The soft, rhythmic scratching of the brush blended in with the other sounds that filled the stable. There was a constant background noise of snorts, knickering, and the quiet, dense clopping of hooves on dirt as horses shifted in their stalls. It was just enough to keep everything from being too silent, too lonely. As he dragged the brush down the side of Dancer’s neck, his head slowly drooped and drooped, his warm brown eyes beginning to close.

  When he had finally decided to pick his own horse, just as Philip had, Mother had taken him on a trip to all of the most prestigious horse breeders in the countryside. Father had argued about the sheer unnecessariness of it all, citing every manner of danger they might encounter outside the capital, but she didn’t care. It was something she wanted to do with her son.

  They had visited upwards of four ranches without success; none of the horses had stuck out to him. He feared his indecisiveness would irritate Lydia, but it had made her all the more happy.

  “We have all the time in the world. You should not settle for something out of convenience,” she had said.

  And so finally at the fifth ranch the owner had shown them numerous horses, all beautiful and well-trained. None of them spoke to him still, that was until they were walking past one of the round pens used for training. He watched as a young white-colored colt charged at the man training him, forcing him to throw himself over the fence. The horse could not have been more than a year of age, as he was still growing into his legs, but he had begun trotting around the pen and tossing his head. Almost like he was frustrated. Trapped.

  That was when he had stepped away from the ranch owner and his mother as they were discussing possibilities of maybe waiting to see what their pregnant mares had to offer soon. The colt’s nostrils were flared as he snorted and knickered in a low tone, still pacing around the ring. His own feet seemed to guide him right up to the fence, and he leaned against it while resting his arms along the wood.

  “Boy! Get back!” the trainer had shouted, still dusting himself off. “He’s too wild.”

  As the horse rounded the left side of the pen, he began trotting towards him. Instinctively, he sat up off of the fence slightly, just in case he did have to move quickly, but he did not back away. The colt ran up to the fence, head still tossing, as he blew hot air into his face. His large nostrils worked furiously as he took in Aryn’s scent, his wild brown eyes scanning him as if he were not sure if the prince was a threat or a friend.

  He did not reach out, just simply let the colt analyze him at his own pace. He sniffed and sniffed, then suddenly reared back and took off again around the pen with a squeal. His legs were still too long for him, and so he stepped high and long as he trotted, almost like he was doing some sort of strange dance.

  “He needs more space. More freedom,” he had said to the trainer. “Could someone bring him to an empty pasture for me?”

  The trainer and the owner looked at each other hesitantly, but the former retrieved the lead rope from the ground and went to open the gate.

  “I’ll do it,” he had cut in, walking over to the trainer quickly as he held out a hand.

  Their expression changed from hesitancy to concern, but they obliged and handed him the rope. Gently unlatching the gate, he slipped inside and stayed hugging the fence, not wanting to encroach on the colt. Even if it took an hour, he would wait for the horse to come to him. Thankfully it hadn’t taken that long, as the colt had quickly noticed his intrusion. He trotted over to where he stood, his ears pinned back. He could feel the nervousness radiating from the two men behind him.

  He didn’t move a muscle as the horse sniffed at him again vigorously, tossing his head after a moment. His ears however now began to rotate more forward, and he took his chance to slowly hold the lead rope up to him. More sniffing ensued, but the colt’s reaction was far more docile. Very, very gently, he began to loop the rope through his halter, being careful not to accidentally tug on it. The colt knickered lowly at him, an indication of his nervous curiosity. But thankfully he managed to successfully secure the lead rope, and he turned to signal for the men to open the gate.

  “You wanna go run?” he had murmured to the colt softly.

  The horse replied with another low knicker, and he couldn’t fight back the smile that grew on his face as the colt lipped at his hand. He turned and began to walk towards the pastures, and the surprised look on the men’s faces made him want to laugh. The soft clop of hooves on dirt sounded behind him as the young horse followed him, and soon they had arrived at the gate to one of the pastures, walking inside the large enclosure.

  The difference in the horse’s attitude was immediately apparent, and he began pacing in place with excitement as the urge to take off boiled up inside him. He quickly but gently untied the lead rope, and the second the colt felt it slide off, he bolted. For how awkward his legs were, it sure didn’t stop him from going faster than he had ever seen a horse gallop before. A long, high-pitched whinny rang out from him as he sprinted to the end of the pasture, his light grey mane and tail whipping in the wind as he bucked between strides. He felt his heart swell with joy as he watched the colt run.

  You’re just like me, huh?

  Finally the horse came back around to where he stood at the entrance to the pasture, his nostrils flaring with deep breaths and his ears perked fully forward. He took a chance and slowly reached his hand out. The colt lifted his head quickly, not expecting the gesture, but as he held his hand in place, his head slowly lowered, coming to nudge his palm with his large nose.

  “This one,” he had said with finality.

  The owner turned to his mother. “Your Grace, this colt is not even broken yet–”

  “I’ll manage,” he had cut in, giving no room for argument.

  “See? He’ll manage,” she had replied back with a smile. “Please make all the preparations for us to take him home.”

  The men wandered off to prepare what was needed, leaving them alone for a moment. He heard the soft swishing of grass beneath his mother’s feet as she approached the gate.

  “Do you have a name in mind?” she had asked softly, her voice as sweet as honeysuckle.

  As he ran his hand along the horse’s muzzle, he shuffled his hooves beneath him, his own little way of showing excitement it seemed. He chuckled softly and began scratching beneath his chin.

  “Dancer.”

  “There you are.”

  He halted his brushing and turned to spot Percy standing behind the stall door, a gentle smile on his tan face. He returned the expression before running the brush along Dancer’s back.

  “How was the council meeting?”

  “Well, your father finally listened to me again, so I’d say it went quite well. Oh, and your brother is coming over tomorrow evening,” he explained, putting his gloved hands in his pockets.

  “Philip?” he prompted curiously with a furrowed brow. “Was this his idea or yours?”

  “His, surprisingly. Wants to share ideas or something like that. I personally think he’s just trying to keep a closer eye on me,” he murmured as he leaned through the opening in the door.

  He scoffed playfully. “Why, what did you do?”

  “I may have threatened to kill him last week,” he explained sheepishly, pressing his lips together.

  He whipped his head around to give him an incredulous look.

  “Percy…”

  “I know, I know. But I wasn’t thinking straight, for obvious reasons. Look, everything is fine. I didn’t mean it… Well, not really–”

  “Percy.”

  A boyish laugh sounded from his broad chest before he carefully slid the stall door open, slipping inside. He proceeded to lean against the side of the stall, crossing his arms out of habit.

  “He’s quite a beautiful horse,” he remarked, his tone becoming softer.

  A gentle, pensive smile spread across his lips. “Thank you. He’s like my best friend. We just… understand each other.”

  He watched as Percy held his hand out to Dancer, letting him become accustomed to his scent. The Arabian groggily sniffed at his knuckles, still half-asleep from the hypnotizing brushing he had been receiving, but soon started to nudge and lip at Percy’s palm.

  “He thinks you have treats,” he pointed out, a playful smile growing on his fair face.

  “That’s because I do,” Percy stated cheekily, retrieving a handful of sugarcubes from his coat pocket. “You think I would formally introduce myself to your best friend unprepared?”

  A disbelieving chuckle escaped his lips as his smile turned into a grin. “Where did you steal those from?”

  “I bribed one of the stablehands to fetch me some.”

  He transferred a singular sugarcube to his right hand, offering it to Dancer on a flat palm. The horse swept it up with his lips efficiently before getting smart and prodding his nose at Percy’s left hand.

  “Alright, hold on, you greedy little gremlin,” he jested, unable to suppress an amused laugh.

  He attempted to sequester the treats from Dancer by lifting his hand above his head, but that quickly resulted in the horse accidentally pinning him to the wall as he stretched his neck upward, relentlessly lipping at his hand. In a mixture of amusement and a tiny bit of panic, Percy began to laugh uncontrollably.

  “Clearly you haven’t been around horses very much,” he pointed out over his lover’s cackling.

  His chest filled with warmth for the first time in several days as he watched Percy fail to defend himself against Dancer’s gluttonous assault. Amused laughter of his own bubbled up and out of his chest as he finally decided to step in, shouldering in between Percy and his horse. Dancer had grown even bolder and began nipping at the young man’s glove, attempting to remove it. He placed his hands flat against his horse’s thick chest and applied pressure, pushing him backwards.

  “Dancer, that’s enough,” he chuckled, driving his shoulder into the stubborn Arabian as he continued to nip at Percy’s hand in defiance.

  Eventually his own stubbornness won out, and Dancer slowly took a couple steps back, although he still strained his neck towards the nice young man with a handful of treats. He snickered in frustration and tossed his head, accidentally bonking it into Aryn’s.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “Hey,” he warned. “Calm yourself, brat.”

  Dancer snorted but began to settle, hearing the shift in his owner’s tone. His feet started in on their characteristic shifting as he stood there impatiently, still thinking about the sugar cubes he knew were present. With an amused huff, Aryn turned and held a hand out to Percy, motioning for him to step closer.

  “I would keep them in your pocket if I were you,” he suggested with a smirk. “Harder to get at. He should behave now, right mister?”

  Dancer snickered lowly in response, turning his large head to lip at Aryn’s forearm. Percy approached again, a tentative closed-lip smile on his tan face, as he held out another cube on a flat palm. The treat disappeared as quickly as it was presented, and so Percy methodically began replacing it with a new one every time Dancer stopped chewing.

  An unexpected weight settled in his chest as he watched them bond, as he watched Percy. Ever since the events of last week, he had found himself unable to… well, be touched. Romantically, to be specific. Being vulnerable like that now struck up a chord of fear inside him, and every time Percy tried to touch his skin, or especially run his fingers through his hair… all he could feel were those cold, alien hands grabbing at him.

  He had been staying at the castle since the execution under the excuse that Philip and Father wanted to keep a closer eye on him for a little bit. But in truth, he couldn’t bring himself to go back to the estate. Percy had told him everything had been taken care of, that the flooring had been replaced, but no amount of erasing could remove what had been burned into his mind. He was beginning to come to terms with what they both did, individually. Sometimes he would look at Percy and still see all of that blood on him, that feral look in his eyes, but it didn’t scare him anymore. Some twisted part of him found it comforting to know that he would and did go to such violent lengths to protect him, that that was now part of his instincts.

  “Are you coming over later?” his deep, gentle voice drew him from his thoughts.

  He blinked and glanced up at Percy, not realizing his gaze had dropped towards the ground. A gnawing sense of guilt started to eat at the center of his stomach.

  “No, Philip is still really worried about me, and I don’t think Father would let me leave the castle grounds yet without protection following me at least.”

  It was subtle, but he caught the shift in his green eyes, that almost imperceivable amount of deep disappointment. But the corner of his lips twitched upward into an understanding smile.

  “That’s all right. Perhaps you could come with Philip tomorrow. He can be your protection,” he jested.

  He forced himself to smile back. “Yeah… yeah, that could work. I’ll uh, I’ll let you know.”

  Percy rubbed his gloved hand up and down Dancer’s muzzle before stepping over to him. He quickly stuck his head out of the opening in the stall door, glancing around, before slowly and carefully taking his hand in his.

  “I know you’re still working through things. And by no means do I want you to feel guilty about how you’re processing and coping. Just remember you can talk to me, okay?”

  He felt his throat start to close up as he nodded silently, afraid that his voice would crack if he spoke. Noting the hesitancy on his tan face, he couldn’t help himself when he braced slightly as Percy carefully leaned forward. His mouth hovered for a moment before he placed a gentle, featherlight kiss on his cheek, his green eyes shimmering with emotion as he pulled away.

  “I love you.”

  His breath was wrenched from his lungs as guilt crushed at his chest. He squeezed Percy’s gloved hand tightly, trying to ignore the trembling in his own hands.

  “I love you too. I’m sorry…”

  “No sorries. Not for this. You’ve done nothing wrong. As long as it takes, I’ll wait… I just want you to be happy.”

  His blue eyes began to sting as tears threatened in his eyes. An invisible force seemed to pull at him, pulling him towards Percy, and without thinking too much he leaned forward and placed a quick kiss to his lips.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he murmured quietly, almost in a whisper.

  A soft, hopeful smile spread across Percy’s face as a spark entered his green eyes, and with one last squeeze of his hand, he nodded and slipped out of the stall, disappearing around the corner.

  He finished brushing down Dancer’s coat, taking the time to feed and water him and clean his stall out as well. Something about the mundane work helped ground him, distract him. It felt nice to have a physical purpose every once in a while, no matter how simple. Now with a bit of muck on his boots, he kissed Dancer on his large cheek before closing up his stall for the evening, heading back into the castle proper.

  He nodded in instinctual greeting at the guards who opened the main doors for him before making his way towards the kitchens, his stomach grumbling slightly. Delicious smells of cooking meats and seasoned vegetables wafted down the back hallway. The grand kitchen was abustle with numerous servants rushing to and fro, each carrying various ingredients or tools in their hands. They all stopped and bowed briefly as he passed by before hurrying back to their work.

  His feet carried him over to the large cooking hearth where an older woman was stirring multiple pots at a time. A warm, comfortable smile spread across his face as he approached.

  “Evening Gloria,” he greeted over the bustle of the kitchen.

  She looked over at him with slightly cloudy eyes before a large grin lit up her aging face. “Evening, Your Highness. Grabbing some supper again?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he confirmed, leaning against the stone wall. “What have you got cooking there?”

  “Well, the others are preparing the real dinner for your family tonight. But seeing as you’ve been coming down here and rustling around my kitchen this week, I figured I’d make your favorite.”

  Her crow’s feet grew more prominent as she smiled at him again, her expression settling into a more endearing look.

  “Beef and vegetable stew?” he guessed, his stomach growing beneath the buzz of the kitchen.

  “Right you are. It’s almost ready. If you get peckish later tonight, don’t hesitate to come down and grab another bowl. I’ll leave the pot simmering for ya,” she offered, her old voice motherly and kind.

  “Thank you, Gloria. I really appreciate it,” he stated softly.

  She began to ladle the stew into a deep wooden bowl for him. “Are ya doin’ all right, lad? I know you don’t like to eat with your father, but you’ve never visited the kitchens this much. Not since you were a wee one when you got bored.”

  “I’ve just needed some time by myself,” he explained vaguely, not wanting to leave her without some sort of answer. “I’m okay though. Promise.”

  Her weathered hands passed him the bowl, along with a spoon and a thick piece of bread. “Well if you need some sweets for a pick-me-up, you know where to find me.”

  He couldn’t help but give her an endearing smile as he accepted the food, a soft chuckle escaping his lips.

  “Thank you, Gloria. I’ll leave you to it then.”

  She simply nodded and returned to her cooking, her cloudy eyes focusing on the task at hand again. He carefully made his way back to his chambers, trying not to spill the steaming hot liquid on his hands as he balanced the bread on the lip of the bowl and his fingers. Finagling his door open, he gingerly placed the items on his desk before snatching the current book he was reading from its shelf. The smell of the aging paper tickled his nose as he flipped it open to the page he had left off on, and he plopped down in his plush desk chair with relief.

  A comfortable silence filled his room as the only noises he could hear were the soft crackling of the fire and the occasional turn of a book page. Absentmindedly, he would periodically shove a spoonful of stew into his mouth, his eyes never leaving the written words, until he realized the utensil was no longer sequestering much liquid. He sopped the remnants up with the bread before pouring himself a small glass of wine and migrating to his armchair by the fireplace. Only the last few chapters of his book remained before a harsh, assertive knock rang out against his door.

  With a furrow of his brow, he saved his place in the novel and pushed himself from the chair, striding towards the door. His stomach dropped as he opened it to reveal his father, a serious, unimpressed look on his face.

  “Father, I thought you would be having dinner.”

  “We did,” he stated flatly, his tone blatant with accusation as he saw his cold brown eyes glance over at the empty bowl on his desk. “I see you couldn’t be bothered to join us again.”

  He pressed his lips together with a sigh and hesitantly stepped back from the doorway, reluctantly inviting him in. Aleksander didn’t bother to sit as Aryn closed the door behind him. His large presence now filled his once cozy room with a sense of cold tension, and he leaned against the door anxiously while he waited for his father to say something.

  “Do you understand what being appointed to the council means?” he started patronizingly, looking down at him.

  “Father–”

  “It means actually attending the meetings. For Christ’s sake, I asked one thing of you, and yet you cannot even seem to do that.”

  His chest quickly grew tight as he found it difficult to take a full breath, his blue eyes instinctively turning downward towards his father’s boots.

  “Father, I fully intend to take my appointment seriously. I just need some time–”

  He scoffed. “Some time? To do what, uselessly sulk in your room again? The matter has been handled, you are safe. Grow up, Aryn,” he spat. “Look at me when I am speaking to you.”

  He hesitated for a moment, panic manifesting in his chest as he rapidly attempted to push back the tears beginning to well in his eyes, before raising his gaze. His teeth clamped down on his tongue in desperate effort.

  “We are at war. You are going to have to grow far tougher skin than this, boy.”

  “I didn’t start the war,” he mumbled sourly, looking up at Aleksander through his lashes.

  Heat discolored the King’s face as he set his jaw impatiently.

  “Then maybe if you saw to your responsibilities on the council, you could help me end it quicker. At least that blacksmith boy is useful. He’s done more good for this kingdom in a month than you ever have.”

  “Because you haven’t let me do anything,” he snapped, raising his voice. “You forbade me from getting involved in politics until now. You only made me come to certain balls to keep up appearances. You won’t even talk to me about what’s happening with the war, with Westgarde. I have to hear everything through Philip–”

  “That is because you are unreliable,” he shouted back. “All you have been to this family is a liability, and I was content to let your mother play house with you because it kept you contained.”

  “Oh yes, because God forbid I escape from my cage and actually impact something,” he hissed, tears stinging his blue eyes.

  “Cage?” Aleksander shot back, daring him to speak again.

  “Yes, that’s what this is, isn’t it? You can deny it all you want, but a golden cage is still a cage, Father. And you have trapped me within it ever since you found out you couldn’t control me–”

  “You have built your cage yourself, Aryn,” he growled.

  “How?” he interrogated frustratedly. “Because I’m not exactly how you wanted me to be?”

  “Because you are an embarrassment to this family!” he roared with clenched teeth.

  “You’re the embarrassment,” he shot back without thinking.

  A sharp, crushing pain radiated across his cheekbone as the back of his father’s hand connected with his face, sending him stumbling. He caught himself on the bookshelf but didn’t dare to move, his gaze fixated on the floor while his vision grew blurry with tears. His breath burned in his throat as he dug his nails into the wood.

  “One of these days you will understand your place in this world,” Aleksander stated, his voice low and cold. “For your sake, I hope it is sooner than later.”

  Without another word, he strode past him and slammed the bedroom door shut with a resounding boom, causing the walls to shake slightly.

  He squeezed his eyes shut as tears cascaded down his cheeks, his lip beginning to tremble. The right side of his face throbbed relentlessly. His chest grew tighter and tighter, until it felt like he was suffocating, as if a boulder was crushing him. He hadn’t been allowed time to grieve. And now he wasn’t being given time to even process his own attempted murder.

  Was he truly so weak? So pathetic? Maybe he had been using Percy as a shield this whole time, someone to buffer the world for him. Maybe he wasn’t getting better, getting stronger.

  Father was right. He was embarrassing, a leech that had nothing to offer their family except for unnecessary strife. It was always someone taking care of him, someone protecting him. What did he have to give to anyone else? What value did he provide other people?

  And Percy… his life was perfectly fine, perfectly normal until he had barged into it. He had made him his involuntary savior, had put that weight on him so selfishly without thinking of the implications. His entire life had been uprooted, disrupted because of him. All he ever did was bring chaos anywhere he went. Maybe he should have just left this world with Mother. It seemed like everyone would be better off.

  “Fuck…” he cried in a whisper.

  The floor drew closer as he fell to his knees and cradled his face in his trembling hands, his elbows coming to rest on his thighs. It was too much. Everything was too much. The world hurt too much.

  It felt as if there were a million horrible thoughts and emotions running through his veins, begging to get out. He couldn’t hold them all in; it was eating him alive, suffocating him, killing him. They clawed away at him, right beneath his skin, demanding release.

  Tears still streaming down his face, he clumsily rose from the floor and stumbled over to his desk, yanking the drawer open and retrieving the small knife hidden within. His feet carried him into the washroom, a singular thought screaming incessantly within his mind. He desperately stripped himself of his clothes and climbed into the tub. The container was cool and soothing against his hot skin, and it grounded him just enough to steady his thoughts.

  “Whenever you feel that way again, I want you to come to me. I don’t care what hour it is, or even if I have upset you, you come to me.”

  But he couldn’t talk this out. Not right now. He needed those feelings, those thoughts, gone, expelled as soon as possible. And he couldn’t bear the idea of telling Percy that part of this was because of him, in a twisted roundabout way.

  So with a trembling exhale, and another cascade of tears, he put the blade to his thigh.