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In past years Keith has been meticulously prepared for this occasion. It is one thing to appear in public as an infant, even a pubescent prince and another very different to occupy one’s place in society as an adult heir prospective. Yet coming of age does not quite feel like Keith had imagined. Certainly, he’s now treated slightly different, perhaps even harsher now that he has survived the dangerous years of childhood. Even Adam, the master of arms, has stopped pulling his blows and reprimands him often for holding his sword lazily. But he had expected to experience some sort of crucial change in his personality. So often did the tutors point out that he would understand when older, that he had secretly hoped to find meaning in his future magically, when he turned 21. Oh, sweet naivety of youth! Curse you damned prospects! They were pointless. He remained unchanged and still at a loss as to how he could fit in the royal scheme that had been plotted since his birth.
Born to a provincial nobleman and an almost legendary long-lost knight, Keith had been appointed as future king in the vacuum of power that was left by Takashi’s lack of progeny. Although he had been instructed in the arts of the monarchy from his sweetest age, Keith felt uncertain about his adequacy. For he had been told that a king reigns for the good of his people, but how could he, who had neither experienced nor even witnessed the hardships of a peasant boy or the concerns of a baby girl? What good can a king provide if he’s ignorant of his country’s ailments?
“Nonsense,” he had received as a response. “You shall understand when you come of age,” they had said. But alas! That was a lie!
His preoccupations have never been cured. Instead, they have remained at the back of his head, lodged and making uninvited appearances at the most irrelevant of times. Even now, he has to leave his collar open for fear of suffocation, for his haunting ghost may come unexpectedly and prevent him from breathing. Upon straightening his tipped crown and smoothing the wrinkles in his jacket, Keith takes a deep breath and a step forward.
“Dearest Keith,” says darling Allura, ever attentive but not always helpful, “you left your collar open! How all your eager suitors will melt! Let me help you.”
His getaway now closed, Keith presents himself before Takashi. There never was a more thoughtful king, neither one that produced such a large shadow. It was indeed a challenging existence to live as his younger brother, only eased by the delight of having such a kind older sibling.
“Keith!” Takashi exclaims at his entrance in the throne room. “Does that collar not oppress you? I dare say it would suit you better to leave the first button open. It shall even prove useful in identifying unwanted attentions and superfluous interests. Do you not share my view dear brother?”
“Quite, my king,” Keith answers, bowing his head delicately.
“It is decided then!” And the king himself comes down from his mighty chair and unbuttons Keith’s collar. A smile on his face he whispers: “Now that I’ve made you this favour you could as well return it and start calling your brother by his name. I miss hearing it on other people’s lips beside my own.”
“And Adam’s” Keith remarks, cheekily.
“What a scandalous young prince you will be. I’m proud of you brother.”
“At least wait until the night is over. Let us see if I can make a fool of myself on such short notice.”
Keith’s first appearance as crowned prince is a ball, private following his desires and sumptuous following Takashi’s. He walks behind the king and takes a sit in a chair next to him, smaller and less adorned. But soon, he’s forced to stand and dance and mingle, and all those duties that he finds so odious. Dukes, barons, lords… choose him as the centre of their hurricane and Keith finds in dismay, that his beloved chairh as retired for the night and he has nowhere to hide. The nobles fight viciously in feigned courtesy and while they exchange hidden insults, he escapes. His inexperience is soon revealed once again, when his flee turns out to be unsuccessful.
The little parlour that the king often employs to dance with Adam could have been his refuge, was it not for a persistent suitor that must have seen him. She is golden haired and enticing in a way that has no effect on him, but would certainly find an answer in a more receptive recipient.
“My prince. I thought I saw you leaving. To be sure I cannot blame you for I have often been granted the same unconditional attention and would have fled it instantly if I wasn’t so noticeable.”
With every move, this small woman pushes him further against the wall. Her talk is endless and yet soundless to Keith’s ears. His whole focus is now on looking away and coming up with a new more effective evasive technique. But even in his reluctance, he is finding hard not to notice that the young woman leaves her lips a little bit parted every time she talks of “her prince” and that she keeps grazing her chest against his.
“If the prince wants, we could retire to more secluded quarters. For the sake of comfort and peace.”
Her invitation is invaded by kinder and more honest words. They come from a young boy, a little bit shorter than himself he presumes, with a skin kissed by the sun and clear as day. As he watches him approach, he imagines that under the touch it may feel like velvet.
“This might just be a shot in the dark but I reckon that this poor prince would rather jump down the balustrade,” he says, quite accurately.
“I hope you do not mind, my lord,” the lady retorts. “My charming prince and I were spending quite a pleasant evening together. Alone.”
“Congratulations! You have found a ridiculous enough euphemism to hide your intentions and to be sure, I would not mind. But I wonder, oh, how Lord Hastings would react at your attempts of trying to secure a new sponsor before he is, well… How would I put this delicately... Pushing up daisies.”
“You wouldn’t…”
“Try me.”
And oh dearest, with this threatening dare this heroic stranger has won Keith forever. Long after the blonde woman has left, he is still dwelling on the shifting shape of his mouth. To his disgrace, this prevents him from listening to his saviour’s question.
“Uh,” answers Keith, most unprincely.
“Charming indeed,” retorts the young boy. “Perhaps it would be in this prince’s best interest to remember that mightier rulers than himself have found disgrace by slipping into too unseemly public acts. If one is to engage in scandalous behaviour, it better be carried out in secrecy and not in one’s inaugural ball.”
“Please do forgive me. As you must have already guessed, I am quite green in public affairs. Lord…”
“Lance is alright,” he says, gifting Keith an elegant reverence and a privileged glimpse of the highest most sacred point of his crown. “Nevermind it. I was once in your position too. Not as a prince of course, but as a new piece of meat to be torn by old bats.”
“Is…is that so?” answers the prince, desperate to take a hold of his normalcy, that seems to have evaporated.
“Oh yes. These lords and ladies love fresh blood. It gives him a new challenge to distract them in their boring lives.”
Lance reduces the distance between the two to the half. But while the now absent lady’s movements were attempted at trapping him in a golden cage, his companion’s approach is an invitation to decide, to close the gap between them out of his own volition, if so he wishes. And in his smile, there is no hidden coil, but honesty. It is as if, once asked, he would reveal all his secrets.
“Then I must thank you for your help and your advice,” Keith says, taking a step towards him, their shoulders now grazing against each other. “Is there anything I could do in return for your kindness?”
Lance’s eyes widen momentarily and immediately, he looks down to his feet. Keith wonders whether his mind is immerse in some sort of internal debate, for the point of his boots keeps choosing a new direction to look at. At last, it seems to have come to a conclusion. Dubiously he starts “Actually…” But then a thump interrupts him! The voice of the guards decorated with the clinking of metal reach them.
“Oh fuck,” says Lance. “Now if you forgive me, I will take my leave dear prince.”
Keith would have wished to tell him he had no leave to take, at least not from him. Sadly, he is gone before he can utter a word, in a blink. He tries to follow him. Once again he is unsuccessful and makes his way back to the ball. It must be true what they say, that the wheel of fortune turns in mysterious ways for at his arrival, he’s welcomed by Lance’s eyes. How careless of him to not have noticed how brown they are, like a walk in the woods. Soon, relief changes into ire at the look of his new acquaintance’s decomposed attire, minutes earlier a proficient painting of perfection. His hair is messier now and his hands are whitening under the pressure of the guards.
“What is happening here? Unhand him right now!” he demands, his anger growing at every little manhandling.
“My prince. This man was posing as a noble! He’s but a dirty scammer who seeks noble lovers and milks them until their wealth is reduced to ashes.”
“Stop your mouth this instant! This man saved me from great damage and I demand that you let him go!”
It is uncanny to be a witness to his own anger. He has frequently read of kings and queens and their almost divine wrath, but he never thought that would be him. Kindness was supposed to be his banner, as it was his brother’s. To discover the extent to which his blood can boil, is dreadful and leaves him shivering. Takashi, perceptive and thoughtful, takes his place beside him and lays a protective arm around his shoulder.
“You have heard the prince,” he orders. “Let him go.”
And they let him go, because his voice, unlike Keith’s, speaks eternal truth. Lance smoothes his clothes with familiar discomfort and brushes his hair with nervous fingers. The guards are sent out by Adam, yet that horrible, horrible soldier’s insult to his friend does not escape Keith. “Tramp,” he whispers and as Lance eyes converge with Keith’s, they become twin secret bearers, if only of a small one.
“I’m not a tramp,” Lance responds minutes later, when he’s settled in his new lodgings and his accuser is long gone. Sat at the bed, he’s once again looking at his boots, deeply immersed in his thoughts.
“What? Of course not! I wouldn’t do you the dishonor of…” mumbles Keith.
“Not very good with words are we.”
“Evidently.”
They share a laugh and an understanding smile of shared awkwardness.
“My old master left me his titles and fortunes in his will. But the jury ruled that I had ensnared and seduced him. They could not understand that he wanted his money to do some good, not to go enrich the vaults of another idiotic noble. So here we are.”
“So you really are a peasant,” says Keith, a sudden flare igniting in him. “This is marvelous!”
“Is that so?” Lance asks. The methodical sway of his toe tips is now accompanied by his hands, alternatively embracing each other in a fist.
“Yes! Let me explain my problems to you, since you have so kindly explained yours. I want to be a good ruler, but no one will tell me about my people’s lives. This is why I thought, that perhaps you could help me. I need you to teach me how I can bring good fortune to my people, how I can safeguard their happiness.”
“You want me to help you rule?” It is at this moment, that Lance’s eyes leave the ground and land on Keith’s. The prince distinguishes a storm of emotions in his face: confusion and distrust but also excitement, surprise and, hopefully, gladness. Fearful that the shadows may overcome the light, Keith sits next to Lance and opens his two-layered fist with his hand. He lets it rest there, callus against velvet.
“Please,” says he, his eyes looking eagerly at their superposing hands. “No one else will help me. I am like your master. I want some good to come out of all this.”
It seems an endless day until his petition is given an answer. Fear is starting to nest in Keith’s chest when Lance closes his fist again, this time, Keith’s hand in his. Then the young prince raises his head and is faced with a beaming countenance. But the smile is not in Lance’s mouth neither in his eyes. It is at the tip of his tongue as he responds:
“Okay.”
Perhaps speaking of love at first sight would sound too presumptuous, for none of the participants is able to pinpoint the exact second when they fell for each other. Years later, after he had started to officially court Lance—now named minister—, Keith would relate that it was not even a fall. He would describe it as a promenade into a forest that grows around its walker, so that by the time you become aware of the trees’ embrace you are incapable of telling when you entered their home.
“He grew around me with such naturalness I didn’t even notice him and now, cannot imagine a past or a future when he’s not as he is now,” Keith would say.
As for Lance, he would jest that it all ought to be blamed on the prince. That he had been like an eagle lured with sweetmeats and blandishment by a shrewd tamer. So well did Keith do his job, that even when he was aware of the deceit, Lance would not dare abandon him. Certainly he could fly up into the sky and Keith would not be able to stop him. Surely, he would find an equally fine home, with tasteful sweetmeat and constant blandishment. But oh! What was the point if they did not come from Keith’s hands and mouth.