“Your mother and I….” King Aldis started.
“Bickered until the day she died!” Rowan spat, the words venom in his mouth.
“Prince Rowan! Your majesty!” Madame Matilda interjected. “There must be a reasonable way to discuss this!”
“Discuss what? He’s trying to marry me away to the highest bidder!”
“Or any bidder!” King Aldis exclaimed. “It is your duty to marry! We could make a valuable alliance with another Kingdom. God knows we’ve needed the extra power since the fae wars, and you can’t hope to rule the throne as a bachelor. It makes you look weak!”
“And why does that matter?” Rowan snarled.
“Prince Rowan,” Madame Matilda cooed. “The support one can receive from a spouse... it can level us out, keep us grounded, and remind us why our decisions matter. A healthy partnership between you and another could only help the kingdom and yourself.”
“Exactly!” Aldis replied smugly.
“And,” she gave the king a pointed look, “it can be especially helpful when we get to choose that person for ourselves.”
The smug smile slid off of Aldis’s face and he sighed heavily at the implication. “Rowan…. hypothetically speaking, would choosing your potential spouse make this situation any less difficult for all of us?”
Rowan didn’t reply. He had been resisting marriage for years now. It wasn’t because he didn’t believe in love or relationships. Love was just a sore subject for him. At heart, Rowan was a hopeless romantic; which meant he was able to hate love in a way that only someone with a broken heart could. Instead, he decided to be a hopeless romantic for the things around him. He was hopelessly in love with things like music, places, flowers, and art. They were all objects he could admire deeply, with no fear of rejection.
Rowan cleared his throat. “I suppose….if I could make sure this person was tolerable, it wouldn’t be quite as awful...”
Aldis jumped at the prince’s slight forfeiture. “That settles it! This summer I shall announce your engagement to the entire Gallan Kingdom. Whether that be to the person of your choice, or whichever royal will consider taking you”.
Rowan could feel his stomach churn with that last comment. He didn’t need to be reminded of his reputation, but his father had already walked away before he could make a retort.
Madame Matilda gently put a hand on his shoulder. “You know, many people don’t have this opportunity.”
He raised an eyebrow at her in confusion. “To marry, or at least choose who we marry,” she clarified. “I know you may see this as a curse, but some would see it as quite the opposite.”
“Good for those people,” he replied. He swiftly grabbed a cloak and made for the main gate. “Don't tell them I’ve left,” he called back to Matilda. “I’d like a few hours by myself before the royal guard chases me down.”
Generally speaking, Rowan had a sunny disposition. His usually airy, carefree demeanor matched his sunshine hair and cherubic face. Overall, he was a happy and pleasant person…. except when it came to his royal duties.
What was the point of life if he couldn’t have fun? If that meant he made extra trips to the pub, or spent hours in his art studio, what did it matter? It’s not like the advisors couldn’t run the kingdom without him.
Rowan had lived a pleasant, yet very sheltered life. For being twenty-six, he still had a lot of growing up to do.
----
Bran loved tending his garden. There was something about the feeling of damp soil under his feet, the earthy smell of leaves, and the knowledge he created something with his own hands that made it extremely satisfying. Even if his vegetables weren’t the most beautiful in the kingdom, they were sweet and healthy, which is all he could really ask for. He glanced over at the flower laden meadow and noticed Isabella running towards him.
“Bran!” she yelled from across the field; her waist length hair glittering in the sun. “I have the best news!”
Her beaming, genuine smile for his company made Bran’s heart swell. “What is it?”
“Books!” she cried out. “There’s an auction in the royal courtyard this evening. They might actually have some medical texts for us to study!”
“Well, I hope you have fun,” he replied trying to keep the jealousy out of his voice. “I have some coins I can give you. You already know what I like to read.”
She wrinkled her forehead at him. “You say that like you’re not coming with me”.
Bran let out a breathy laugh. “Because I’m not!”
Rather than reply, Isabella made an unimpressed face.
“What? You know that I can’t! The court is only for those with a title, let someone with fae blood. I’m not risking my backside to expand my library.”
“You have the most posh manners of anyone I’ve met- regardless of status. Change your clothes, keep your ears covered, and presto! No one will ever be able to tell. It’ll be fun!”
“Excuse me, but the minimum punishment is a week in the stocks!” Bran squawked. “And what would I wear? Really, I’m too tall to fit into Kirk’s clothes.”
She thrust a bag at him. “I’ve already taken care of that. Meet me by the creek after you’ve finished making supper for that lot.” She aggressively jabbed a thumb towards the manor. “We’ll walk to the courtyard together.” Before he could object, Isabella was running away, waving a hand above her head. “See you later!”
He stood there for a few moments, wondering what the hell had just happened. How was she so good at doing that?
Bran spent the rest of the evening biting his nails. Was he really going to do this? He supposed it could be entertaining. Isabella was right, in recent years he had rarely let his hair down. It could be fun to see what the royal court looked like and to have the opportunity to buy more books. Honestly, what were the chances that something would go wrong?
That night, Bran climbed back to his attic room and pulled open the bag Isabella had given him. Inside were two pairs of waistcoats, breeches, and shirts, one jacket, and a pair of fine leather shoes. Bran rolled his eyes, that girl had more money than she knew what to do with.
He tried on an outfit and starred in the mirror. He couldn’t help but smile at himself. His inky hair was glossier now that it had been washed. He had a lean frame, but the sleeves of his shirt were tight from the muscles he’d cultivated after years of manual labor. He realized, with great surprise, that the outfit was actually very flattering. He snuck out the back door and ran out to meet Isabella.
After all, he reasoned, he deserved a night of fun.
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