Of course Prince Harrington is just another brat. Brought up spoiled rotten and without ever touching the dirt and blood the real world outside of palaces and lush gardens has to offer.
"I don't know why my father thinks you have to protect me," he bitches. "And can we call it a fucking day? It's already pretty dark and we'll reach Hawkins tomorrow."
Billy rolls his eyes. As if the Prince is able to fight what lurks behind the trees. He has probably never seen a spider monster or Demodog. Billy has the scars to prove that reality hurts.
It's not his usual work. Escorting royalty.
Billy is a mercenary. A sword you can buy, a tool to use if you've got enough coin. He knows most people hate him or are scared of him, most people think of him as scum except when they need him.
But apparently a lot of the Kingsguard were killed by the Demogorgon. Desperate times, even for rich people, but at least the pay is good.
"C'mon, it's time for dinner," Harrington says again. It's a luxury to have regular meals, but he doesn't know that. For him it's normal.
Camaro neighs as if to agree. What a traitor.
Billy wishes he'd already have enough coin to leave for California, to finally see the ocean again. But no, he's still stuck in Indiana doing whatever contract he can find, after Neil fucked him over and took most of his money.
Camaro stops at a clearing. Billy hears water running nearby. He sighs. If his horse agrees with the Prince, it's probably time to stop.
He slips Camaro half of the carrot, the last piece of food he has on himself. He's getting paid once they arrive in Hawkins. Times are tough, so Camaro and him eat the same shit. Doesn't matter as long as he gets to leave some day.
He starts to make a fire. Doesn't want Harrington to moan about getting cold next.
When the flames begin to shine bright and orange, eating their way through the wood, the darkness of the night is already surrounding them.
Harrington points at the log of wood he's sitting on.
Billy chews on the carrot and stares at the Prince.
"Do you want some cheese?" Harrington asks. He digs through his bag, pulling out different cheeses, a loaf of bread and a few dried meats.
The few noblemen Billy escorted in the past never asked. Never shared. Didn't even talk to him, if it wasn't necessary.
Billy raises a brow. Maybe this is a joke? Like when he was little and Neil showed him his dinner and fed it to the pigs instead to Billy.
"It's r'ly g'd," Harrington says, cheeks already stuffed full. He holds out a piece of bread.
Billy's stomach growls. Fuck it. He takes the bread and sits down next to Harrington. He's wearing expensive fabrics underneath his masterfully crafted coat. Billy's own armor is covered in scratches and dents.
He groans. The bread is delicious. Harrington shares everything with him. The cheese is strong, melting on his tongue. He hasn't realized how hungry he had been.
"Thanks," he mumbles.
"I don't know how you do it," Harrington says. "The whole day on horseback. My ass is so sore! What about yours?"
Billy fights back a laugh. The last time his ass hurt was after a visit to Heather's brothel. She knows his preferences and stayed silent, sending her hottest men to his room whenever he's in town.
"You get used to it." It's not really a lie. The riding Billy got used to. The loneliness? Not really. He's glad he's got Camaro. Better a horse as a friend than none.
"A toast to your firm ass then." Harrington grins at him, eyes twinkling. He hands Billy a wineskin.
He's pretty, Billy thinks. Big brown eyes, fluffy hair. He wonders if it feels as soft as it looks. Probably, with the fancy soap he smells like.
"Cheers." He takes a sip from the wine. It's better not to think about it. This is just a job after all.
Harrington's knee bumps against his. He doesn't move away.
When they lay down on the bedrolls, Billy listens to the cackling fire and watches the stars shining bright above him.
"I'm cold," Harrington groans.
Billy knows he shouldn't. No fucking way the Prince is cold. His blanket must be way better material than Billy's.
"Come over then," he hears himself say.
Harrington doesn't hesitate. Suddenly warm arms are around Billy's chest. The Prince's breath ghosts over his ear.
Billy turns his face around. Harrington's lips are right there, soft and hot against his own.
Maybe it's not the worst job he has ever taken.
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