Archive of Our Own

Arthur doesn’t look up as the door swings open. Nor does he look up after hearing his father’s sigh.

“I thought you’d be reading again,” his father, the King of England says.

“Nothing better to do,” Arthur says turning a page of his fairy tale book without looking up.

Arthur was the youngest of his brothers, he was 17 and they were all 20-23. They liked to go horse riding and shoot arrows, Arthur just wanted to sit by the window in the castle's library in that comfortable worn-out armchair with a good book. He preferred to escape to mystical lands where princes and princesses fought dragons, where carpets could fly, where witches cursed people and where ugly stepsisters were punished. He especially liked reading the latter after his brothers had upset him too much, imagining his ugly brothers in the place of the ugly stepsisters.

“It is all good and well that you love to read,” the King says after studying his son who still hadn’t looked up at him. “But everything in moderation, my boy.”

“I have all the moderation I need,” Prince Arthur shrugs. “I’ve got fiction,” he points at a bookshelf, “Non-fiction,” he points at another one, “And even poetry.”

The King sighs again. When was the last time this kid was even out in the sun? He knew Arthur had been cooped up in the library all week with Grimms’ Fairy Tales and an English-German dictionary. Arthur and the book had been inseparable since he received it for his recent 17th birthday. He had even used the dictionary to attempt to hand-write English translations for several of the stories already.

The King got an idea, “Arthur, if you shoot arrows for 30 minutes a day in the fields and go horse riding once a day, I shall arrange for a German tutor to visit several times a week, and then you’ll be able to understand those fairy tales without the dictionary.”

For the first time in the conversation, Arthur looked up at his father, looking into his eyes to call his bluff, “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Can I stop having French lessons too?” Arthur asks hopefully.

Arthur hated French. He was bad at it. He drove his poor patient Belgian teacher crazy with his mangled pronunciation and continued confusion about the tenses.

The King chuckled, “No.”

Arthur pouted before agreeing to the deal, “Fine!”

True to his word, Prince Arthur had started riding his horse and shooting arrows in the fields once a day, and true to the King’s word, a German tutor by the name of Ludwig visited for the first time yesterday. The serious man expected to find a grumpy 17-year-old Prince, judging by how the French teacher had described the boy. But alas, he met a blushing Prince who talked animatedly about the Black Forest, the witches inside it getting pushed into ovens by children and Arthur showed him how he had attempted to translate the entirety of Hansel and Gretel into English using just a dictionary and his English copy of the story for reference. Ludwig hoped this passion would make for a motivated student.

But today, Arthur was with his three brothers doing archery on the castle’s grounds.

“Loser of this round has to collect all of the arrows from the grass,” Alistair declares suddenly, grinning smugly down at his youngest brother.

Arthur spluttered, “That’s not fair!” That git knew full well that he’d lose.

“At least give him three rounds so the book-nerd has a chance of winning,” Dylan teased.

“You could give him 100,” Connor adds. “And he’d still lose.”

Arthur huffs, gripping his bow tighter with his white knuckles.

10 minutes later, Arthur had scored the lowest points. His brothers waved to him sarcastically and walked away without another word.

“You brutes!” Arthur shouting a string of insults after them, some that would make his father give him a stern look. Though, his brothers didn’t even look back once.

Arthur lets out a great sigh, then accepts his fate as he yanks all the arrows from the grass. He tiredly walks over the wooden board and begins tugging at the arrows wedged far into it. He is pulling at a particularly stuck one, which suddenly comes loose and Arthur falls back onto the grass. He lays on the grass for a few moments praying his brothers didn’t see that, he knew he wouldn’t hear the last of it, but then he is startled by a bizarre noise.

A strange almost clicking sound. Arthur sits up and looks around, seeing nothing. Until he notices a small green frog sitting on top of the wooden target. The frog’s head bobbing up and down while emitting a croaking noise reminding Arthur of laughter.

“Are…” Arthur squints up at the creature in disbelief. “Are you laughing at me?”

The frog looks smugly down at him, finished with its fit of laughter, then hops down and disappears into the grass, leaving Arthur very confused.

He had almost forgotten about the frog the next day when it appeared again. Arthur was in the stables, brushing his horse after a ride, when he heard a loud croak. He looks up to find the small green frog sitting on a wooden beam looking down at him.

“Oh, must you keep looking down on me?” Arthur huffs up at the frog, irritated with that smug look on its face.

The frog seems to cock its head, before jumping down onto the horse’s back, now at eye level with Arthur.

“You understand me?”

The frog flicks its head down in a nod before it jumps off the horse and hops away.

“Wait!” Arthur runs after it.

But the frog had vanished. Though not for long.

The next day Arthur was taking a nap under a tree in the forest after riding his horse out, bringing his copy of Grimms’ Tales. He was attempting to read Hansel and Gretel in German, but his brain had gotten too tired without a dictionary and he had fallen asleep.

He woke up to a loud croak. Arthur's eyes immediately flew open and he looked around for a small green frog expectantly. He wasn't surprised to find the smug-faced frog blinking at him, sitting on the open book.

“Ugh,” Arthur groans, groggy from his nap. “You again?”

The frog croaks back.

Arthur sits up from where he had been slumped against the tree, “What do you want?” he askes as he rubs his eyes.

The frog croaks again and stamps its sticky little foot down on the book.

“What?”

The frog taps his foot again several more times on the page.

Arthur shuffles forward and glances down. The frog's foot was on a photo of a princess talking to a frog. Arthur stared down at the picture with goosebumps, he knew for a fact that he had left the book open on Hansel and Gretel. Had... the frog turned to this page?

The frog looked at him expectantly.

“What?” Arthur loudly asks the smug frog.

The frog blinks at him several times.

“I don’t understand… I haven’t read this story anyway.”

The frog seems to roll its eyes before jumping off the book and onto the grass. Arthur picks the book up and glances down at the writing for a few moments.

“Oh, I don't understand German!” Arthur groans in frustration, slamming the book shut. “Can you just speak English?!”

The frog studies the Prince for a few moments then hops away.

“Oh really?” Arthur yells after it. “You wake me up from my nap then just leave. Fine. Leave me alone then.”

Arthur had not seen the frog for a few days, yet found himself on the lookout while on the castle’s grounds. He scanned the grass, studied the tree branches and glanced around the stables. There was no frog to be seen.

He had given up on seeing the frog again. Arthur started to believe he imagined the frog responding to his words.

The next day, halfway through his thrice a week German lesson, Arthur decided to ask his teacher about the story.

“Sir, what does this say?” Arthur turns the book towards Ludwig.

“The frog prince,” Ludwig says glancing at the title then returning to the lesson, pointing at the backboard where a list of German nouns was written. Arthur was meant to be determining the gender. “Next noun is Apf-.”

“Excuse me, Sir. what is this story about?” Arthur interrupts.

“If you study German now, you might be able to read it someday, “ Ludwig says bitterly then continues. “Now as I was saying, Der, Die or Das for Apfel?” [The, the or the apple.]

“Der,” Arthur answers then loudly says. “But Sir, it’s really important! What happens in the frog prince?”

Ludwig sighs, seeing he’ll get no concentration from the boy.

“It’s about a prince who has been turned into a frog,” Ludwig says pointing to the next word.

“A Prince?” Arthur immediate asks, “Why did he turn into a frog?”

“A witch I think, it’s been a while since I read the story,” Ludwig tells him shortly.

“What happens?” Arthur gasps.

Ludwig turns and compromises, “If I tell you, you’ll have to do extra homework to make up for the time you’re wasting in this lesson.”

“Okay,” Arthur agrees, to Ludwig’s surprise, the boy must really want to know.

“The witch turns the prince into a frog,” Ludwig tells him, “The princess brings him inside and then throws him at the wall and he turns back into a Prince.”

“Hm, so I can throw it at a tree,” Arthur mutters to himself.

Ludwig raises an eyebrow at that, “In some versions, the Princess kisses the frog.”

“Ugh,” Arthur recoils. “I’m not kissing the wretched beast!”

“What?”

“Nothing!” Arthur says quickly. “Let’s carry on the lesson.”

Ludwig stares for a few seconds, but continues with a shrug. Just a bookish kid with a big imagination, he thinks.

Arthur shot arrows with his brothers every day, losing the bet every single time and had to pick up all the arrows. He was growing tired of it. Today, he decided to saunter off into an open area of the forest, a small garden with flowers, a gazebo, an old well and a small outdoor stage for when the castle put on plays. Arthur was practising shooting arrows at a tree, though, he was missing horribly. Arrows went all the way back into the forest or hit the grass too early. Arthur frowned in concentration as he pulled his arrow back, he hoped to at least hit a tree this time.

As he did, a bird squawked loudly from above him in the trees. Arthur jumped, releasing the arrow when a bird’s nest fell down and hit his arm. The arrow wobbled off-course. Arthur watched in horror as the arrow flew 10 meters left, directly at the well.

Arthur hears a loud plop and sees a splash of water.

“No!” Arthur shouts as he bolts towards it.

The arrow had knocked his precious copy of Grimms’ Fairy Tales into the water.

Arthur stares down into the well, watching the bubbles float up to the surface from the sinking book. His sadness turns to anger as he watches the book disappear down into the darkness. Why did he have to be so bad at archery? How dare the bird distract him?!

He has his face in his hands, elbows resting on the well, when he hears a ribbit. Arthur pulls his hands away to see that damn frog sitting across from him.

“Oh, hop-off will you!” Arthur shouts, angry tears running down his face. “Leave me alone.”

“Crying doesn’t suit you, you look better smiling,” the frog says, in a croaky but accented voice.

Arthur’s mouth falls open. The frog… Can talk?

“Yes, yes, I can talk,” the frog croaks in a bored sounding voice. “But tell me, are you a Prince?”

Arthur frowns at the bizarre question, “Yes.”

The frog’s eyes seem to glow in excitement at that, “Dearest Prince, I will retrieve your book if you promise me something in return.”

Arthur’s face lights up in hope that he might get his book back, then contorts into disgust.

“I’m not kissing you,” Arthur immediately states, thinking of the plot his German teacher told him.

“Why, am I not cute enough?”

“No!” Arthur shudders. “You're a slimy gross little frog.”

“Ah that’s a pity,” the frog says with a shrug. “But non, I want you to look after me. To let me eat from your plate, sleep in your bed and take me out riding with you. ”

“What?” Arthur asks in disbelief.

“I can’t bare living out here in the grass anymore,” the frog says with a sigh. “Last offer, do you promise?”

“Wait,” Arthur says. “What do you want agai-.”

“I would hurry, your book is getting wetter and wetter as we speak,” the frog interrupts him.

“Oh fine!” Arthur huffs immediately, thinking of his precious book. “Quickly then!”

“Say I promise.”

“I promise!” Arthur shouts at the frog in annoyance.

The frog grins a toothless grin, before diving into the well.

“Vile creature!” Arthur rants. “Little trickster beast.”

A few moments pass before the smug-faced frog reappears, its sticky frog fingers pushing up a book.

Arthur grabs it immediately from the water. He quickly checks the pages of the soggy book, relieved when he sees the ink hadn’t run. He makes eye contact with that frog floating in the water, smiling up at him smugly. Then Arthur turns on his heel and runs.

“Wait!” The frog croaks after him. “You made a promise!”

Arthur runs to the castle, not looking back, leaving his bow and arrows behind. He immediately puts his soggy book in front of a fireplace and sits down to read another book in the warmth.

He forgets about the frog until dinner time. Arthur, the King and his three brothers sat at the table. A continuous tapping at the window caused the King to ask one of his staff to check it out.

“My my!” she exclaims after pulling back the curtain. “A frog is knocking on the window.”

“A frog?” the King confirms.

“Yes Sire, it’s waving at me.”

“Let the fellow in, let’s see what he has to say,” the King nods at her.

“No, don’t let the rotten thing in!” Arthur objects, dropping his metal spoon into his soup bowl in fright with a loud clatter.

“I didn’t know you were scared of frogs,” Alistair sneers.

“I’m not scared of frogs,” Arthur snaps back.

“Do you know this frog?” The King asks.

Arthur frowns at the table as he speaks, “Yes, the creature has been annoying me all week.”

“And what does your amphibian friend want?”

“He’s not my friend!” Arthur splutters.

“Little Prince Arthur,” Connor coos at him. “Playing with little slimy frogs.”

“SHUT UP!”

“Boys, boys, stop,” the King lifts a hand, they fall silent. “And what does the frog want?”

“I dropped my book into the well and the frog got it back for me. I promised it something, I can’t even remember what the beast asked for now,” Arthur huffs.

“Arthur, go let the frog in,” the King said studying the boy.

“What?”

“You made a promise, you are going to honour it.”

“But it’s a frog!” Arthur argues back.

“Arthur,” the King says finally, calmly staring his piercing green eyes into Arthur like daggers. “Go let the frog in.”

Arthur looked at his brothers for help but they remain silent. All four of them knew that when their father spoke like this there was no point arguing back.

So Arthur groaned as he stood up and went over to the window. The frog was sitting there, blinking at him from the window ledge. Arthur opened the window and it hopped in immediately.

“Good evening,” the King said to the frog as the frog jumped up onto the table and Arthur sat back down with slumped shoulders.

“Bonsoir, your highness,” the frog bows before the King. [Good evening.]

“So you’re French,” the king rubs his chin thinking. “You wouldn’t happen to be a Prince, would you?”

“Indeed mon Roi,” the frog puffs up his chest. “I am Prince Francis. Though, a witch has turned me into a frog.” [My King.]

The King nods knowingly. Prince Francis, he thinks, he had been hoping to introduce his son to the other eventually. They had been born in the same year and their friendship would be a good alliance for England, and Lord knows Arthur didn’t have many friends his age. The King had met Prince Francis when he was just 5, he remembers a darling child with silky blond hair framing the delicate features of his face. As he looks into the frogs blue eyes, he is convinced that this frog is Prince Francis.

He smiles kindly at the frog then says, “I am under the impression you made a promise with my son.”

“Oui,” the frog turns to glare at Arthur. “But he ran away and left me. I had to hop all the way to the castle.”

The King continues his questioning, “And what is this promise he made you? Arthur seems to have forgotten it, along with his manners.”

“He,” Francis the frog narrows his eyes at Arthur again. “Agreed that he would look after me, let me eat from his plate, sleep in his bed and take me riding with him.”

Arthur shrinks in his seat as his father says to the frog and points to Arthur’s plate, “Well, do have some dinner, Prince Francis.”

Francis turns to Arthur who shakes his head, “Father, you can’t be serious! I can’t look after this horrible frog.”

“You can and you will,” his Father says sternly. “You made a promise.”

Under the King’s watchful eye, Francis shares Arthur’s dinner. Everyone had soon finished their meal.

“Can you take me to your bed?” Francis blinks up at Arthur from where he sleepily laid on the table. “I’m tired. I hopped a long way to get to the castle.”

Arthur looks up at his father who stared back wordlessly.

“Fine,” Arthur frowns as he stands up with a clatter.

Francis the frog jumps onto Arthur’s head.

“Ugh!” Arthur shrieks as his brothers laugh. “You’ll get your slime in my hair.”

“It’s already a mess, what difference will it make?” Francis says as he jumps onto Arthur’s shoulder to avoid being swatted off as Arthur fixes his hair.

Arthur stomps along to his room in annoyance at the frog’s mutterings.

“I have lovely hair you know,” the frog tells him from his shoulder. “Yours looks so rough, mine is luxurious.”

“Well, you’re a slimy horrible toad now.”

“Can't you walk with more grace? I’d rather sit on a galloping horse,” Francis says as he rocks on the stomping Prince’s shoulder. “I’m going to fall off.”

“I don’t care.”

“French castles are more majestic than English ones,” the frog remarks as they walk down the corridors.

“Will you shut up!”

They get to Arthur’s room. Arthur hesitantly grabs the wet frog from his shoulder and places him in the corner of his room, “You can sleep here.”

“I’m sleeping on your bed.”

“No you’re not,” Arthur says.

“You promised,” the frog blinks up at him, “I’ll tell the King if you make me sleep on the floor.”

And that is how Arthur found himself feeling uncomfortable in his own bed with a wet frog.

“Stay down at the bottom,” Arthur warns him grumpily as he closes his eyes.

“Do I get a goodnight kiss?” Francis croaking voice comes from the dark.

“Maybe a goodnight punch,” Arthur grumbles back.

Arthur wakes up in the morning to find frog Prince Francis curled up against his arm. He prods the frog with his finger.

“Ow! Ow!” Francis the frog groans as he awakens.

“I said stay down the bottom of the bed.”

“It was uncomfortable down there,” Francis complains rubbing his side with his froggy fingers where Arthur jabbed him. “I am a Prince you know! My sheets are silk back home, yours are just cotton.”

Arthur groans throwing his head back down on his pillow, “How long are you going to be here?”

“Until I’m human again.”

“How long will that be?”

“Who knows,” Francis said snuggling back up in the crook of Arthur’s arm.

Arthur lets Francis eat breakfast off his plate again then takes him to his French lesson.

“Arthur,” Emma gasps at him. “Why have you brought a frog into my classroom?”

“I don’t want him to be here either,” Arthur grabs the frog from his shoulder and drops him unceremoniously onto the desk.

“Madame,” Francis the frog bows once he straightens himself out. The frog explains his situation in rapid French that Arthur couldn’t follow to the Belgian woman, then turns to Arthur and glares before he fires out more rapid sentences.

“What are you calling me, you ugly toad!” Arthur complains through gritted teeth, assuming the nasty beast was insulting him.

“Let’s just start the lesson,” Emma sighs. Motivating Arthur was a hard enough job, she hadn’t the energy to get to the bottom of the talking frog mystery.

Francis ends up mocking Arthurs accent several times and whispering insults he couldn't understand.

“Can you shut up?” Arthur finally snaps in the middle of the lesson, he had understood Francis’ last insult. “What’s your problem with me?”

“You left me by the well and you’re a promise-breaker.” 

Arthur frowns, “But that’s in the past now.”

“I want an apology,” Francis declares crossing his frog arms.

Arthur was going to refuse, then he internally admits that he had wronged the frog, “Okay fine, you annoying slime ball, I’m sorry.”

Some of the tension between them dissipates after this exchange, Francis stops whispering French insults, Arthur feels less agitated at the frog's presence.

Later Arthur takes him to the library. They decide to research how to turn Francis human again so he can go back home to France. Arthur looks around for a book that may help them, however Grimms’ tales is the only book that has any reference to a talking frog.

“Can you read German?” Arthur asks Francis, sitting in the armchair and opening the book.

“Not well,” the frog admits, peering down at the book from Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur groans, “We’ll have to use a dictionary then.”

They manage to get to the part in the story where the princess kisses the frog.

“I’m not kissing you!” Arthur shouts at Francis blinking at him expectantly as they reach that sentence.

“Please!” the frog wails. “Don’t be a selfish brat of a Prince.”

“You’re slimy and disgusting, no!”

“Just do it,” Francis screams back.

“My German teacher said there are multiple endings to the story,” Arthur quickly says. “Kissing you probably won't work.”

“Let’s just try!” Francis pleads.

“I can’t!”

“I’m really handsome as a human,” Francis argues back. “I have lovely blond hair, beautiful blue eyes. Imagine you’re kissing that person.”

“Oh don’t be so full of yourself!” Arthur says but still imagines a beautiful Prince in his head nonetheless. “I wouldn’t kiss you if you were a human anyway because your personality is rubbish.”

Francis glares back for a few moments, before changing his tactic, “Imagine if you were stuck as a frog,” Francis says. “Imagine if you had hopped around in the grass for a month. Imagine if you were eating flies and sleeping in trees. Imagine if you were out in the British rain all alone with no one to talk to.”

Seeing Arthur’s silent pout he decides to continue, “I wouldn’t want to kiss a frog, but I would do it if there was a poor human stuck inside it. Please save me, just kiss me.”

Arthur continues to pout. Then he tuts as he grabs Francis around his middle and holds him with both hands in front of his face, “You’ll owe me for this.”

Frog Francis sees he’ll get his way. He closes his eyes and puckers his lips.

“Ew,” Arthur says. “I’m not kissing you on the lips.”

Arthur gulps before kissing the frog on top of its slimy head. He shudders at the cold damp creature’s touch on his lips. Then he cringes and drops the frog.

“Phhhll, phhhhhhhffff,” Arthur gasps as he wipes his mouth on the back of his sleeves in disgust trying to rub off the horrible slime.

“It didn’t work, I’m still a frog!” Francis wails up at him from where he was dropped into Arthur lap. “You’ll have to kiss my lip.”

Arthur shakes his head still rubbing his lips, “You’re disgusting.”

“I’m just a poor Prince trapped inside a frog,” the frog croaks sadly, going for the pity approach that worked before. “You have to try.”

Arthur unhappily picks the frog up, the guilt trip working on him again.

“Please just do it!” Francis says after Arthur spends a minute trying to gather up the courage to kiss the frog.

“Be quiet,” Arthur tells him, closing his eyes, trying to psych himself up.

Arthur takes a deep breath before smooshing the frog's face against his lips. The cold slimy sensation makes him immediately drop Francis again.

Francis lets out a horrible wailing sound.

“Did it work?” Arthur asks shakily he wipes his lips and tries to repress his full-body shudders.

Arthur looks down and finds Francis the frog frowning unhappily up at him, “I don’t want to be a frog forever.”

“The spell has to wear off eventually,” Arthur comforts him then shudders. “So I kissed a frog for nothing…”

Francis suddenly begins to smile, “I wouldn’t say it was for nothing.”

Arthur looks down at him quizzically.

“At least I got a kiss from a pretty English Prince,” the frog says smugly.

Arthur’s face reddens as he loses his words.

“And you got to kiss an extremely handsome French Prince,” Francis adds in an attempt to cheer up Arthur.

“Oh be quiet, you big-headed little beast,” Arthur says finding his tongue.

“I really am quite beautiful,” the frog smiles blinking happily up at Arthur. “When I’m human again you’ll like me.”

“Only if your personality changes too.”

Later on, Arthur was in the stables saddling up his horse. Francis watched him from the horse’s head when two of his brothers came in.

“Dirty little Artie’s in here with his sticky little frog,” Alistair nudged Connor.

“You say that now, but wait until I’m human and beautiful again,” Francis said regally. “You’ll regret it.”

“Arthur had a little frog, a little frog, a little frog,” Connor began to sing to the tune of Mary had a little lamb.

Alistair laughed then joined the singing, “Arthur had a little frog and everywhere Arthur went, the frog was sure to go.”

“Ha ha, very funny,” Arthur said sarcastically.

“Coming hunting with us?” Alistair said, grabbing Arthur roughly around his shoulders and messing up his hair.

“Ow!” Arthur struggles.

“Go on, get on your horse,” Alistair says, releasing his brother and pushing him towards his horse. “Where’s your bow?”

Arthur remembers how he ran away from Francis at the well.

“I left it in the forest yesterday,” Arthur admits quietly.

“Idiot,” Connor rolls his eyes. “You have an expensive bow for what? To leave it in the forest to rot away, huh?”

Arthur frowns.

“Let’s go find the little squirt’s bow,” Dylan says entering the stable, “Then let’s go hunt!”

Soon they were off. Riding along with Arthur bringing up the rear, Francis on his horse’s head. They collect Arthur’s bow and arrows from the well before galloping into the forest.

The three older brothers were very focused on looking for rabbits, Arthur was grumpy and disengaged.

“Does mon lapin Prince not like hunting?” Francis asks him.

“I’m not your rabbit.”

“If I’m your little frog,” Francis winks. “You can be mon petit lapin.”

“You’re not my frog!” Arthur blushes and pouts harder.

“What are you and your little frog arguing about now?” Connor asks overhearing their conversation from ahead of them

“Shh,” Alistair says. They slow, apparently spotting an animal.

Francis jumps onto Arthur's shoulder then whispers, “So, do you like hunting?”

Arthur sighs the whispers back, “Not really, I’m not very good at it and I don’t see the point.”

“Oh!” Francis says excitedly. “Me neither! I’d rather stay in the castle and let the nobles go.”

Arthur turns his head to glance at the frog curiously, “Me too…”

“We’re made for each other,” Francis grins.

“Well, I don’t think so,” Arthur snaps.

“Shh!” Alistair hushes him again.

“What do you like to do in the castle all day?” Francis whispers again, trying to get to know the pretty yet cold prince.

“Read.”

“You actually like to study?” Francis pries.

“No, I read for fun.”

“What do you read for fun?” Francis tries to get the Prince talking.

Francis had started to want to make that little pouting face smile and laugh. Finding out Arthur’s interests might be the way to achieve this.

Arthur sighs in annoyance. Would he rather be alone bored watching his brothers or talking to a frog? He can’t decide.

“Fine,” Arthur whispers back. “I like reading fantasy books, especially fairy tales about magic, witches and wizards.”

“Do you know le Petit Chaperon Rouge?” Francis asks.

“The red chap?” Arthur tries to understand the French.

“No, the story about the little girl with the red hood, going to her grandmothers and a wolf eats her” Francis explains.

Arthur recognises it, “Little Red Riding Hood.”

“Let Artie get it,” Dylan says.

“What?” Arthur looks up at his brothers after hearing his name.

“Aren’t you paying attention?” Alistair lectures him, then points at a rabbit 20 meters ahead.

“I don’t want to,” Arthur shakes his head.

“Show us if you practising archery all week has paid off,” Connor says. “Or give us a good laugh when you fail.”

“You get it,” Arthur says.

“He’s doesn’t want to embarrass himself in front of his little frog,” Dylan grins at the others, who snigger quietly. Even Francis is ribbit-laughing.

“Shut up all of you!” Arthur hisses. “Fine. I’ll do it.”

Arthur frowns as he grabs his bow and an arrow off his back and readies it. He feels a lot of pressure. He can’t help but think about the damn frog watching him from his shoulder.

He pulls back the arrow… And misses. Way too high. Hits a tree. The rabbit runs away.

“Thought so,” Alistair nods then signals them to keep riding.

“It’s the frog's fault!” Arthur complains. “He’s heavy on my shoulder, he is messing up my aim.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Connor says from in front of him as they gallop along.

Francis jumps back down onto the horse and sits facing Arthur, “Do you believe in magic?”

Immediately Arthur replies, “Well, I’m currently speaking to a talking frog.”

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Francis asks.

“I don't know.”

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Francis bats his eyelids up at Arthur who scoffs.

“You ask too many questions.”

“Hey French frog,” Alistair calls from ahead. “Artie believes in unicorns.”

“Don’t start this again. I told you, I did see a unicorn!” Arthur claims. “In this very forest.”

Francis laughs at him; finally some passion.

“Don’t ribbit at me like that, you fiend!” Arthur shouts. “I did! I was riding a few months ago and I saw a silver horse with a horn on its head!”

They laugh at him.

“How about the fairies?” Dylan asks.

“They’re real!” Arthur says firmly.

“I bet they live in the forest too,” Connor smirks.

“They do,” Arthur says exasperatedly. “But once they came into my room when I was sleeping and woke me up.”

“He’s away with the fairies, Froggie,” Alistair tells Francis. “I wouldn’t bother courting him”

“I don’t mind my partners being a bit crazy,” Francis croaks.

“I’m not your partner,” Arthur huffs. “And I’m not crazy!”

“He’s an absolute nutter,” Dylan agrees.

“How dare you all gang up on me when we’re all talking to a frog!” Arthur finally bursts. “If I’m crazy, so are you.”

They just laugh as Arthur keeps defending himself with broken logic.

The older brothers caught 2 rabbits. When they return to the castle, it’s nearly time for supper. The King is already there with a quill in his hand.

“Good evening Prince Francis” the King looks up from his writing to greet the frog as Francis hops onto the table. “I am to send a letter to your parents to tell them you’re safe as I’m sure they are worried about you. Pray tell how you found yourself in England?”

“Merci, your majesty!” Francis bows his head gratefully.

Arthur feels guilty at that… He never bothered to ask why Francis was a frog, come to think of it. Yet Francis had asked him so many questions.

“I was in the grounds of my castle back home,” Francis begins. “In the forest, I met an old lady, who I think was a witch, she turned me into a frog and then I blinked and found myself in a different forest.”

The four Kirkland brothers were listening intently at the table, so was the King.

“Why did she turn you into a frog?” The King shoots one of his stern looks at Francis.

Francis looks down at the table.

“Why?” the King repeats calmly, he had a knack for knowing when a Prince was trying to hide something.

“She asked me for directions, and…” Francis mutters.

“And what?” the King asks.

The Kirkland brothers sat in silence, feeling the pain of that searching look their father gave the frog.

“… I said I was too busy to help…” Francis admits in a small voice. “She said I should learn to be small and helpless instead of being a… spoiled Prince.”

The King nods finally, satisfied with the answer.

“Don’t tell my parents,” Francis shrinks.

The King raises his eyebrow, then says, “I shall not, you have suffered enough. I believe you have learned your lesson by being a frog.”

The frog seems to relax its tense posture at that. Then the King asks, “So, how did you meet my son?”

“I hopped through the forest, eating disgusting flies for weeks,” the frog frowns at the memory. “Then saw this castle. I was watching the Princes playing archery… And I thought Arthur would help me,” Francis shoots Arthur a look, “He lost the game, so I thought he would have the weakest heart.”

Arthur scoffs as his brothers' cackles, “You litt-.”

“I jest,” Francis cuts him off, now smiling at the reaction, “It’s because you were the prettiest.”

This causes Arthur to clamp his open mouth shut and blush.

“Arthur and his little frog,” Alistair begins to coo. “Sitting in the tree…”

“K-I-S-S-I-N-G!” Alistair, Dylan and Connor sing in unison.

Arthur snaps his head up at that and glares at Francis, “You told them?!”

Francis' eyes widened at the accusation and he shakes his head.

“What?” Dylan asks. “He told us what?”

“NOTHING!” Arthur shouts, mortified.

His brothers stare at him as he shrinks into himself red-faced. The frog smiles smugly at the hole Arthur had dug for himself.

“Wait…” Connor says after the three brothers' long silence. “Does that mean Arthur kissed a frog?”

“Gross,” Dylan comments.

“Disgusting little boy,” Alistair adds.

“I was trying to turn him into a Prince again!” Arthur defends himself.

“I think you’ve been reading too many fairy tales, mate,” Alistair says.

Francis was enjoying how flustered Arthur had become. How his cute little cheeks burned red. He wished he was human to grab that pretty face and plant kisses all over it to make it turn impossibly redder, but alas, he had frog fingers and frog lips.

Thankfully, the King who had been smiling bemusedly decides to save the embarrassed 17-year old.

He tells the frog, “I hope you feel welcome here until you are human again, I trust that Arthur will take good care of you. I will send a letter to the French Queen and tell her you are safe.”

Soon, the dinner is brought in and they eat, while the brothers tease Arthur some more about how he kissed a frog. Arthur brings Francis to his bedroom again and puts him at the end of the bed as he climbs under the covers.

Arthur puts his head down on the pillow and gets comfortable when he feels a weight land beside his ear.

“Francis,” he says sternly.

“It’s too uncomfortable down there!” he croaks from beside him in the dark.

Arthur tuts and rolls over so he has his back to the frog, “Fine. Just don’t touch my face with your slimy body.”

“Can I have a goodnight kiss tonight?” Francis croaks.

Arthur ignores him.

“You’ve already kissed me twice,” Francis giggles teasingly in the dark. “Can’t I have another one?”

“No,” Arthur grumbles as Francis laughs at him. “Now let me sleep.”

Again, Arthur wakes up with a frog tucked into him. Francis had nuzzled himself into his neck and was still asleep.

Arthur’s morning lesson was German. Thankfully Francis’ German was poor, so he teased him a little less than he did in yesterday’s French. They enter the classroom and Ludwig stares at the frog on his shoulder.

“You have a frog,” Ludwig states, pointing at it.

“Yes Mr Beilschmidt,” Arthur sighs sitting down.

“Arthur, why do you have a frog?” his teacher asks him.

“He’s a prince-turned-frog,” Arthur tells him.

“What?”

“Yes,” Francis jumps off Arthur’s shoulder onto the desk and bows to introduce himself. “I am Prince Francis of France. I have been turned into a frog by a witch.”

Ludwig frowns then turns back to Arthur, “Is… Is this why you asked me about the Princess and the Frog?”

Arthur nods.

Ludwig looks between the frog on the desk and the Prince sitting behind it, furrowing his brow. Then finally, Ludwig decides to move onto the German lesson swiftly. He’d rather not get involved.

Arthur and Francis get into a pattern over the week. Arthur had several lessons the morning, Francis sits on his desk. In French lessons, Francis mocks him playfully, in German lessons Francis also mocks him, though a little less as his German is also mediocre. Francis even tries coaching him with archery, taking pity on Arthur who keeps losing to his brothers. They’re in the forest, practising aiming at a tree by the well.

“Chin up more,” Francis instructs from Arthur’s shoulder. “And look! You might as well have a frogs arm! Look how loose this is,” Francis says jumping onto Arthur’s pulled back arm.

“Like you’re any better than I am!” Arthur grumbles but adjusts his posture.

“I am,” Francis says confidently. “Now… TIREZ!” [SHOOT.]

Arthur lets go of the arrow and they watch it soar perfectly towards the tree and hit it for the first time in the hour they had been practising. Arthur's eyes widen.

“Told you so.”

Arthur is speechless, then grumbles a little less as Francis continues the coaching.

“I challenge you to an archery competition,” Arthur says the next day, confidently striding over to his brothers in the field. “Loser tidies my room.”

Alistair snorts shaking his head at his youngest brother in disbelief, “And what do we get when we inevitably win?”

“I tidy your rooms,” Arthur nods.

“So if you don’t win,” Connor confirms. “You will tidy all three of our bedrooms?”

Arthur nods determinedly.

“Let’s raise the stakes some more,” Dylan laughs mischievously, imagining Arthur’s face frowning and pouting after losing. “Loser cleans the stables too, with no help from the stable-hand.”

“You’re on,” Arthur holds eye contact.

“And your little lovey-dovey frog,” Alistair adds, looking at Francis perched on Arthur's shoulder. “Has to eat all the spiders in the corner of my room.”

Francis’ mouth widens as he begins to protest, “I refuse, I will not eat disgusting spide-.”

“He’ll do it!” Arthur shouts over him, then adds with a hint of irritation. “And he’s not my little frog!”

His three brothers snigger and they prepare their arrows.

“This is going to be fun,” Connor cackles imagining Arthur cleaning. “My room is a pigsty right now.”

The target has an outer-ring, a middle-ring and an inner ring, plus the bullseye.

Connor goes first and hits the inner-ring on all three tries.

Dylan goes next and scores the same.

Alistair shoots 2 in the inner-ring, then concentrates hard for his final shot. He releases his arrow and hits a bullseye.

Dylan and Connor laugh at the eldest brother who turns to Arthur and torments, “Let’s see you beat that then.”

Artur pouts his stubborn pout as he steps up to the line.

“You’ve got this mon cher,” Francis to him from his shoulder as he instructs him. “Elbow up, yes like that. And your chin, turn it.”

Arthur follows his advice, trying not to show his brothers that he was now nervous. Three messy bedrooms and the stable, not to mention Francis would kill him if he had to eat spiders.

He gulps as he shoots his first arrow. It hits the inner-ring.

“Awh, our little Artie's been practising,” Dylan comments condescendingly.

Arthur tries his best to ignore them as he prepares his next arrow.

Francis rolls his eyes, “Your chin is never right. Up!”

“I was just about to!” Arthur shouts back, taking his nerves out on Francis.

“No you wasn't,” Francis says.

“Come on,” Connor rolls his eyes. “I haven’t got all day to watch you and your frog flirting.”

“He’s not my frog!” Arthur snaps at him.

Arthur takes a deep breath and readies his arrow, making a point to lift his chin up so Francis won't nag.

He releases the arrow. Bullseye.

Dylan and Connor’s eyes pop out of their heads realising they're in danger of losing.

Alistair crosses his arms and taunts Arthur with, “You’re going to miss the next one. It’s not even going to hit the board. It’s going to go into the grass like it always does.”

Arthur frowns and bites his lip as he puts the arrow on the bow.

“Calm down,” Francis tells him. “If you lose your temper I’ll be eating spiders.”

“And I’ll be cleaning,” Arthur moans. “That’s worse than eating spiders!”

“Relax your shoulders,” Francis instructs desperately, knowing that Arthur would miss if he didn't calm down.

Despite himself, Arthur listens, “Right. Now elbow down. Yes, turn your head. Take a breath and…”

Arthur takes a breath.

“Tirez!”

Arthur lets go. The arrow soars through the air, going right through Alistar’s arrow and hitting a perfect bullseye. Arthur’s mouth drops open in shock.

“Ha!” Francis cheers at the brothers as he jumps about on Arthur's shoulder. “We beat you! If only you had me as an instructor you might have won.”

“You cheated,” Alistair says, stunned.

Arthur snaps out of his shock at that, “No we didn’t! We won fair and square. We’re just better than you idiots are.”

“Arthur and his little frog as a ‘we’ now, did you hear that?” Dylan results to teasing in irritation of losing.

Connor jumps in, “They’re a little couple, Arthur and his little frog, Arthur and his little frog!”

“Shut up!” Arthur yells, reddening as they continue chanting.

“Arthur and his little frog! Arthur and his little frog!”

“Oh shut up! You’re just sad you lost.”

“Ah, don’t listen to them, my rabbit,” Francis rolls his eyes. “We won and that’s all the matters.”

“Rabbit?” Connor repeats. “Did you hear that? Arthur’s little frog called him a rabbit!”

“Rabbit and the frog! Rabbit and the frog!” they chorus.

“Oh, confound you all!” Arthur finally shouts, red-faced.

He can’t take it anymore and storms off back to the castle with Francis on his shoulder, leaving behind Connor and Dylan laughing maniacally while Alistair still stood in a stunned hurt silence.

“Ah, don’t mind them little rabbit,” Francis comments as he clings onto Arthur’s shoulder, Arthur’s angry stomping was making it difficult to stay on.

“We won and my stupid brothers,” Arthur fumes as he throws open the castle door. “Still are annoying!”

“I don’t mind it, it’s nice to have an atmosphere.”

Arthur turns to the frog on his shoulder, realising he never asked, “Don’t you have siblings?”

“I am an only child…”

Arthur frowns, then scoff jealously, “But, I bet you know all the Royal Princes and Princess in Europe, I bet they all come to your castle. I bet you have so many friends. They never come to this island. I know no one my age except my brothers.”

“Actually, I rarely meet anyone my age,” Francis admits. “It’s lonely at my castle.”

Arthur’s angry face softens as they share a gaze of mutual understanding. Then Arthur continues walking, stomping less than before.

The next day they were in the library, peering into a Greek Mythology book for ideas about how to break Francis’ curse. They were getting frustrated, unsurprisingly the book contained no practical advice for turning a French frog Prince human again.

“Arthur… If I never turn back into a human…” Francis mutters sadly from Arthur’s shoulder.

“Oh, not this again,” Arthur rolls his eyes. “The spell will wear off eventually and you’ll be fine.”

Francis continues, “You should come to France and offend that old witch in the forest and get turned into a frog.”

Arthur snorts incredulously, “And why would I do that?”

Francis hops onto his arm and smiles up at him sadly, “Because at least we could live as frogs forever together.”

Arthur's chest felt heavy at the implication of the frog's words. To push down his embarrassment he stammers out, "Don't say such things!” he pushes the frog off his arm as he stands up, “You'll be human again soon,” Arthur shoves his face into a bookshelf and pretends to scan the shelves to hide his expression, “Let's try lookup witches in the encyclopaedia.”

In the evening, Prince Arthur usually sat in the library or in a drawing-room by a fire. You would find him with his nose buried in a book or sometimes working on some embroidery. If Arthur was reading, Francis would join him and sit on his shoulder to see the pages or sit beside him reading a book of his choosing from the library. But today, there were in the drawing-room, Arthur was embroidering and Francis was extremely bored looking out of the window.

“At least tell me what your embroidering,” Francis begged him.

“I’d rather be a frog like you!” Arthur retorted as he pulled his needle through the fabric.

Arthur had been working on something for a few days that he refused to show anybody. Every time Francis hopped closer he would rush to hide it.

“Is it that embarrassing?” Francis asked from across the room.

Arthur ignored him, blushing down at his needlework. Then cried suddenly, “Ow!”

“Are you okay?” Francis asks immediately, voice full of concern.

“It’s you talking!” Arthur grumbles, sucking his bleeding finger he had pricked with the needle. “I can’t relax with you talking. Can’t you shut up?”

“But I’m bored!” Francis wails.

“Go read a book.”

“I’m sick of reading!” he wails again.

Arthur ignores him, going back to his embroidery. Francis thinks while looking out of the window.

“If you’re going to be silent and not talk to me,” Francis says dying of boredom. “At least get me a pencil and paper.”

“Why?”

“I want to draw.”

Arthur sighs, but gets up and retrieves some from the desk in the room, carrying his embroidery with him in case Francis tried to look. He places a pencil and some sheets of paper on the windowsill by Francis.

“Thanks, mon lapin,” Francis says thankfully grabbing the pencil with both of his sticky froggie fingers as Arthur sits back down on the sofa.

There is peace for several minutes. Just the crackle of the fire, the sound of a needle being pulled through fabric and the sound of a pencil scratching on paper.

“My love?” Francis calls halting his drawing

Arthur’s head snaps up in shock at the new nickname, his mind races as he says, “D-don’t call me that.”

“I don’t suppose you have watercolour paint, do you?” Francis asks. “I need an emerald green for your eyes.”

“My… eyes?” Arthur furrows his brow. “You’re not drawing me, are you?”

“Oh no no, of course not,” Francis lies. “Do you have any paint?”

“Use your frog slime as green paint,” Arthur says before going back to his stitching.

“Please?” Francis asks again.

“I don’t have any,” Arthur replies. “Ask Dylan, he does.”

“Can’t you go and ask him for it?” Francis pushes, he wanted to colour his drawing.

Arthur snaps gripping his needlework, “I’m trying to concentrate here!”

“If you get me some paint, I’ll be quiet for an hour,” Francis promises.

Arthur ends up going all the way up to Dylan’s room and “borrowing” his box of paints. His brothers never ask before stealing his stuff, so why should he? Arthur thinks bitterly as he puts the box of paints and some water in front of Francis, “Promise you won’t disturb me for an hour then?”

Francis makes a zipping motion over his smiling frog mouth. He does keep the promise. Arthur is so focused in the silence that he doesn’t notice Francis studying him as he draws and paints from across the room. The hour passes and it’s almost dinner time.

“Shall we make a deal?” Francis suggests. “I’ll show you my painting if you show me your embroidery?”

“But I don’t want to see your painting.”

Francis shrugs in defeat, but still hops onto the sofa. Arthur immediately clutches his stitching to his chest to hide it.

Francis rolls his eyes, then holds up his drawings, “Ta-dah!”

Arthur mouth gently falls open, Francis was a great artist, but it was the content of the drawings that surprised him. The page was covered in several pencil sketches, and a large watercolour painting at the bottom. In all of them, Francis had drawn Arthur with, who he assumes is, human Francis. He sees sketches of them holding hands, hugging and kissing. But what catches his eye the most is the coloured painting at the bottom. He couldn’t get over how pretty Francis looked, the blond almost shoulder-length hair, sparkling blue eyes - it was exactly how he had pictured Francis in his head, from how Francis had described himself. In the painting, Francis was cupping Arthur’s blushing face in his hand, the thumb touching his lip, like the painted-Francis was about to kiss him.

At Arthur’s long stunned silence, Francis chuckles, “Are you stunned at my beauty, Cheri?”

Arthur frowns at him.

“I think I got your red cheeks just right,” Francis smiles back, referring to the amount of red watercolour paint he had added to Arthur’s cheeks.

“I don't look like that!” Arthur frowns.

Francis laughs, “Go get a mirror, my love, your face is bright red now.”

Arthur immediately covers his face groaning, “Stop.”

“Hopefully I’ll be human again,” Francis grins, “And perhaps you’ll kiss me again then.”

Arthur stands up suddenly, “I’m hungry, I’m going to dinner.” He rushes out of the room as quickly as he can, leaving Francis behind giggling on the sofa.

In Arthur’s rush, he left behind his embroidery hoop. It catches Francis eye, he turns it over and then gasps at what he finds.

In the centre is a large frog wearing a crown and holding a heart, Francis assumes this is him, a frog Prince. He spots the well that they met at in one corner, and a storybook reading ‘Grimms' Tales’. His heart swells up when he sees ‘A’ and ‘F’ stitched in curly font on either side of the frog, with a French and English flag embroidered below in the shape of a heart. So this is what Arthur was working on for hours and hours this week. Francis realises what he was pretty sure about already, Arthur did like him back!

Francis had fully melted on the spot when he hears footsteps approaching, then a loud shocked gasp. The embroidery hoop is ripped out of his frog hands, Francis looks up to find a very embarrassed Arthur.

“Mon amour!” Francis beams. [My love!]

“I told you not to look!” Arthur lectures him, bright red.

Francis beams up at him, “When I am human again I swear the first thing I am going to do is grab your cute little face and kiss it!”

“What?” Arthur raises his eyebrows in shock, the sudden words barely sinking into his brain.

“I said let’s go to dinner,” Francis says hopping onto Arthur’s shoulder. “I’m hungry.”

Arthur takes a few moments to unfreeze himself, then walks them to the dining hall, heart pounding in his chest.

Francis continues to sleep on Arthur pillow, then at some point in the night, the frog moves to curl himself up against Arthur’s neck or arm. Arthur awoke with a sigh each morning but no longer bothered lecturing Francis about it.

One night after dinner, they sat together in bed reading an English fairytale book. Arthur was under the covers, propped up against the pillow as he held an open book. Francis the frog sitting on his shoulder.

Their ribs hurt from laughing. They had been taking turns to read Sleeping Beauty out loud in silly accents and make dumb comments on the story.

“And when he saw her looking so lovely in her sleep, he could not turn away his eyes; and presently he stooped and kissed her,” Arthur read with a dramatic accent.

“To kiss you awake, I would cut through a whole forest of thorns!” Francis flirts.

 Arthur ignores him and continues, “And she awaked, and opened her eyes, and looked very kindly on him.”

“I don’t think you’d look at kindly at me, mon cher,” Francis laughed. “You’re not a morning person.”

Arthur grumpily says, “You read the rest of the story then!” Francis finishes the last few lines.

Francis comments when they finish, “These stories always end with the Prince and the Princess falling in love, don’t they?”

Arthur purses his lips as he closes the book and places it on his nightstand.

“Don’t they?” Francis says at Arthur’s silence, jumping from the pillow to Arthur’s knee so that he can see his expression.

“Princes and Princesses fall in love all the time,” Arthur shrugs, avoiding eye contact.

Francis watches him as he says, “Back home, 200 years ago, there were two Princess that fell in love and got married.”

Arthur glanced at the frog then looked away immediately.

“Do you have anything like that in England?” Francis asks the blushing Brit.

Arthur thinks back to his history lessons of the kingdom, his voice wavers as he answers shortly, “Yes.”

“Princesses?”

“Princesses 100 years ago,” Arthur recalls. “But there were two English Princes that got married 500 years ago.”

“Interesting,” Francis says, smiling down at Arthur.

“I’m tired,” Arthur huffs as he throws himself down on his pillow and pulls the duvet over his face to hide his expression. “I want to sleep.”

Francis chuckles his ribbiting laugh as he jumps onto the pillow beside Arthur.

“Fais un beau dodo,” Francis whispers into Arthur's ear. [Have a beautiful sleep.]

“Don’t start calling me dodo, frog face,” Arthur groans.

Francis breaks into laughter at the misunderstanding.

“Stop laughing!” Arthur complains. “You’re too loud right next to me.”

Francis voice wavers trying to contain his laughter as he speaks, “I didn’t call you a dodo.”

“What then?”

“Dodo is what we say to babies to tell them to go to sleep,” Francis explains. “It comes from dormir, to sleep.”

Arthur mutters under the covers, “I’m not a baby. We’re the same age.”

“No no,” Francis coos. “You are my petit lapin and I am your frog.”

“Don’t do this again,” Arthur groans.

“My little rabbit, my cute little rabbit!” Francis teases as he jumps onto Arthur.

“Stop it,” Arthur whines tiredly, trying to push him off, but Francis avoids his hands.

Francis croak-laughs as he teases Arthur, now using his froggie fingers to tickle Arthur’s ribs, “You’re cute laughing like this.”

Arthur tries to hold back the laughter as he swats around trying to hit the frog, “S-s-stop!” he cries breathlessly from being tickled.

Arthur can’t make contact with the bastard creature, he sits up in bed.

“I-I’m going to,” Arthur can’t help but laugh as he glares at the frog. “S-squash you.”

“You couldn’t, mon lapin,” Francis coos back, enjoying himself too much, as he avoids Arthur’s hands.

Arthur’s chest hurt from the laughter Francis was forcing out of him. He desperately grabs the duvet and shakes it. He gives it one huge irritated shake. Francis the frog goes flying into the air.

Arthur watches with wide eyes as tiny Francis hits the ceiling with a thud. But then, there is a sudden blue light at the contact. A young man appears in the frog’s place. He falls back down from the ceiling, right on top of Arthur.

He falls face down into Arthur’s lap, looking up at him bewilderedly. Arthur stares silently at the boy. The first thing he notices are those deep blue eyes staring back into his, in exactly the same shade and intensity as frog Francis. Arthur studies the gentle curls of blond hair, the cheeky grin on a delicate face. This face, just a foot away from his own. The self-portrait Francis had painted before was surprisingly accurate.

Francis was stunned, both at being human again and at suddenly finding himself close enough to lean forward and kiss his beloved.

Francis breaks into a smile, Arthur can’t help but feel breathless seeing it for the first time.

Francis whispers in response to Arthur’s wandering eyes, “I told you I was good looking.”

Arthur immediately frowns, snapping out of his daze, “Don’t be so vain!” he cries as he pushes Francis off of him, who falls backwards onto the bed giggling.

“You was thinking it though, wasn’t you, my little rabbit?” Francis continues giggling as he straightens out his collar. Thankfully he had materialised dressed in what he was wearing when he was turned into a frog.

Arthur’s face turns impossibly redder. The pet name hit him differently now that he could see the human in front of him instead of a frog.

Francis smiles as he studies his fingers and hands, bemused to be human again. He continues his teasing, “So, do you like me like this?”

Arthur says from the other side of the bed, “I prefer you as a frog.”

Francis laughs, a delicate sound now that the frog’s croaking had gone from his voice.

The red-faced Arthur suddenly had a desire to embarrass this smug Frenchman back. He locks eyes with Francis and asks, “If I kissed you now, would you turn back into a frog?”

Francis’ heart skips a beat in his chest and he replies, “You can try it.”

Without delay, Arthur crosses the distance of the bed on his knees, grabs Francis' cheeks with both his hands and pushes his lips onto the others. Francis put his hands in Arthur’s soft hair to pull him closer. Arthur’s mind wandered back to the slimy frog’s lips and decides this was far far better.

Arthur pulls back first.

Francis smiles up at him, flushed face, heart pounding hard, but breaths out, “It didn’t work lapin. You’ll have to have me as a human.”

After all the excitement of Francis being human again and once their hearts have finally gone back to their original tempo, Arthur and Francis find themselves curled up under the covers in the dark, trying to sleep.

“Ugh,” Arthur shuffles around trying to get comfortable within Francis’ arms. “ You’re taking up too much room. It was better when you were a frog.”

“At least now my kisses are less slimy,” Francis smirks as he presses several kisses onto Arthur's cheeks and forehead.

“You’re still a bit slimy,” Arthur grumbles smiling in the dark.

They manage to fall asleep and woke up holding each other in the morning. Arthur lends Francis some clothes. Francis was slightly taller but just as slender as he was.

“Lucky you’re scrawny unlike your brothers,” Francis had said.

“Oh be quiet,” Arthur had said back, his brothers were built and he had always been a little jealous of their strength. “If I’m scrawny, so are you!”

“Ah, but it’s graceful when I do it,” Francis smirks. “You’re just a twig.”

“Shut it!”

They entered the dining room to find it already full.

“Oh, good morning Prince Francis,” the King greeted happily. “You’re human again.”

The three brother’s heads turn around and all three of their jaws fall open.

Francis glanced at them and smirked as he sat down saying to the King, “Good morning, your majesty.”

“Here, Francis,” Alistair said. “Have some eggs,” as he stood and served him.

Connor also grabbed a plate of bacon, “Eat some of these too.”

The third brother Dylan poured Francis a cup of orange juice from a jug on the table and held it out, “You must be thirsty, do have a drink!”

Francis laughed at them, “I told you would regret it.”

“Regret what?” Connor asked, flashing his best grin at Francis.

“Regret not treating me better as a frog when I’m back to being a human again,” Francis smirks taking the cup from Dylan. “Besides, I already have Arthur.”

“Arthur?” Alistair laughed. “You can do far better than that!”

Francis shrugs again, “He’ll do.”

Arthur frows.

Dylan says incredulously, “He doesn’t even have a single muscle on him. I do!” and flexes his arm.

Francis just shrugs and repeats, “I told you that you’ll regret it.”

“Boys boys, take this as a lesson,” the King laughs, waving at them to sit down. “To be kind to everyone you meet. Or you’ll get turned into a frog, or miss out on meeting a handsome royal.”

They sit down looking disappointed.

As Arthur and Francis begin their breakfast, the King says conversationally, “I’ll be writing to your parents Francis, so they can arrange your passage home.”

Both their heads snap up at these words.

“Home?” Francis asks with a small voice, imagining going back to his lonely castle.

Arthur’s shoulders slump, his sad fallen face peering at his Father.

The King studies the two glum Princes and sighs as he says, “I’m sure we can arrange for Francis to visit frequently.”

He watches Arthur pouting sadly, side-glancing at Francis. It melts the King’s heart, his poor lonely youngest son.

So he adds, “I’m happy to let Prince Francis stay at the castle and have lessons here with you, and perhaps Arthur, if you manage to make a good enough impression on the King and Queen of France, you could study at the French Court too.”

Arthur’s face finally lights up.

“If they will have you,” the King continues.

Francis beams as he excitedly says, “I will beg my parents! I am an only child, they will jump at the chance of a marriage with an English Prince.”

“Marriage?!” Arthur squeaks.

The King sighs at Francis forward-thinking and shakes his head, these kids, he chuckles to himself.

“Mon Roi,” Francis insists. “Can’t we get married one day?”

“No child of mine is getting married at 17.”

“So I don’t have your blessing?” Francis gasps, had he not made a good enough impression?

The King smiles with a twinkle in his eye, “Come back to me when you’re 21.”

Francis face lights back up, “Okay!”

Dylan laughs then sneers, “Arthur will be 21 and single like I am, no one will want him.”

“I’ll want him,” Francis says firmly.

“You’ll get sick of him,” Connor says.

“I’ll manage,” Francis laughs.

“Good luck,” Alistair says then grins at Francis. “I’m available when you tire of him.”

“Can you stop talking about me like I’m not here?!” Arthur blurts out.

“I only have eyes for you, mon lapin,” Francis turns to Arthur and bops his nose with a finger. “Don’t worry.”

“Rabbit and the frog! Rabbit and the frog!” Connor begins to tease.

Dylan immediately joins in with him and they sing, “Rabbit and the frog! Rabbit and the frog!”

Arthur groans, then raises his voice over the singing, “Father, please write to the French court and get me out of here.”

“Good riddance!” Connor yells.

“Bon voyage!” Alistair says, flexing his French in attempt to woo Francis.

“Arthur can’t even speak French well!” Dylan jests. “He’ll look like an idiot in the French courts.”

They all laugh at that, all except Arthur who freezes in horror at the idea of being surrounded by the French language constantly.