the woods. the prince. flashing red and blue lights. running through trees. a girl. handcuffs. a scream. a baby crying. a car. a wild fire. a dancer. black hair. brown eyes. the owl. the owl. the owl. the ow—
“Aria!”
Aria eyes shot open, the short white hairs on the back of his neck prickling and his chest heaving in ragged breaths. after a few beats his vision refocused; eyes so brown they were practically black stared back at him, wide —wild, under thick brows furrowed with apprehension.
“Luke?”
Luke, Aria’s soccer teammate of 2 year, former roommate of 3 years and almost brother of 7 years, released his grip on his shoulder and gave the field a quick once-over before sitting back on his elbows. whatever he’d done while unconscious it hadn’t been caught by the Rosey Academy tennis team, a hurricane could have taken off with the Eiffel Tower and they still wouldn’t have notice. they were nothing if not grossly immersed.
the motto “ball is life” didn’t discriminate when it came to the size of the ball it seemed.
sunlight streaming through leaves swaying above their heads illuminated fresh beads of sweat decorating the smooth, rich-black skin of Luke’s forehead. His drink had been knocked over, Aria noticed, finally finding some control of his breathing. probably his trance induced doing, no doubt.
that’s right, he thought, before the visions, they had stopped by a local shop for a caffeine hit so they could power through their history papers before practice. expensive hand-crafted satchels spilled open across lush green grass, monogrammed mont blanc pens, leather bound notebooks and ice coffee set up around them (in a way that reminded him vaguely of a pentagram) as if they were trying to summon some sort of demonic historical buff from the seventh circle of hell.
Aria shook the thought from his mind, with all that he was experiencing lately that line of thinking suddenly seemed less than an appropriate.
“are you okay? you look pale, Y’know, paler than usual.”
that was a kinder way to say a few shades darker than a snowflake and maybe a shade or two lighter than a corpse.
again. not necessarily positive thinking but he was working on it.
aria bobbed his head slowly, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “I’m fine, but—“
“but?”
his heart still beat against his ribcage with the wildness of bird trying to free itself of a hungry cat. when Aria spoke again his voice sounded smaller than he intended.
he had seen so much, but one vision had stood out amongst the rest. like all of his visions, there was always one thing he could see- feel, hear, touch- that was so much realer than everything else. Although he always ran the risk of forgetting what the Fates showed him, there was no way he could forget what he just witnessed.
it was like he was there. he had lived it. He felt it in his body—muscle memory, so to speak.
“someone is going to wake the prince.”
“what?” asked Luke, not a question so much as a gut reaction. “the prince? our prince?”
was there any other prince?
it had been eight years. eight years of their lives completely dedicated to the then small, frail body of their eternally slumbering prince. Washing fallen leaves, feathers, and whatever else the forest had to offer out of his inky black curls with all the grace and expertise a threesome of 10-year-olds without a showerhead could muster. Tending to the petal-like smoothness of his skin year round without quip—dressing him down during the hotter months so the sun could pepper his skin with kisses. bundling him up during the colder months so the paller of his face wouldn’t lose it's rich brown hue as he didn’t seem to grow too hot or too cold like humans did. adorning him with wild flowers from the very forest he’d been born of and held captive in. they took turns reading to him, telling him jokes, teaching him whatever the academy taught them, their day, how much he’d grown and how much they’d grown; always knowing he couldn’t respond and never certain that he was even listening.
he was a prince, he didn’t need to listen but he did need to know his court was always by his side. And as his self-appointed court, it was their duty. they didn’t feed him because he didn’t need to eat though he did need water. they couldn’t move him because the few times they tried he’d began to visibly wilt; becoming limp, his quickly graying skin giving off the faintest floral scent, much like a flower. much like a rose. so they kept him where they first stumbled upon him, back when he was just a hand breaking free of the earth and not the young man they looked after today. their prince. their woodland prince. their rose prince. forever sleeping among a bed of wild flowers deep in the heart of the forest D'orleans.
unless Luke had a knack for picking up sleeping royalty, Aria couldn’t imagine where his train of thought had headed.
regardless, his tongue suddenly felt too big for his mouth. his throat thick with nostalgia or panic, he couldn’t tell. hoarsely, he added, “today.”
“jesus christ.”
the sound of rackets whooshing, whistles blowing, and rose boys hollering endless strings of profanities at each other in good fun filled a stretch of silence between them. the sun was warm across Aria’s cheeks despite the unmistakable scent of rain in the air.
thunderstorms weren’t uncommon for Parisian springs, but even without fate itself giving him the tip-off Aria could tell whatever was coming was going to be far more than just an ordinary storm.
“I guess we have no choice,” Luke finally said with a heavy sigh and a half-heartedly arched brow.
if Aria didn’t know any better, he would have assumed Luke’s listless tone of voice had something to do with what was most likely having to contact all 6’0, 170 lbs of lethal, Spanish “no choice.”
He did.
Harley Amador was the third and unarguably most loyal —though, also, most enigmatic—member of their court. he was also Luke’s roommate, the everpresent thorn in his side, and his little brother despite the good half foot of height Harley had on him.
They shared no blood relation but that didn’t seem to factor into how they regarded each other— or didn’t.
Luke hoisted Aria up by the hand with a muffled grunt, to which Aria asked, “Are you two even talking right now?”
disregard for any human contact was very much Harley’s aesthetic, it wouldn’t have surprised Aria if Luke hasn’t heard from him in weeks. He couldn’t even recall the last thing he’d said to Harley though he imagined the last thing Harley might have said to him either started or ended with the word “fucker”.
Luke’s knitted brows and pinched bottom lip said everything he hadn’t said out loud. what do you think?
right.
there was no point in asking what Harley had done this time, but before Aria even got the chance to go through the motions Luke shot him a strange glance. head cocked to one side, lashes fluttering in a way that suggested inmost contemplation.
“what?” asked Aria, tucking the last of his things under his arm. the sound of a tennis ball ricocheting against the field with a pop and boys hollering and hooting after it broke Luke free of his musings.
“you said someone is going to wake the prince, not something.”
Aria nodded; suddenly feeling the weight of his “gift” and how much faith everyone –everyone consisting of Luke, Harley, his parents and his 11 brothers and sisters back home in Ireland— who knew of them had in them. in him.
“so, that means you saw them. you know who is going to wake him.” Luke said.
Aria felt his teeth at his bottom lip again, readying to chew it raw. “You’re not going to like the answer to that.”
He was momentarily struck by the naked repudiation slapped across Luke face as he asked, “Aria, who is going to wake the prince?”
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