Bran enjoyed watching the ducks waddle behind him, quaking greedily for bread. He liked to wonder what was going on inside their fluffy, little heads. He didn’t possess any animal magics, so it was impossible for him to know. The birds reminded him of the gaggles of old, gossipy women in town; the kind whose tongues would waggle with any piece of gossip.
The ducks stopped their squawking and lost complete interest in Bran as soon as he ran out of crumbs to feed them. They quickly flew off to the other side of the pond, leaving him alone.
In the renewed silence, Bran could appreciate just how beautiful the lake was. The shore was spotted with wild snowdrop flowers that gave the illusion of cold, but it was a wonderfully warm spring night. With such perfect weather, Bran decided to take off his tunic and wade into the cool liquid.
He lay there, floating on his back in the crystal clear water. His dark hair hovered around him like a black halo. He enjoyed the feeling of weightlessness. The responsibilities he carried on his back seemed to drift away. He inhaled, letting the cool humidity from the water fill his lungs.
His thoughts were interrupted with a cheerful, “Hullo there!”
Bran yelped and splashed in alarm at the unexpected presence of another person. Before him stood the absolute last person he expected to see that evening.
“Your highness!” Bran started with a bow, heart still beating rapidly at the sudden surprise. “What are you doing here?”
The blonde waved his hand dismissively. “I told you, my name was Rowan, so no need for extra pomp. I had to get out of that party.” He proceeded to take off his shoes and sit at the edge of the embankment. “I hoped I would find you tonight.”
Bran’s stomach flipped. “You came looking for me intentionally?” How long had he journeyed through the countryside to find him?
“It wasn’t that hard,” Rowan insisted, even though his clothes and hair were slightly mussed. “Baroness Isabella Barclay told me I could find you here. I wanted to have a genuine conversation with someone before the night was over. I assumed I could count on you for that, unless you decide to flee in terror again.”
Bran laughed nervously. “Oh, well, you can’t blame me for being surprised. I threw so many insults at you during our last meeting; I worried I’d be in for a beheading.”
Rowan let out a genuine giggle. Had it been anyone else, Bran <might> have admitted it was adorable. “I promise that I’ve never beheaded someone for calling me out on my nonsense, so you're safe... for now,” he said with a cheeky grin.
“How generous of you,” Bran replied dryly.
“You’re not the first to think that though,” Rowan persisted. “I’ve found my title has quite the effect on people.” He crossed his legs and leaned forward towards Bran. “To be honest, I sometimes think I’d be better off without it.”
“Are you joking?”
Rowan shook his head and buried his toes in the sand. “I have no desire to rule. People expect so much of me all the time. I’d rather just be left alone and not have to worry about the responsibility. I think I’d trade lives with just about anyone.”
Bran could feel annoyance fizzing through his veins. “How can you possibly say that?” he snapped, making Rowan jump slightly. “Think of all the good you could do for the people of this kingdom. Every title comes with its own challenges, but the immense privilege you’ve been given shouldn’t be wasted.”
Rowan looked at him quizzically. “Is that how you view it?”
Bran had to unclench his jaw before speaking again. “There’s no other way to view it! It’s infuriating to see how easily you're willing to squander the gift you’ve been given.”
“Here I thought I was just annoying, now I’m also infuriating?”
Bran could feel his pulse quicken and heat traveling up the back of his neck. “Yes, you are! And don't get mad at me for saying that! You said I could call you out on your bullshit and your attitude is bullshit,” he said irritably while wagging one of his long fingers.
Rowan looked at Bran with an amused smile. Unlike everyone else in the kingdom, there was no way Bran was trying to suck up to him. “Yeah, I guess I did say that.” He dragged his eyes over Bran’s long, willowy frame, it was practically shaking with righteous indignation. “My goodness, I don’t know how you’re able to live with so much passion.”
Bran crossed his arms. “I don’t know how you’re able to live with so little,” he huffed.
Bran intended his retort to be light, but the comment threw Rowan off kilter. It was a thought that often crossed Rowan’s mind. He loved his art and music but when was the last time he’d felt passionate about life? When was the last time he looked forward to the future? He thought he was rather good at hiding the emptiness that gnawed at his chest. Apparently he wasn’t.
Bran could tell that Rowan was taken aback by the comment and immediately backtracked. “Uh, sorry, that might have been too bold of me.”
“No, don’t apologize.” Rowan discreetly wiped one of his eyes. “It’s nice to have someone that’s honest. I can’t remember the last time someone challenged me on anything.”
Bran thought back to his step-family. “Yes, well, I’ve been told I am rather challenging to be with.”
“I get the feeling anyone would be lucky to be with you,” Rowan whispered.
There was so much warmth and sincerity in his voice that Bran could feel his own cheeks warm at the sentiment.
“Do you mind if I join?” The blonde pointed at the water.
“The land is technically yours, Prince Rowan.”
Bran was met with a glare. “Just Rowan. And,” he stated in the most pompous tone muster, “As the crowned Prince of the Gallan I officially decree that you call me such.”
Slightly amused by his joke, Bran laughed. “Of course,” he bowed cheekily. “Whatever you’d like Row-”
The last syllable died in his throat as Rowan started raising the fabric of his tunic, exposing his midriff. His frame was shorter than Bran’s, but he honestly looked like he had been chiseled from marble. His breeches clung to his muscular legs as he waded into the lake. His blonde, curly hair reminded Bran of the sun at dawn. It contrasted with his deeply expressive, dark brown eyes.
Bran found it ironic that he had been given the moniker sunshine instead of the man before him. Beads of liquid dripped down Rowan’s muscular torso towards the waist of his pants. Bran became very grateful that most of him was submerged under cold water.
Bran tied his long hair over his pointed ears to make sure they were completely covered and diligently kept his head above water. He couldn’t even imagine what a disaster it would cause if they were exposed.
The men swam around, enjoying some lazy conversation and comfortable silences. After some time passed, and some rather extreme pruning had started, they returned to the shore.
“You really believe that?” Bran asked incredulously.
“Of course I do! What is right and what is wrong is fixed. You’re either breaking rules and moral codes or you’re not.”
“But there’s so much grey space out there!” Bran retorted. “There’s no fixed set of rules that can work in every situation.”
“I disagree,” Rowan huffed prissily, crossing his arms. “I think there are certain rules that are always relevant.”
“This’ll be rich. Go on then,” Bran encouraged.
“First, always treat others with kindness.”
“Even murderers?”
“Never steal.”
“Even if you’re destitute and dying of hunger?”
“Follow the law.”
“Even if that law is reversed the next day?”
Rowan stuck out his pink tongue. “Ha ha ha, very funny.”
“Hey.” Bran looked away, feeling the need to be sincere. “That was good of you to change that law. Isabella was really excited. So, uh, thanks.”
Rowan shook his head. “No need to thank me. I did it because of you.”
Bran’s heart skipped a beat. “What?”
“Yeah,” Rowan nodded. “I didn’t even know it was an issue until you brought it up, so no need to thank me. It really shouldn’t have existed in the first place. I’m glad it made Isabella happy.”
Bran scratched the back of his neck, at a complete loss for words. “Well, uh, yeah. It makes me happy too,” he mumbled. A warm feeling glowed through his bare chest. Was happy the right word?
“So it is possible for you to be happy!” Rowan teased. “You’re always so serious. Tell me,” Rowan laid down on his stomach, kicking his feet in the air. “What else brings light to your life, sunshine?”
This time, Bran decided to ignore his new nickname. He hummed for a moment, wracking his brain. Isabella, Diana and Adam, gardening, healing… “Would you be upset if I quoted Aristotle again?”
“Not in the least,” Rowan assured. “I won’t lie, he had some good points.”
“Alright. Aristotle taught that each man's life has a purpose and that the function of one's life is to attain that purpose. When we use our abilities to their fullest potential, to achieve our purposes, we experience happiness from our realized capacities. Finding a purpose has made me happy.” He smiled to himself, thinking about the medical clinic and all the people he was able to help. He hesitated before starting again. “I know you probably resent your title, but you should consider yourself lucky. Your purpose has been given to you, to run a country and lead a nation. I assume that accepting your purpose and filling it to the best of your abilities would bring you happiness too.”
“Well, now I am upset at you for quoting garbage like that. But I guess I do think the purpose of life is to not be miserable.”
“And how are you faring at that?” Bran asked.
Rowan looked away and moved his manicured nails through the sand. “Better, recently.”
Bran’s chest stuttered. Could he really be implying…. ? No, of course not. They barely knew each other.
Bran cleared his throat to break the silence that had fallen over them. “My mother taught me that if you do right by people, they’ll usually return the courtesy. And that even if they don’t, you could take pleasure in knowing that at least you were good and you could find happiness in that.”
“She sounds like a bright woman.”
“She was,” Bran smiled sadly. “She would always read to me. She loved books about science, medicine, philosophy, and even fiction. It’s probably why I care so much about education.”
It had been a long time since Bran had talked about his mother to anyone. It felt like he was finally opening a chest he had kept locked deep inside himself. She had been an exceptionally bright woman, but had still held an impossibly optimistic view of the world. It reminded him of Rowan in that way.
Rowan kept his brown eyes on the lake. “I’m sure you remember when my mother passed a few years ago. The whole kingdom was in mourning attire for a month.”
“Yes, I do remember. I heard she was always extremely benevolent. I’m sorry that you lost her.”
“She hailed from one of the southern kingdoms, so she was more open minded about things than we are here. Madame Matilda has been more like a parent to me than anyone else since then. She’s certainly given me more guidance and love than my father.”
Bran could feel his heart clench in his chest. Rowan’s father, the king. The king who allowed children to be put in iron shackles. The king who had ensured racial segregation and servitude. He pictured Puck’s charred flesh and Adella’s heart-stricken face. He pictured the dumpy fae slumps at the end of the village; the people living there being underfed and worked to the bone. He pictured Rowan being complacent with the whole situation inside his gilded tower.
Bran had forgotten who he was talking to. Someone who would never be speaking to him, or saying such kind things, if he knew who Bran really was. Poor, no title, dirty blooded. Bran had gotten caught up in the moment, pretending he was a foreign courtier. Pretending that he had the right to an opinion on anything in the eyes of a nobleman.
Bran looked up at the glittering stars and gave a shuddering breath. “l think we’ve lost track of the time, your high- Rowan. I better be off.” He gave a bow and began to turn, until he felt a hand grab his wrist.
The touch was gentle, but it made electricity to shoot through Bran’s body. Rowan’s hands were so soft. Unbidden thoughts drifted into his mind. What would it be like to hold them, kiss them, have them caress his body…
“Please let me escort you,” Rowan insisted eagerly. “It’d be nice to talk more. I still have so many things I’d like to ask you about!” Rowan’s brown eyes shined like a puppy hoping to be taken home. “Also, I’d love to meet this family you’re staying with! You still haven’t given me their names and I’d like to thank them for hosting the most interesting person I’ve met in some time.”
“No!” Bran said hastily. He cleared his throat. “Coming along won’t be necessary. They’ve been very sick,” he adlibbed. “Probably contagious. I’d hate to spread something around, especially to someone as important as you.”
Rowan’s face fell. “Maybe some other time then?” he asked.
“Yes, that would be absolutely wonderful! See you then!” Bran was practically running now. He was gone before Rowan could ask for an address, a time, or a place.
Why does he keep doing that? he thought to himself.
Rowan left feeling confused, but considerably lighter than he had before.
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