For once, his sleep was quiet, uneventful. Only the base comfort of darkness, of nothingness permeated through his unconscious mind. Including last night, he had been asleep for almost an entire day, minus the few minutes he had spent eating the soup Percy had brought to him in bed. But the familiar sound of animated conversation had roused him, and so he’d crawled out of bed to lay his sights upon Philip and Percy in the sitting room.

  The family estate. Mother’s estate… he hadn’t thought about that place in a long time. But distant, fond memories came flooding into his mind, memories of a time when he was far younger, far happier. Maybe he could find that side of himself there again, with Percy.

  His arms remained wrapped around himself as he watched his brother depart, his bare feet glued to the floor by the stairs. A blast of chilled wind sent his icy hair scattering in all directions, and he withdrew into himself more in a futile attempt to stave off the cold. His senses were still on edge, his nerves frayed and raw from the recent mental onslaught he had been forced to endure.

  Closing the door, Percy turned and stepped over to him, gently grasping his hands and unwinding his self-imposed embrace.

  “Spring couldn’t come any sooner, in my opinion,” he murmured softly, a boyish smile spreading across his tan face.

  A tiny spark of happiness flared within his chest, but it never caught flame as he noticed Percy’s eyes dart briefly towards his cheekbone. The bruise looked even worse than it had yesterday, the blotchy red and purple stain growing as the swelling spread.

  That modicum of joy quickly died.

  “Is there anything in particular you’d like to do for the rest of the evening?” Percy inquired, brushing his thumb across the back of his hand. “I was working on a painting. You could sit with me and read or something, if you want.”

  The cracks in his heart grew wider and wider as he went on, a desperate optimism in his brilliant green eyes. He knew Percy was trying, so goddamn hard, but the truth was he didn’t want to read. He just wanted to fade away, back into that darkness, that nothingness.

  “I’m still pretty tired,” he muttered numbly, averting his eyes from Percy’s newly fallen expression.

  But as quickly as his features had saddened, they reset themselves back into that unwavering positivity. “Come here. I want to show you something.”

  He let Percy lead him into the sitting room, and as he rounded the stairs, his heart leapt into his throat. Sitting in the corner of the more vacant part of the room, close to the window, was an unmistakable shape hidden beneath a large sheet. A comfortable stool was placed next to it, silently begging to be occupied.

  But a sense of dread quickly settled over him, and his feet were unable to move any farther as he shook his head.

  “Why did you get this?”

  The question came out far harsher than he had intended, but it still didn’t dissuade Percy from approaching the shape and carefully removing the cover. A gorgeous harp made of off-white wood stood tall before them, elegant and intimidating.

  “I told you I wanted to get you a harp for the house so you could start playing again. Come on, try it out,” he encouraged, his fingertips gliding over the glossy wood in admiration.

  But that dread rooted deeper in his chest. “Percy I can’t…”

  The former smith’s face softened, and he pulled away from the instrument and came to stand in front of Aryn, brushing a stray piece of hair from his forehead.

  “You don’t have to play it. Just come sit by it.”

  His breath felt immensely shallow, but as Percy squeezed his hand, his feet freed themselves from the floor. Slowly, skeptically, he stepped towards the harp, lowering himself onto the stool. Memories rushed back to him uninvited, of him sitting in his mother’s study plucking away at the strings until his fingers were raw and bleeding. Music had been his only solace, his only escape for all of his life. So why now did it feel like the harp was taunting him, confronting him?

  But that was just it. Music was not just made for escapism. It was art, and art was supposed to make you feel. Maybe instead of using it to run away, now it was time to use it to run towards, to confront and push past the things that haunted him, the thoughts and memories that plagued him. To move forward.

  His hands hesitantly approached the strings, unable to fight the invisible pull of the harp and the potential it promised, like a moth fluttering towards a flame. The tips of his fingers paused over the farthest string for what seemed like a millenia. And then he glided them back towards himself, slowly and evenly. The vibrations reverberated through his hand, his arm, into his heart, and something stirred from its deep, deep slumber within the recesses of his mind. An instinct, a melody. Part of his soul.

  With more certainty, his fingers began to pluck at the strings, eliciting a soft, low series of notes. As he secured the melody into place, the words he had written along with it so long ago slowly solidified within his thoughts, coming back to him from a long-forgotten place. His voice was quiet, almost fragile, but above the more grounded tune that resonated from the harp, it filled the space, captivating it.

  The song flowed through him now, and he was no longer Aryn, but an instrument himself, a conduit for the message, for the story it was weaving. Everything around him seemed to melt away, fading into insignificance, as his soul bared itself through the music. The melody ebbed and flowed, rose and fell, following his voice along the journey.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Finally his fingertips slowed, the music growing quieter, simpler, until the final part of the song was his voice and his voice alone. It resonated throughout the space, pure and haunting and beautiful, until suddenly he stopped. The song was finished, the story concluded.

  He slowly withdrew his hands from the harp and placed them on his thighs, unaware of their trembling until now. His chest heaved with a steadying breath before his deep blue eyes finally looked to Percy.

  His thick, dark lashes glistened with tears as he leaned against the wall, arms crossed and face flushed. His emerald irises shimmered with astounded adoration, his lips parted slightly in disbelief as he simply stared at Aryn.

  He felt a sweat start to break out on his palms as he shifted anxiously in the stool. “What?”

  Percy blew out a sharp breath, a fascinated smile briefly twitching at the edges of his mouth.

  “You didn’t tell me you could sing too.”

  An intense heat rose on his cheeks as what had just occurred finally processed in his brain. He had been so lost in the moment, he had forgotten Percy was even there until he had stopped playing.

  “Get it from my mum…” he murmured shyly, fidgeting with the sleeve of his borrowed sweater.

  Suddenly Percy moved off the wall and came to rest on his knees in front of him. His strong hands contacted his forearms and slid their way down to Aryn’s smaller hands, gripping them tightly. His chest ached as he spotted a tear slip from the outer corner of Percy’s eye.

  “Aryn I… you are the most beautiful, fascinating, heavenly creature I have ever laid eyes upon. I look at you, and all I can think is, ‘what did I do to deserve you’? I am in every way, shape, and form, unworthy of your love–”

  “No,” he cut in sharply, shaking his head. “Percy, you are the most worthy person. Of everything. You deserve the world, and more. I just pray my love supplies you with even a modicum of all the wonderful things you are undeniably entitled to. And I am–” his voice was arrested by the sudden emotion that came flooding over him– “I am so sorry for how lacking that love seems right now.”

  Percy’s hand came to cradle his cheek, a newfound intensity in his emerald eyes.

  “It does not seem lacking, Aryn. Not in the slightest. I know you are trying, and I am so immensely grateful for that. The state of our intimacy does not dictate our love. Even if I were unable to ever touch you again, I would still love you just as fiercely. Do you understand me?”

  The fire in his voice stirred something deep within him, and he found himself sitting forward more on the stool, their faces growing closer as their heights now finally matched in their current positions.

  “Yes,” he whispered, his hand making its way to Percy’s chest.

  He saw his green eyes flick across Aryn’s face, intense longing burning within them as his fingers slid from the prince’s flushed cheek into his hair. His body tensed for a moment, the uninvited memory of cruel, deadly fingers yanking his head back suddenly flashing in his mind, but he kept his eyes locked on Percy, and quickly the tension melted away. Slowly, cautiously, Percy leaned forward and barely brushed his lips across his own, their breaths mingling as Aryn found his hand sliding up his broad chest to the back of his neck.

  “I love you,” Percy whispered against the corner of his mouth.

  A sharp breath escaped his lips before he dragged them delicately across Percy’s jaw, his fingers now coming to tangle in his curly brown hair. He felt a strong arm slither around his waist, and his legs slid apart to either side as Percy pulled his body closer. The warmth radiating from him sent a wave of comfort through Aryn, and he found himself melting further into Percy’s embrace before their lips finally met.

  That piece of his soul that had been stolen from him found its way home again as he settled into Percy’s arms. Their lips moved in tandem, slowly, tenderly. But after a moment, it wasn’t enough. The apprehension that had previously infested his heart had fled, and a familiar, intense need had now taken its place. He gave himself more to the kiss, gathering the courage to run his tongue along Percy’s lip, and felt him smile against his mouth.

  “There he is,” Percy murmured cheekily, his grip on Aryn’s waist tightening as he caught the prince’s bottom lip briefly between his teeth.

  His act did not illicit provocation, only contentment. It felt as if they were rediscovering each other, putting the scattered pieces of their intimacy back together, and it made his heart sing. His hands made their way beneath Percy’s sweater and took in the ridges and valleys of his muscled body while his tongue gently explored his mouth, his skin prickling as he felt the tips of Percy’s fingers glide up his back from his waist.

  Life flowed back into him as Percy dragged his mouth along his jaw, then to his neck, tracing it with slow, tender kisses.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered against Aryn’s skin.

  Another kiss was placed beneath his ear. “Wonderful.”

  Then another under his jaw.

  “Gorgeous,” another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Extraordinary.”

  A shy smile turned into an involuntary beaming grin as Percy relentlessly continued to pepper kisses along his skin, accompanied by words of affirmation, before finally their lips touched again briefly.

  Green eyes locked with his as Percy pulled away slightly to look upon Aryn’s blushing face, tucking a piece of ashen hair behind his ear.

  “God how I missed that smile of yours,” he said breathily, unable to resist placing another quick kiss to his mouth. “Promise me I’ll get to see more of it now, yeah?”

  His grin settled into a softer closed-lip smile as he stared into Percy’s brilliant emerald irises. “Only if this is a daily occurrence,” he demanded playfully.

  Percy chuckled through his nose, an amused smile lighting up his tanned face.

  “Deal. Absolutely.”

  It was his turn to initiate as he pressed his lips to Percy’s, letting the kiss linger as his hands invited themselves to feel the well-defined muscles along his shoulders.

  “Do you…mind if I play some more?” he murmured shyly.

  Percy pulled away and gently brushed his thumb across Aryn’s cheek. “My love, you could play that harp all night long, and I will sit here and listen to every second of it. Please do.”

  A heat rose on his fair cheeks as he reluctantly withdrew himself from Percy. Suddenly, the former smith stood from the floor and strode over to one of the armchairs, hoisting it up and relocating it next to the instrument. He then procured two new wine glasses from the dining room and poured the contents of the already-opened bottle into them, placing one on the floor next to Aryn’s stool before pointedly plopping himself down in the armchair and crossing his legs comfortably.

  He couldn’t fight the giggle that wormed its way out of his chest before turning back towards the harp. As he resituated himself in the stool, he felt at home. A wave of warmth washed over him as he lifted his hands once more to the instrument, letting his fingers brush over the strings in admiration.

  With a deep breath, and a renewed sense of hope, he began to pluck at the harp once more.