Duke had acknowledged his bastard son, Wesley would have been older than both of them and the one to someday assume the title.
Wesley waited.
“I hear you and dear Trina have been talking lately.” The Grand Duke touched a napkin to his lips, then sat back in his seat. Around the room, a nervous silence fell. “Answer me.”
“Only about the paintings and statues, Grand Duke.” Wesley looked at him. “Nothing beyond that.”
The Grand Duke shook his head in disapproval. “Perhaps in the hallway. What of in the garden?” At his sides, Blair and Florin stiffened with surprise. Obviously they hadn’t known about his talks in the garden.
“She granted permission for me to keep the toad in her pond,” Wesley answered, hoping and praying that yesterday’s conversation had been the only one observed. And how depressing, that now he dare not risk seeing her there. He would have to find another place for Prince as well now.
And what did it matter if he talked to her? Honestly, he was no threat to the Grand Duke’s ambitions except insofar as he wished he could take her away somewhere. But they would never get far, and they had nowhere to go.
“I see,” the Grand Duke said. “Well, find another place for it and do not speak to her again without my express permission. She is not to be troubled by the likes of you. Do not forget that you are here by my good graces, Curator’s apprentice.”
“Yes, your Grace.” Wesley bowed.
“You are dismissed.”
“So the rumors were true, eh?” The Curator was an old man who refused to act like one, except when it suited his purposes. He was tall and bony and if he had any of the ailments suffered by the elderly, he never mentioned them until he wanted something.
Wesley suspected that centuries from now, when the kingdom was nothing more than dust, the Curator would be standing in that dust fussing over the loss of his paintings. Not even the Grand Duke would cross the man too much, hence Wesley’s continued presence in the castle.
“He’s quite a catch, as toads go.” Laughing at his own wit, the Curator set down the accounting book he was perusing and moved closer to Wesley. “Name him?”
“The Princess said he should be called Prince.” Wesley absently pet the bumps that vaguely resembled a crown.
“Hmm…” The Curator held a monocle to his left eye. “Good enough name, I suppose. Interesting mix of browns, a little bit of green.” He let the monocle drop to fall against his dark rust jacket. “I think you could have done better, lad, but you could have done worse. And to think those nitwits aren’t in chains.” He shook his head. “A fine state this place has fallen into. Next they’ll be burning my collections.”
Wesley shook his head. “I doubt it. Not unless they got rid of you first, which I think they’d have a hard time doing.”
“Aye, that’s true enough.” The Curator frowned at the toad, lost in thought. “Interesting toad,” he said. “Make sure it doesn’t mess up anything in the Grand Gallery while you’re supervising the rearranging.” He handed over a bundle of papers. “I’ve made a final list, and you’ll oversee the fools I’ve chosen to do the work. Don’t let them give you any guff; I want no harm coming to my paintings. If you feel any changes need to be made last moment, go ahead and make them. I’ll approve everything tonight.”
“Yes, sir.” Wesley accepted the list, hiding a smile to see that every last one of the princess’s requests had been incorporated into the rearrangement. With potential grooms coming from all four bordering countries, and seven more distant, every last detail must be accounted for. The library, galleries, gardens and even the miscellaneous paintings and statuary scattered through the palace were to be rearranged to flatter the guests.
In the Grand Gallery, Wesley immediately set the servants to work, watching and calling orders as the men moved those paintings that could be moved, rearranging them alongside the ones too large to be moved. Prince was set on a bench, eventually joined by a lunch that Wesley never got around to eating.
The day wore on, and bit by bit the hundreds upon hundreds of paintings in the enormous grand Gallery were rearranged. And there would be more to do tomorrow.
Wesley looked up at the sound of running feet, ready to flay alive the person who would behave so in the gallery – and caught a crying bundle of silk and lace that smelled like vanilla and cream. “Princess!” he choked, embracing her even as he wondered how long it would be before they killed him now. “What’s wrong?”
“H-h-he’s going to make me marry!” She cried into his jacket. “One of them! I don’t want to!” She tried to say more, but gave up and dissolved into tears. Wesley fished out a handkerchief and pressed it into her fingers as he held her close.
It didn’t take a thought to figure out ‘them’ referred to Blair and Florin. Anyone who spent a second in the Grand Duke’s presence could have told you that was his scheme the whole time. The problem was that there was no way to blame any sort of crime on him. Those that could and would have stood against him were long dead. Even Prince Alton had not survived.
Wesley soothed her wordlessly, hating himself for being so useless.
Around him the men, who had kept working after the princess’s initial outburst, again fell still. Wesley did not even bother looking up, knowing from habit that his wretched brothers were at the far end of the hall.
He didn’t resist when the guards roughly hauled him away, the princess crying quietly beside him. But he did flinch when Prince was grabbed, feeling the toad’s pain at being handled so carelessly.
It didn’t bother him that the Grand Duke and his sons were so abusive, Wesley thought as he was deposited in front of the Grand Duke, who sat arrogantly on the throne in the minor hall. They’d been so almost right from the start, mere days after his disastrous arrival. No, what really bothered him was everyone else.
The ones that laughed and supported the Grand Duke. He wondered which ones had helped him achieve his current place.
Worse were the ones who hated every bit of it and did nothing. Just like him. But…didn’t it count for something that he spoke to the Princess anyway? Took the beatings? Stayed despite the fact that one wrong move guaranteed the Grand Duke would cease to tolerate the Curator’s wishes and finally do away with Wesley?
He didn’t expect anyone to help him. There was no point in helping an unwanted bastard child, a mere peasant. But everyone watching as he and the Princess were punished should be helping her. Princess Trina was all that remained of the proud royal family that had ruled for centuries, the line unbroken. A beautiful, female equivalent of the Prince dearly beloved by all who knew him.
They did nothing.
It made him furious.
“So it would seem you’re a liar after all, Curator’s apprentice.”
Wesley stared at the carpet, flinching as he felt someone, probably the guard, harm Prince. He was being held too tightly, treated roughly. The poor toad had less to do with anything than even the poor Princess. It had only been in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“Would you like to try and explain yourself, Curator’s apprentice?”
He was dead, he knew he was. And he knew how they’d do it, and how they’d make it useful. All because he dared to find a friend in the Princess. Was the Grand Duke so insecure as that?
“My name is not Curator’s apprentice,” Wesley said. “My name is Wesley.” He looked up, blue eyes blazing. “It should be easy enough for you to remember, seeing as it’s your name as well. Just like our hair is the same. And our eyes. The same build, the same height. My face might differ slightly, but it still resembles yours. Try it out, Grand Duke. Wesley. Quite easy to say.”
The hall fell silent. The Grand Duke looked at him, face blank but blue eyes just as fierce. “Feel we have nothing to lose, do we?”
“Precisely,” Wesley replied. “I’ve been beaten, whipped, left naked in the forest. My nasty little brothers have tried nearly everything on me. I’m sure given time, they would have done all of it. I never touched the Princess once, except in friendship. While you abused me, and the nobility ignored or mocked me.” Cold derision slipped into his voice as he spoke. “Princess Trina was kind to me. Nothing more. I’m no threat to your machinations, father. All I wanted was to meet you, after mother passed away. But she was right – you were her biggest mistake.”
The Grand Duke matched Wesley’s cold voice with a chilling laugh. “Do not be so dramatic. I’m not killing you – talking to the princess is not a crime.” He motioned to the guard holding the toad and held it up by one leg, making Wesley wince. “Your mate suits you. If I were you, I would be grateful such thought was put into your bonding.” He switched his gaze to the princess. “Do you know anything about this spell, Princess?”
“It’s forbidden,” the Princess said quietly, hands clasped, eyes on the carpet.
“Yes,” the Grand Duke said. “I suppose it is. But the King may permit anything, and as I am standing in that place until you come of age, I will permit it this once. It’s so fitting, how could I not? An ugly toad for an ugly toad. Do you know why it was forbidden?” He asked the question idly, as if he was conversing simply to pass the time.
Princess Trina shook her head, though her face was pale.
“Because they realized several flaws in the spell too late. Creating spells is a tricky business, because it is hard to know all the layers of a Word. They can mean many things, especially when you begin to combine them. All manner of problems began to appear with this spell. Horrible things happened. So they banned it.”
Though it was obvious she wanted to cry, and that her hands would be trembling were she not holding them together so tightly, the princess merely nodded.
“Blair, Florin.” The Grand Duke beckoned to his sons and handed the toad over to them. Everyone around them, even those who normally supported the Grand Duke, had gone dead silent. Risky, to be so brazen in front of people who could turn against him, but why would they? In one small meeting he had just made clear that he and his sons were familiar with forbidden spells, that he could and would kill a man to force the princess’s obedience, and the man he would kill was his bastard son. “Take care of this for the Curator’s apprentice. I’m certain he’s far too busy helping prepare for the festivities without his beloved underfoot all the time.”
“We’ll take very good care of it, father.” Blair smirked as he took the toad. He knelt in front of Wesley. “Nothing will happen to him.” The unspoken ‘yet’ clogged the air. “Would you like to kiss your beloved goodbye?” The brothers grinned, laughed.
Wesley looked sadly at the toad, who seemed to stare solemnly back, dark eyes unblinking. It held still in Blair’s rough hold, and gave a feeble croak. The poor thing. Prince had nothing to do with the entire situation, yet if the Princess disobeyed once, the toad would be killed to get rid of him neatly and tidily.
Looking into the smirking faces of his brother, the cold blankness of his father’s face, Wesley leaned forward and gave the toad a brief kiss. “Sorry, Prince,” he whispered. “I wasn’t a very good bonded, was I? Thank you for the company, though.” He could hear Blair and Florin laugh – even the Grand Duke was amused to see him kiss a toad – but Wesley ignored them all. He was done.
Then the screams started. Blair gave a hoarse shout of surprise, knocking the kneeling Wesley over as he stumbled back, away from something Wesley couldn’t see at first. When he finally struggled up, he saw a hazy sort of light in front of the Grand Duke, who watched with a frown from the throne.
The light grew, consuming the room, making it hard to see. Then it went from hazy to blazing, and Wesley closed his eyes against it.
He opened them again when everything seemed to go dark. And could not believe what he saw.
His painting. Alive. Wesley shook his head. No, not his painting. Its subject. Which wasn’t possible. Prince Alton was dead.
“Grand Duke,” Prince Alton said coldly.
The Grand Duke didn’t appear fazed by the fact that the toad had turned into a dead prince.
“That is not your seat,” the prince continued. “Get out of it.” Instead of waiting for the Grand Duke to obey, he reached out, grabbed and threw the Grand Duke off the dais and to the floor beside Wesley. Then he turned to Blair and Florin, throwing out words that made the room heavy and cold.
Wesley watched as they dropped soundlessly the floor and lay still.
“Get up,” Alton told the Grand Duke coldly.
The Grand Duke stood, brushing off his ornate coat. “I don’t know what game is being played here, but—“
Moving quickly, Alton descended the dais and backhanded the Grand Duke hard enough to send him reeling back. “Game? There is no game. But there is murder, and attempted murder, and a whole list of further crimes. You and your sons will hang – for the death of my parents, the death of my uncle, attempting to murder me, and for abusing the Princess and Wesley.”
“Him?” The Grand Duke’s expression faltered, showing his surprise and disbelief. “What has that peasant to do with anything?”
Alton ignored the question. “Would you like to try and deny the charges?”
“Of course I’m denying them.”
“Deny all you like,” Alton said. “It will not change your fate. You should have made certain your stupid sons knew what they were about.” He threw his arms out. “Do I look stupid to you? Gullible? Did you forget, Grand Duke, that magic was always my obsession? Did you really think those two fools could best me? They defeated me for a time, but even without their unintentional help I would have found my way back!”
The Grand Duke frowned, control over his emotions gradually slipping. “Their help?”
“The bonding!” Alton threw his head back and laughed. “Your sons attempted to kill me, but I managed to change the spell at the last. My power as a toad was limited, but someday I would have found a way to get what I needed. Then your sons, in their maliciousness, took care of it for me. All the power I needed and more was provided through the bonding. It took only for the bonding to be made complete for me to free myself.”
Swearing, the Grand Duke gave up any attempt to remain controlled and lashed out with words of his own.
Alton laughed, and spoke three. The Grand Duke fell at his feet, as still and silent as his sons. He shifted his cold gaze to the nobles gathered in the room. “It is only because my parents would not want it that I don’t punish every last one of you. But I won’t forget that in my absence, every last one of you let these things occur. Believe me, I know exactly what has been done – or not done, as it were. Get out.”
The assembled nobles wasted no time in fleeing, pale-faced and confused.
“Alton!” The Princess, so still until then, moved in a flurry of yellow silk to embrace her cousin. “I can’t believe—you—how—“
“Shhh, Trina.” Alton kissed her brow, then held her tightly. “Everything is okay now. I’m sorry I left you alone.”
Trina dissolved into sobs while Alton gently soothed her.
Wesley watched them. Watched him. There was an edge there, brought on no doubt by all the events surrounding his supposed death. He was far more beautiful in person than in paint. A dream come true.
Except the bitter reality was that he may as well still be dead, so far as Wesley was concerned. Because when all was said and done, he was a peasant – and worse still the bastard son of the Grand Duke.
It was all too much, and looking at him caused a pain Wesley couldn’t bear. But he watched him a moment longer anyway before finally fleeing.
He barely heard the knock at the door several hours later, stirring from where he’d fallen asleep pretending to read. A glance out the balcony doors told him it was late. Too late for anyone to be bothering with him, unless one of the maids was bringing him a late dinner. “Come in,” he called, voice hoarse with sleep.
The book tumbled to the floor as he hastily stood, realizing it wasn’t a servant entering his room. “Majesty!”
Alton frowned. “Why did you leave?”
“Leave?” Wesley returned the frown with one of his own. “Should I have stayed?”
“Of course.” Alton stopped before him. “Couldn’t you feel I didn’t want you to go?” So handsome, it still and would always hurt to look at him, at those glass-green eyes filled with a kindness so few had ever shown him.
“What?”
Then Alton surprised him by smiling, one hand going to Wesley’s mop of curls, stroking them with something like familiarity. Bringing up memories, shadows of dreams that Wesley had been trying hard to suppress. Every night he’d dreamed of this man, and the past two nights the toad had slept with him. His cheeks burned with humiliation. “Through the bond. When I was a toad, I know you felt when I was upset or bothered. So why didn’t you notice I was upset to discover you had vanished?”
“I…” He’d thought it was just him. Why would the Prince care if he was there or not?
Alton laughed softly, burying his hand in curls and tugging Wesley closer. “My poor, lonely Wes. I’ve much to teach you about magic, and the bond which connects us. You only seem to feel it when you sleep.” Fingers ghosted over his face, nose and cheeks, those glass-green eyes locked to Wesley’s clear blue.
Wesley drew a sharp breath. No one called him Wes, not ever. Only the Prince of his dreams.
“I’m sorry I had to ignore you for so long, today, Wes.” Alton smiled ruefully. “There is much to which I must attend.” The hands dropped from his hair and face to wrap around Wesley’s shoulders. “I fear I will have to neglect you much in the coming days, to set everything to rights. But tonight is free, because we deserve and have earned at least that much.”
“But—what—” Wesley shook his head. “You’re not real, are you?”
Alton laughed, and Wesley could feel it all along the lines of his body, so close did the prince hold him. “Very real this time, Wes.”
“How?”
“Because of you. No one else, I think, would have been willing to accept a toad, and care for it. And no one else loves me like you do, enough that the bond took and held, and gave me strength enough to break the spell keeping me a toad.”
Wesley could only stare.
Alton chuckled. “If you were better at feeling things through the bond, Wes, you would know I love you too. But you’ll get the hang of it, eventually.” He ducked his head, pressed soft kisses to Wesley’s temple, cheek, and the corner of his mouth before finally taking a real kiss.
It felt new and familiar all at once, like every dream he’d ever had. The prince still smelled like fresh water and grass, a spring breeze through a sun-bright meadow. He felt warm, and tasted the same. Too real for him to dare believe.
“So what do you say, Wes?” Alton asked at last, green eyes bright even in the dim light, dark lips wet and curved in a smile. Reality, if that’s what it was, was quickly outstripping his dreams. “Do you mind being stuck with a Toad Prince?”
Hearing Alton call himself a toad pulled a laugh from Wes, who still could not reconcile the two images. But he did remember how the toad sat quietly in his arms, and how he’d woken to find it curled up against him. The dreams that for the past two nights had almost seemed real. Willing to begin to believe, he realized they probably had been real. He smiled, arms tightening around Alton’s waist. “I would be honored.”
“Silly, silly Wes,” Alton said with a laugh, leaning in to kiss him again. “Tis I who am most honored.”
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Date: 2006-03-04 09:33 pm (UTC)I'm sad to say I found an error... and then promptly lost it. Some help I am. -_-;;
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Date: 2006-03-04 09:54 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-04 11:32 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-05 12:54 am (UTC)And... because
Wesley the picked up a small mirror... Should be then, I think.
Fair skin, pale link lips... pink lips.
:3
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Date: 2006-03-05 01:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-05 04:43 am (UTC)We were saying that I liked hurt-comfort and it was cliche? Well we obviously both like it (and write it) anyway. XD
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Date: 2006-03-05 05:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-05 06:55 am (UTC)Ribbit!
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Date: 2006-03-05 04:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-06 02:19 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-06 03:11 am (UTC)I also liked how the magic and curses tied together, karma-like.
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Date: 2006-03-06 06:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-03-06 08:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-08-05 04:06 pm (UTC)