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And so, it is time. Prince Alexander is to be wed. As heir to the throne, Alec can’t put this off any longer. And with the kingdom facing countless pressures both from within and from across the ocean, the alliance that the foreign princess brings to the table is more needed than ever.
Alec sighs and pulls his cloak more tightly around his shoulders. He glances out the window. The view from so high up is impressive. The sky is a faded, muted blue against the clouds, the orange sun already dropping low against the dark horizon. The deep moat encircles the castle. Guards bearing swords and clad in armor replete with capes in royal red hues are stationed on both sides of the still waters. The princess’s contingent has just arrived, but due to the late hour, she won’t be officially received until tomorrow morning. Alec’s room is near the west tower, and despite the vastness of the castle, he can feel and hear how much louder and fuller the place is given the number of new arrivals. It pulses as if ready to burst.
He decides to do something to take his mind off the duties that await him tomorrow, and so he turns away from the window and the striking view of the sunset. Alec makes his way down the corridor, towards the back exit. He passes the portraits that hang in the hallways, the servants who acknowledge him with bows before resuming their duties, the stone walls with their detailed arches. It’s much draftier in the corridors, making Alec glad for his cloak.
At last he reaches his destination: the stables out back. Alec looks forward to brushing and feeding his favorite stallion, Thunder. Normally he would seek out human companionship. But his sister Isabelle is away on a diplomatic visit of her own, Max would have been put to bed by now, and Jace has taken to spending his evenings in revelry at a tavern at the side of a redhead. And the stables are warm, alive.
“Hey, Thunder,” Alec says softly, approaching the stallion. Even stabled, Thunder exudes a quiet power and strength. Much like Alec himself. Alec reaches for the brush and begins to work on Thunder’s coat. The stallion lets out a pleased neigh.
And then he hears footsteps coming from behind. Alec whirls around. The castle is secured enough that there never has been a need for guards to escort Alec when he’s within the grounds. Still, Alec is startled.
“Excuse me. I hope I didn’t bother you.”
The voice is unfamiliar. Alec squints in the dim light, wishing the stable’s torches held in their sconces provided more illumination. The tall stranger approaches, and continues talking.
“My name is Magnus. I’m a stable hand with Princess Lydia’s contingent. I was just checking on our horses.”
Alec exhales. No cause for alarm. And then his eyes adjust as he takes in this Magnus. The man is striking and beautiful, and there is a suggestion of power and presence simply in the way he stands.
“Oh – Uh, I’m not startled,” Alec says, the words sloppily falling out and over, like the bundles of hay in the corner which had been haphazardly stacked. He wants to keep talking to this Magnus, to keep looking at him. “Are-are the accommodations for your horses satisfactory?”
“Yes, I think so. They are tired from the journey, of course, but it’s warm and dry in here. They’ve been fed, which makes them happy.” Magnus tilts his head. “One of them, we call her Bertha, is older and I think she could use a blanket.”
“Oh. We have some. Over here.”
Alec leads Magnus towards a storage bin. He pulls out a musty blanket in faded green. Magnus thanks him, and Alec then helps him place the blanket over Bertha. Bertha is quiet and does not voice a reaction to her new acquisition.
Alec feels Magnus’ eyes upon him, almost as if appraising him. It’s such a heady, delicious feeling. Alec recalls the imported tangerines he and his family enjoyed, for the first time, a few days ago at breakfast. It had been an explosion of juicy, bright flavor. He gets the same sensation now as Magnus looks at him.
“You….are not a stable hand,” Magnus observes.
It’s not a difficult conclusion for anyone to reach. Everything from the thickness of Alec’s cloak to the sheen of his hair to the quality leather boots he wears makes it clear that he comes from wealth. And something about Magnus is so disarming that Alec never considers answering with anything other than the truth.
“No, I’m – well, I’m Prince Alexander.”
Magnus bows. Alec reflexively waves one hand, as if to ask Magnus to not stand on ceremony. He has never viewed himself as better than “commoners”, has never preened over or basked in the unearned reverence bestowed upon the royals. And yet. Somehow this simple gesture of Magnus bowing just takes Alec’s breath away. He has seen the tops of many people’s heads, and yet he wants to savor what Magnus is doing.
“I, uh, I like to ride and that stallion, Thunder, is my favorite.”
“He seems like a fine stallion,” Magnus says. His gaze is back towards Thunder’s stall, and Alec wants Magnus’ eyes to return to himself, not his horse.
Alec leads Magnus towards Thunder, hoping that Magnus is watching him as they walk. “He likes a good brushing.” He picks up the brush and resumes brushing the stallion. Thunder again neighs in contentment.
“And a treat, I imagine.” There is an excitement to Magnus’ voice, almost a sauciness. “I saw the bushel of apples over there.”
“That was next on my list. I’ll leave him with a treat before I go.”
“Well. Lucky horse.”
Again Magnus’ tone could almost be called cheeky, and it thrills Alec. No one other than his siblings ever speak to him with such confidence. Commoners and nobles alike kowtow to the royal family, which makes interactions such as this one something that Alec has only read about.
And dreamed about.
“So,” Alec begins anew, still brushing Thunder. “Tell me about where you come from. What’s it like? What do you do for fun?”
Words flow from Magnus with the smoothness and assurance of Thunder’s trot. Magnus segues easily from his love for his work to descriptions of the city of his birth where he takes in festivals, plays, “and the occasional night spent carousing at the tavern”. Alec asks him follow-up questions about everything, and listens intently as Magnus recounts the storyline of the last play he saw. “My friend Ragnor had too much to drink, and it disagreed with him,” Magnus concludes. “And I missed the entire last scene as I had to help him out before he spilled the contents of his guts.”
“You’re a good friend,” Alec appraises.
“Not really. I owed Ragnor money and was hoping he’d forgive the debt in return.” He shrugs. “And another friend told me how the play ended.”
“Well,” Alec prompts eagerly, his eyes shining. He’s forgotten how late the hour is and he doesn’t notice the chill in the evening air. “What happens?”
Magnus wraps up the play’s storyline, and then pauses. His eyes narrow so slightly. “You haven’t asked me anything about your betrothed. The princess.”
“Oh. Well, I figure I will have a lifetime to get to know Princess Lydia.
“True.” Magnus glances downward for a second. “You looked so sad as you said that. Like your eyes are across the sea.” He pauses again. “I suspect that you don’t want to be married.”
“I do. It’s just that....” He can’t say the rest. Yes, he wants to be married. But to a man. Not to a woman. And yet somehow it feels like Magnus already knows this. Like he is looking through Alec’s façade and into his soul. It is so dizzying and unnerving that Alec doesn’t even realize he has spoken again until he blurts out, “Hey, can I kiss you?”
This might be sheer folly, but Alec won’t regret a moment of it, he resolves. Even if Magnus storms out in disgust, Alec still won’t regret it.
In response, Magnus reaches for him and pulls him close. The kiss is a sweet, juicy burst of delight. Magnus’ lips feel like magic and sunshine and richness. Alec cannot get enough. How can a man’s tongue and lips taste like the moon and the stars?
“We could just run away,” Magnus says breathlessly, when they break apart for a moment. One of his hands remains on the side of Alec’s face. “Take the next ship to Paris. Or Berlin. I’ve been to both cities. People live a little freer there. Fewer restrictions on who you spend time with. Who you…love.”
For a few seconds, Alec contemplates all the dazzling possibilities. He could dash to his room and retrieve all the valuables, every bejeweled ring and gilded knife. He and Magnus could saddle up Thunder and another horse, one far faster and more hardy than Bertha. They could ride for the port from which Magnus and the princess’ contingent just came. He could book passage for two to Paris. Live a completely different life than the one that has been prescribed for him.
But that cannot happen. Duty weighs Alec down heavier than the thickest leather bridle upon a horse.
“If only,” Alec breathes. “If only.” His eyes dart towards the stable’s door. “One more kiss?”
“With pleasure.”
With the meeting of their lips, Alec is again taken to a new place, a new world, one that is divine and tantalizingly out of reach.
***
Magnus watches the prince go. The stable’s door closes with a heartbreaking thud of finality.
It’s time for Magnus, too, to return to the servants’ quarters where he and the other workers are staying. Time to get a few hours of shut-eye. Perhaps, he muses, Prince Alexander will change his mind before the wedding.
And perhaps I can make an unscheduled appearance at the wedding. Worst-case scenario, I’d spend a few days in a prison cell and have a great story to tell Ragnor. But the best-case scenario…..