A Heart Wrapped in Thorns #4
He'd also, with great difficulty, stolen an old reading chair, large and comfy, several blankets and pillows, and many other odds and ends.
He'd stolen them, stored them in the old stable nobody really used anymore except exhausted servants looking to hide away for a few minutes at a time, then used an equally forgotten cart to bring everything out here.
The chair and the stove had been the most difficult, but worth it in the end.
Setting down the basket and Pip, he went to light the stove.
Hanging from the ropes he'd strung across the room were their clothes, still damp but significantly better than when he'd hung them up.
The floor beneath the clothes was wet, but nothing that wouldn't dry just fine on its own by morning.
He hung his cloak up on its little hook by the door, which had been there already, clearly installed when the tower was made, then finally turned to his guest, feeling oddly shy.
"You're the first person I've ever had up here. It's not much…"
"I think it's lovely," Keone replied with a warm smile that made Aurélien feel like butterflies were flitting about inside his chest. "Thank you again for saving my life." He held out a hand, palm up, a quiet, gentle offer.
Aurélien took it, licking his lips. "I hope you're not about to make a joke about repaying me."
Keone chuckled softly. "No, that is a debt that would take much more than I can do here to repay. My only intent is to kiss you, if I am permitted such a privilege."
"I really wish you would," Aurélien said breathlessly, twining his arms around Keone's neck, leaning up to meet him halfway in a soft, easy kiss.
His mouth was warm, so very warm, and faintly sweet, and kissing him felt as natural as breathing in a way it never had with any previous lover.
Which had been few and far between, as the magic had promised him someone would burn away his thorns and nobody wanted to get too close to the prince the queen seemed to hate anyway.
For the first time in his life, Aurélien hoped.
That after waiting so very long, he'd finally found the one, that Keone, his mysterious stranger in the woods, was that person.
Maybe he was getting ahead of himself, falling into hope as easily as he fell into bed as Keone gently pushed, but no one and nothing had ever felt like this.
Smiling, he helped discard their clothes, then pulled Keone down on top of him, and after that there was no thinking at all, just touching and feeling and being.
*~*~*
Aurélien woke to the familiar chirping of birds, and Pip playfully barking at them from the balcony.
Memories of the night filled his mind, and he opened his eyes, smiling.
As he stretched, something caught his eye: his thorny vines had paled slightly.
The green was lighter, the red of the thorns more pink.
Was this…was this Keone's doing? Certainly burning was how Aurélien had felt all night, until exhaustion had finally gotten the better of them.
He warmed even now recalling all of it. And now his thorns had faded.
Would they continue to fade as he spent more time with Keone?
Was he really the one who would burn the thorns away?
Smile widening, he pushed the blankets away and sat up. Keone wasn't in bed, which was too bad, but Aurélien sensed he could easily coax him back into it.
His smile fell as, with a long look around the room, he realized that Keone and his belongings were gone. Heart dropping into his stomach, he climbed out of bed and pulled on his clothes, damp and musty from their night on the floor.
Maybe he'd just taken his stuff downstairs? But the dread twisting his chest into knots said that was a fool's wish.
He checked anyway, fervently hoping to see the familiar pack, to see Keone coming through the door with breakfast and that warm, soft smile, those ocean eyes lighting up at the sight of him.
Nothing awaited him save cold ashes and dirty footprints. The pain in his chest turned sharp and biting; his legs burned and tingled as the thorny vines grew further down his legs, darkened to near black once more, the tips of the thorns blood red.
Stupid. That's what he was. It had been a single night with a passing stranger. His pain was his own fucking fault for thinking it had been anything more, that Keone had seen him as anything but a pleasant way to pass an evening. He'd done them both a favor by sneaking away while Aurélien slept.
Angrily wiping at his eyes, he went back upstairs to clean up and put on his clothes from the previous day.
As he finished, Pip padded over to him and dropped something at his feet before looking up with happiness and pride. "Good girl," he said, picking her up and kissing the top of her head, petting her for a couple of minutes before letting her go to resume her exploration.
Kneeling, he retrieved the small object she'd dropped, brow furrowing.
A scale. It was beautiful, ocean blue-green, the same color as Keone's eyes, with the faintest rainbow sheen overlaid.
He'd never seen such a scale. It was similar in size and shape to dragon scales, but dragons were all earthtones—black, brown, green, dull reds.
What was this? Where had Pip gotten it? Keone?
But that made no sense. Why would he give Pip a scale?
Whatever, it didn't matter. He needed to get home. He could puzzle out the strange scale later. It was probably a whole lot of nothing anyway.
Shoving it into a pocket, he then gathered up the basket of berries, his satchel, and Pip, and finally headed home.
He'd barely stepped into the palace when, predictably, a harried looking servant informed him that his mother wanted to see him immediately.
Handing off his basket with instructions to take it to his workroom, and setting Pip down to find her own way back to his room, he swept off to his mother's solar.
As he stepped inside, she rose from her chair and started to move forward—then jerked awkwardly to a stop.
After all these years, her first instinct was still to backhand him, even though she knew damn good and well how much it would hurt her.
She'd been so angry, the angriest he'd ever seen her, when she first saw his thorns and realized what they were, what they meant.
His mother had been enraged to know she could no longer hit him, hurt him, when and as often as she pleased.
As though he had denied her something to which she was entitled.
Nobody touched him, not unless he permitted it, and many had found out the hard way that permission could be revoked at any time.
"Where have you been?" she demanded.
Bowing with a respect he hadn't felt since he was ten, Aurélien replied, "I apologize profusely for my extended absence, Your Majesty.
I went walking in the woods yesterday, and got caught in a sudden storm.
Then it grew dark, and I could not safely return until this morning. I came as quickly as I could."
"Your absence caused significant problems last night. Cause me further problems today, and it will be that stupid mongrel that suffers in your stead. Am I understood?"
"Perfectly, Your Majesty," Aurélien said, hate coursing through him, hot and sharp, undercut by terror. If anyone tried to hurt Pip…
She dismissed him with a sharp jerk of her head, and he went quickly before she could change her mind and find something else to be angry about.
In his room, he called for a bath, then stripped off his stiff, dirty clothes—and stopped as something fell from them onto the floor.
The scale.
He picked it up, running his thumb over it, admiring the color, that faint rainbow sheen. It really did remind him of a dragon scale. Had Keone dropped it, perhaps? A token collected from his travels that had tumbled from his bag to be retrieved later by a curious, questing puppy?
That it was the exact same color of Keone's eyes seemed remarkable coincidence, but maybe that was why Keone had kept it to begin with. Vindictively, Aurélien hoped he noticed it was missing and mourned its loss.
Then he just felt sad that all he had left of the most compelling person he'd ever met was a single strange scale, and the knowledge that man would probably never think about him again. Probably would not even remember his name after a few days.
Sighing, he shrugged into a dressing robe then went and put the scale in his memento box, the one he kept tucked away in his wardrobe, locked and spelled so his mother's servants couldn't pry into it.
By the time he had finished with that, the servants had arrived with his bath water and in short order he was cleaned and soaking in the hot water while two of his chamber servants dealt with his poor hair.
When he was finally dressed for a day at court, he kissed Pip goodbye, tossed a ball for her, and then headed out to face his day.
He'd just reached the morning parlor, where several courtiers had gathered for a mid-morning tea they'd largely ignore in favor of gossip and the wine they'd demand be brought, when a familiar figure appeared.
Lord Marceau, heir to the Duke of Prosper, looped their arms together and all but dragged him to a quiet corner. He pushed a cup of dark red wine into his hands, despite knowing Aurélien didn't favor it, and said, "Where have you been?"
"In the woods," he replied, and gave a heavily edited version of events. He'd go to his grave before he told anyone about how he'd made a complete and utter fool of himself over a man who'd snuck away while he'd slept. "What did you need, to drag me across the room like this?"