#this is the equivalent of a crow leaving a Random Shiny Thing on your porch

[leclercsbf]

himbo knight rails slutty princess i was there i saw it happen

TELL ME MORE :)

eva, what have you done. full disclosure, i haven’t written a single royalty au in my life but somehow i thought it would be a brilliant idea to type this up in a drug-induced haze. the drugs were my allergy medication, but you know. details. this is about a hundred words shy of 1k, and sadly there is no filth because filth would take me ages and ages to write—but hey, let your mind run free. off we go.

the prince has a great many skills, but holding his alcohol has never been one of them. he need not be so worried, carlos laments, if the prince wasn’t so inclined to drink—but the prince was fond of vasseur’s wines on a good day, the finest their kingdom has to offer, and a wedding was a cause for celebration if carlos has ever seen one.

“to arthur and oliver!” the prince declares, and though he’d addressed no one in particular, the guests surrounding him raise their drinks all too merrily. goblets are emptied in the space of a few breaths, and as the prince raises both hands, triumphant, his lips are stained and slick with wine.

carlos watches the prince closely. he’d lost count of how many drinks the prince has had, which doesn’t bode well as the night drifts further and further from compline; and herein, carlos recalls, lies his purpose—to deliver the prince from harm, uncaring whether danger comes in the form of a sword leveled at the prince’s throat or wine swirling from the depths of a bottle. still, carlos is content, for the time being, not to stray from his post by the window; trusting that his feet would carry him to the prince’s side in a few short strides should any trouble arise.

no sooner had the thought occurred to carlos does he find himself doing precisely as much, his hands settling over the prince’s where they had been attempting to unclasp his cloak. it’s a small mercy that the prince stills the moment carlos appears at his side, though it quickly becomes apparent that any form of relief is meant to be short-lived.

“carlos!” the prince greets him, cheeks wine-flushed and lips spread into a grin. his name sounds different coming from the prince’s mouth, the letters stained by the kingdom’s accent and something he doesn’t dare put a name to, and carlos feels his breath being drawn from his chest. “have you come to drink with us? you must drink with us, carlos, before the wine is all gone.”

“there is enough wine to drown the entire kingdom thrice over, your grace.” carlos jests in response, restricting himself to the barest quirk of the lips. “i am only here to remind you not to rid yourself of your cloak. you might catch your death in this cold.”

“oh, carlos,” the prince croons, his free hand coming to a rest against carlos’ cheek, and in an instant it becomes nigh impossible for carlos to breathe. “i am well aware that you were only protecting my modesty.”

⊱⊰

“your grace, you must stop running.” there is panic bleeding into carlos’ voice, he knows, and if his hands were free he would be tearing at his strands; but as it is, carlos finds himself treading darkened halls, the prince’s cloak secure in his hold. “you have had too much to drink, it is not safe—and your cloak, you must wear your cloak. it is far too cold, your grace.”

it is cold, out here in the hall, the torches mounted every few paces or so serving to illuminate rather than to provide warmth; and without his cloak, the prince is left only with the tunic he’d worn for the occasion, done in the fashion that’s been sweeping the southern territories. the bodice was hewn from a sheer fabric that’s soft to the touch, pale gold and barely shielding the skin that lies beneath; and when the prince turns to face him—keeping pace even as he does—carlos burns white-hot, his eyes purposefully trained on the prince’s face and nowhere else.

“i will stop when you say my name, carlos.” the prince tells him, eyes glinting in the half-light. “and i do not need my cloak. you will keep me warm, no?”

“your grace,” carlos implores him, “i cannot. must not. you are aware that you should not ask this of me.”

“then i refuse to stop running.” the prince concludes, in a tone that suggests he is accustomed to bending others to his will. “we are alone now, carlos. you will not be hanged for saying my name.”

carlos throws a furtive glance back the way they came, finding nothing and no one save for torches, limestone, and moonlight. the prince’s name draws itself from his throat in a whisper.

“you will have to speak a little louder than that.” the prince—charles—tells him, but he’s smiling all the same.

carlos finds himself mirroring charles’ expression, and he starts to give chase, bridging the gap between them with a few easy strides—too easy, he’s aware. charles wanted to be caught, and the ease with which he settles into carlos’ arms confirms as much.

“that was not so difficult, was it?” carlos can picture the smile that’s surely wrapped around charles’ words, and when charles turns in his hold, he’s faced with eyes that are much too keen for the amount of wine that charles claims to have had.

carlos fails to take notice of the ruse until it’s staring him in the face, charles’ wine-flushed cheeks painted in a fading rouge—crushed mulberries brushed across pale skin, yet another gift from the southern territories. carlos, carlos, carlos, he can almost hear charles say. i am not as drunk as everyone thinks i am. we are alone now, carlos. say my name.

“keep me warm, carlos.”

#🎱 #inbox #jace fills prompts #not sure how i feel about this but It Has Been Written and so it must be posted #this is the equivalent of a crow leaving a Random Shiny Thing on your porch #like here eva i got you something #it’s probably useless but at least it sparkles #sorry for sneaking in some bearclerc. it will happen again