i can be your lover (or your shoulder to cry on)

by starzzach

Summary:

5 times Carlos proposes to Lorenzo and 1 time where he gets married to Charles

[or: Lorenzo plays matchmaker, Carlos is confused, and Charles has been in love]

Notes:

hi guys! i'm playing around with a new trope + royalty au so this is what came of it :) hope you enjoy x

dedicated to c2 madness <3 + thanks to my lovely beta this_guy_is_on_firee for reading this over and for your suggestions :)

all titles are taken from the album Heartbreak Weather by Niall Horan

Chapter 1: it doesn't even cross your mind

Summary:

“Lorenzo,” he starts slowly, “he’s…four.”

“He’s five,” he corrects, his smile not dimming the slightest bit. “And he’s the perfect person!”

“He’s five!”

1.

Even as early as eight, Carlos was a very determined person.

 

It just so happened that one day he overheard his Mama, the Queen, talking to his older sister Blanca about the Crown. He hadn’t really meant to eavesdrop; he thought they were talking about festivities (which, at first, they were) until Mama started on the topic of marital relations.

 

Carlos had heard about courtings, engagements, and marriages of many sorts before and had even been forced to attend a few. Mama had told Blanca that since she was growing up (she was only ten, Carlos didn’t think she was that old yet) she needed to start taking her duties seriously (Carlos doesn’t want their playtime cut short, he will tell Mama) and maybe find a friend she would deem suitable of courting her. Or you can court them, Mama added, and Carlos could hear the smile in her voice when she spoke, as I did with your Papa.

 

Carlos had internally groaned and rolled his eyes. That story was so boring.

 

Papa and she had originally met at an engagement party of two of their distant relatives, both having recently turned eighteen. Mama had described the incident as love at first sight, and she could tell by the regal look of Papa he meant to chase her. But I wasn’t like that, Mama laughed, never was a big fan of being sought after, me. 

 

Mama had told her parents about the boy – no, man, Papa always argued – in blue that night, and had informed them of her decision to initiate a courting. They were so surprised, as tradition went it was the job of the man to shower the woman with gifts and sweet efforts, but Mama had been adamant about the fact that she was going to do it and she was going to do it well.

 

Papa had been awestruck, at a loss of the absence of a script, and had at first refused her advances, but Mama didn’t give up. She says the turning point was when he was having a court meeting and she had strolled in, ignoring the guards, handed him fresh flowers and winked, leaving the room in stunned silence and Papa, in particular, mouth hanging open. Blushed like a maiden receiving a ring, she’d said.

 

Which brought him to his current mission: if Blanca was off courting her friends why couldn’t he? And, unlike her, he had a clear-cut idea of who he wanted to wed: Lorenzo Leclerc. 

 

As young as he was, he knew he harboured no feelings for the oldest Leclerc. But they were best friends, and who better to attend boring meetings with than your best friend?

 

“Loren-zo,” he sings, skipping his way into the courtyard. The ever-present mischievous glint in Lorenzo’s eyes (surely reflected in his own) greets him, and it’s such a welcome sight after so long (less than one month) he wants to collapse. “I have an idea.”

 

“Do you?” Lorenzo asks doubtfully, a tease in his voice. “Tell me, what will we do?”

 

“I want to court you so we can get engaged and married,” Carlos says, all in one breath, anxiously waiting for a reply. 

 

Lorenzo’s face scrunches up, clearly displeased at the thought. A part of Carlos drops, but it comes back up quickly. It’s not one of his better ideas nor one he’s most proud of, so the rejection does not bother him too much. “Ew, never,” Lorenzo says, but the glint returns, as he adds: “Wait here.”

 

Carlos waits, unconsciously fiddling with his fingers. He’s more than a little confused when Lorenzo reappears with a big green-eyed Charles Leclerc in tow. He’s known the baby (who is no longer a baby, he reminds himself) since the little prince was born, but they’d hardly interacted outside of formalities (Charles didn’t speak much when he was young and still doesn’t speak much now). He’s still little, of course, three years younger than Carlos himself. He was a cute baby, and he is a cute child.

 

Before Carlos can get a word out, Lorenzo says, “Marry him instead.”

 

Charles’ eyes go even wider than they were before and a little squeak follows as his grip goes tight around his little cotton plaything. Carlos thinks he will replace it as an apology.

 

“Lorenzo,” he starts slowly, “he’s…four.”

 

“He’s five,” he corrects, his smile not dimming the slightest bit. “And he’s the perfect person!”

 

“He’s five!”

 

“He’s perfect,” Lorenzo argues. “He is my brother, then we will be brothers, what is better than that?”

 

Carlos sighs. “It wasn’t even for now,” he grumbles, annoyed. “What if you change your mind?”

 

“What if you change yours?” Lorenzo shoots back, triumph clear in his face when Carlos throws up his hands in surrender. Carlos sees Charles out of the corner of his eye, still watching.

 

—

 

He doesn’t see Charles much for the rest of his visit. Granted, he does not spend much time looking either.

 

“Where is Charles?” Carlos asks one day when he feels exceptionally bad about leaving the young prince to his own devices. He’s been meaning to ask for several days now, but the question had died in his throat each time.

 

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Lorenzo replies. “Why? Do you need something from him?”

 

Carlos shakes his head. “No, I just,” he hesitates, but what is Lorenzo going to say? Charles is his brother after all. Nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s natural to care about your friend’s brothers. It’s natural to feel bad about leaving people out. “I just felt bad, you know, because we go to so many places and we leave him in that big castle all alone.”

 

“Oh, don’t worry, he has other people to keep him company. At least he talks to them,” Lorenzo says dismissively. “He doesn’t care.”

 

Oh. That’s odd. He doesn’t mind, but he would have liked to entertain Charles. “Are you sure?”

 

“Yes, of course.”

 

“Okay then,” Carlos says, repeating it under his breath so Lorenzo doesn’t hear. It’s okay.

 

Something weighs on him throughout his visit to the Eastern kingdom. “Why doesn’t Charles speak?” he asks Lorenzo on a late evening spent together.

 

“He only speaks to those he finds special, or whom he loves,” Lorenzo replies, frowning. “Or something. Look, a rabbit!”

 

It doesn’t bother him that he’s not special to Charles. He’s only little - he’ll talk when he’s older and realises that Carlos can be special. He thinks he would talk to Charles if their roles were reversed. Charles is very special. 

 

“Are you coming, Carlos?” Lorenzo shouts from the bottom of the hill. “He is so soft, come see!”

 

“Yes,” he calls back. Charles will realise, and then they can be friends.

Notes:

thanks for reading! i will try to hold a consistent update schedule :) leave a comment if you'd like, i'd love to hear your thoughts x

Chapter 2: can you hear what i'm saying

Summary:

Jules nods, bemused. He seems used to Lorenzo’s antics. “Mama also said I am growing up now,” Carlos says, puffing up his chest unconsciously. “She told me I need to start thinking about marriage. And I thought about, and–”

“Oh, no,” Lorenzo whines, dismayed. “Not again.”

2.

Carlos tries again, three years later, with a renewed vision and a lot more determination. 

 

This time, it’s because he finally got the same speech that he overheard Blanca getting all those years ago. He doesn’t remember the slightest bit of what Mama had said to her, but he would put good money that she’d repeated the words from her daughter to her son. The key difference is their titles: Blanca is Crown Princess, and Carlos is second-in-line. Not that it bothers him, he cares little for matters of the state. Papa said he’d realise the truth when he was older.

 

Nonetheless, he’s old to Mama now, or at the very least old enough to start his official duties as Prince and along with it, courting. 

 

Years have gone by and no mysterious feelings have surfaced for Lorenzo, which will likely be confusing to explain to their parents. But we are best friends, he reminds himself, best friends spend their lives together. What is wrong with that?

 

Lorenzo has even more duties to learn and do than him, being two years older and the Crown Prince of his kingdom. Perhaps he would be better off with Blanca, but she said she wasn’t interested in silly things like courting when she had better things to do, like cartography.

 

Carlos told her she was the silly one if she thought maps were more fun than people. She chased him with his scabbard.

 

“Hello,” he greets Lorenzo, his friend Jules, and Charles. 

 

Charles is off in a corner, hiding behind a book that looks far too big for someone his age. Carlos wants to ask him what it’s about, and why it’s so interesting he does not even look up to greet Carlos.

 

“Carlos!” Lorenzo opens his arms wide and Carlos steps into them gratefully. “It’s been an age!”

 

Carlos nods in agreement, long-awaited relief settling in his chest. “Mama promised it was going to be a long visit,” he says excitedly. “So we can spend a lot of time together.”

 

Lorenzo whoops in delight. “Yes! Did you hear that Jules?”

 

Jules nods, bemused. He seems used to Lorenzo’s antics. “Mama also said I am growing up now,” Carlos says, puffing up his chest unconsciously. “She told me I need to start thinking about marriage. And I thought about it, and–”

 

“Oh, no,” Lorenzo whines, dismayed. “Not again.”

 

“But it’s a good idea,” Carlos says, trying not to sound too disappointed. “We won’t even have to make visits or long things like that.”

 

“That would be very nice, but I have a better idea,” Lorenzo tells him, and Carlos watches transfixed as he literally drags Charles across the room. It’s still weird to watch someone let themselves be carried and make no noise of protest or alarm. He’s used to it, of course, having spent time with Charles over the years. He’s yet to hear a word from the younger prince. It hurt at first, and it still stings a little bit when the only answers he gets are in the way of gestures or nods. He’s so lost in his thoughts he almost misses Lorenzo pushing Charles at Carlos.

 

Carlos thinks Lorenzo meant them to kiss, like people do in weddings, though Charles is now eight and Carlos eleven. Of course, it does not quite have that effect, because Charles is still a lot littler and therefore shorter, so the shove sends him flying into Carlos’ chest instead of his face like he imagines Lorenzo wanted. Carlos steadies him, hands on Charles’ waist to prevent him from stumbling over. It irks him slightly when Charles scrambles to get out of his hold immediately, green eyes wide in confusion and poorly disguised fear.

 

I’m not going to eat you, Carlos thinks. “Are you okay?” he asks instead, cautiously taking a step forward. Charles stays frozen in place. He looks like a scared little mouse.

 

“Wow,” Lorenzo says, holding back laughter. “You even care about him! This is why you guys should get married!”

 

“Lorenzo, I am not going to–” Carlos pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. There is no changing Lorenzo’s mind when he has an idea in his head, no matter how terrible it may be. He knows this well. “You can just say no.”

 

“I did say no,” Lorenzo protests, still grinning. He turns to Jules, “and then I gave you the great idea to end all great ideas! Right, Jules?”

 

Jules looks more than unimpressed, but Lorenzo’s smile is contagious. “Perhaps you did, Enzo.”

 

“Even Jules agrees! See, this is a great idea!”

 

“It is a terrible idea, Lorenzo.”

 

Lorenzo pouts, pulling Charles back into his hold. Charles lets him without a moment's hesitation. Carlos wants to try that. “You’ll hurt his feelings.”

 

“What, I didn’t mean to!” Carlos apologises immediately, panic rising. “I’m sorry,” he says, looking directly at Charles. Charles, however, drops his gaze immediately.

 

Oh.

 

It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. It does not matter.

 

He repeats the mantra over and over in his head, every single time he looks at Charles to find him decidedly avoiding Carlos. Every time he speaks to him and ends up without an answer. Every time he is sent out of the damn room because Charles wants to talk and he can’t do that with Carlos in the room.

 

He can be so obtuse at times. The rational, sensible part of his brain argues that all Charles needs is time. The other cruel, unpredictable part says it’s because he never knows what to say in any situation ever. Mama still calls him her sweetest son, but Carlos has barely been able to bite back the vicious reply of I am your only son.

 

Charles seems to have caught on, he thinks bitterly. He thinks I’m weird. 

 

His thinking is disputed days later. Charles drops down with a determined look on his little face, paper, a quill and ink clutched in his tiny hands. Carlos can tell his hand is already very pretty at a young age. He’s writing in his kingdom’s tongue, Carlos realises belatedly. He thanks God for the lessons he took with Lorenzo when he was younger. 

 

Do you want to see my flower garden?

 

Charles looks sheepish as he thrusts the paper in Carlos’ face. He can tell the young prince didn’t quite think the whole plan through. “Yes,” he replies. Charles seems satisfied by his answer, shyly pulling away (Carlos hadn’t noticed how close they were sitting, it felt right) and gesturing for him to follow.

 

They set aside a small part of the castle, Carlos finds out. Charles tells him he plans to expand it when he’s older, because they are so pretty and he wants them all over the castle. A wave of sadness seems to wash over him when he writes that Maman didn’t think it was a great idea for now. Carlos gently refutes the statement by saying that he would like to take some home with him, if Charles would let him.

 

It’s the right thing to say. He’s never seen a brighter glow.

 

Lorenzo finds them hours later, Charles still scribbling about his flowers. The garden is full of greens, and lovely colours that Charles explains he has been growing for years.

 

Carlos sees the garden in Charles’ eyes.

Notes:

hello! thank you for reading, leave me your thoughts or questions in the comments if you'd like :)

maybe some of you have noticed the chapter count has gone down! when i started writing this, i did it in hopes of an epilogue in mind, but that will be discontinued as of now, bringing it down to just 6 chapters :) all the love x

Chapter 3: find it hard to say i'm sorry

Summary:

Ferrari is also a horse, and no matter how much Carlos tries, it is hard to convince other people that she is smart. Carlos will never stop trying.

Sharing Ferrari means sharing himself. He’s not sure he’s ready.

But he can’t say no.

3. 

One thing Carlos hates about visiting his best friend is how fucking long it takes to reach his kingdom.

 

It’s even worse when they miscalculate the time and they end up reaching the castle well past dark. Most of the servants and all of the main inhabitants have long since fallen asleep, excluding the unfortunate ones on overnight duty.

 

Carlos recalls Lorenzo’s letter a few weeks ago, telling him that his chambers had completely been shifted and it felt weird to be spending more time in a different wing. I’m Crown Prince or something, Lorenzo had written cheekily.

 

Still, the journey took days and Carlos is exhausted down to his bones. He is visiting royalty; he figures he’ll ask someone from one of the hundred rooms he’s seen so far to direct him to Lorenzo’s new wing. 

 

He passes by several uninhabited doors, before stopping in front of one that looks a little lived in. He’ll take his chances.

 

“Oh, you again? Come in,” a voice says from inside the room. Carlos obeys, figuring it’s probably a handmaid or someone else he saw earlier.

 

The room looks unusually spotless and grand, and it’s so large Carlos has this uneasy feeling this is not a spare room given to the help. Or maybe the Leclercs treat their servants differently than other kingdoms, but it looks like a room fit for a prince.

 

Shit. A prince. 

 

Charles.

 

“I already said no, Lorenzo,” the voice continues. Carlos should leave. He should go away, pretend like the incident never happened and keep his mouth shut. But there is something about Charles’ voice, something so captivating, he wants to listen to it again, and again, and again. His feet seem to be moving by themselves. Once he is fully in the room, he sees Charles still has his back to him, and this would be a perfect opportunity to get his shit together and leave. “I don’t want to do it, he doesn’t even like me–”

 

He is turning around. Carlos needs to leave.

 

He’s too slow, too stupid, and Charles has already seen him, his open mouth snapping shut in fear. Carlos feels like a monster. “I didn’t know the room was yours,” Carlos whispers, but the room is suddenly so suffocating he can barely breathe, his lungs seizing. “I’m so fucking sorry, fuck–”

 

His movements are blind, and he has no idea what he is doing. He wants Charles to tell him to stay, tell him to wait for a second but Charles thinks he’s probably fucking disgusting for just barging in like that, for ambushing him, and Carlos doesn’t even know why but he wants so bad.

 

It’s hilarious, he tells himself dully as he trudges outside into the horses' stables. The first time he sees Charles in months and he fucks it up so badly.

 

—

 

He ends up asleep there, a wide-eyed handmaiden of fifteen shaking him awake, concern laced in her voice. “Please, your highness,” she pleads in a low tone, furiously glancing around. “You mustn't be here, if they find you everyone will be in trouble.” She claps a hand to her mouth in fear, shocked at her own words. Carlos bites back a smile. “You didn’t hear that. Please leave, Prince Lorenzo is waiting for you in the courtyard.”

 

“Okay,” he agrees, letting her usher him back into the castle with a smile. He’s got all sorts of cramps in weird places after sleeping funny, and he tries to work out the kinks in his back during his walk. He’s moderately successful. 

 

Lorenzo is, in fact, waiting for him at the entrance of the courtyard.

 

So is Charles.

 

He avoids his gaze and Carlos is only a little bit stung. I do deserve it, he reasons idly. His skin shouldn’t be prickling with fear and his stomach shouldn’t be turning with disgust for himself. He shouldn’t–he can’t. Charles won’t forgive him for invading his privacy, and Carlos will not blame him, because that’s exactly what he did: let himself into the room, stayed there instead of leaving, and let Charles see and acknowledge him, he deserves it.

 

“Carlos!” Lorenzo exclaims, wrapping him up in a hug. Carlos puts considerably less force into it. “When did you arrive? I’m sorry I could not meet you at the gate, I had some work to take care of before I leave.”

 

“Last night,” Carlos says absently, trying to not look at Charles. His brain takes a few moments to register Lorenzo’s last comment. “Wait–before you leave?”

 

“Ah, that.” Lorenzo looks sheepish as he runs a nervous hand through his hair. “I may have forgotten to mention I have to go to the Western Kingdom to meet Blanca too. Papa thinks it will be a good idea, to look like a united front.”

 

“What?” Carlos whispers to himself, heart dropping. “What?” he repeats louder, confusion washing over him. 

 

Lorenzo regards him guiltily. “I should have written, but it was new, and I wasn’t sure if the letter would get to you before you left to come here.”

 

“How long?”

 

“Four…months.” Four months? Even Blanca wasn’t going to be away for so long! 

 

“And you didn’t think to write?”

 

“Wait.” Lorenzo puts a hand up, frowning. “You arrived here last night? Where were you? Why did you not come to my wing?”

 

It’s Carlos’ turn to look abashed. “The stables,” he explains, “I didn’t find…a room. I thought I’d find you in the morning when I was more well-rested.” The urge to glance at him is too strong to resist.

 

Charles gives him a strange look, his eyes going wide in shock. They’re a different green now, compared to when Carlos last saw him. He doesn’t know why he remembers that. Charles turns to Lorenzo, shakes his head and…leaves.

 

“Huh,” Lorenzo says, surprised. “I told him to try speaking at least. He usually takes to people like forests on fire after a few years. You’ve known him his whole life.”

 

“Oh.” The comment stings, although the rational part of his brain knows Lorenzo meant no harm. Pathetic, the vicious part of his conscience says. You can’t get him to like you even a little bit. You never will. When he meets her again, he’ll like Blanca immediately, everyone likes Blanca, because she’s a good person, not like you, she knows how to be a Queen, meanwhile, you are stuck unable to be even a Prince.

 

He doesn’t want – he has never wanted to intentionally dislike his sister. Blanca is an amazing person and an even better sister. He knows she will make a wonderful queen and the people love her already. Carlos has never wanted to be King, but the suffocating feeling of being second best, of knowing that is your true role, that you cannot and would never escape it, makes him wish he wasn’t a Prince either.

 

He can’t even tell Lorenzo, because Lorenzo is like Blanca and the heir apparent. That’s the thing about immediate crown heirs, Carlos has always thought. Things come easy to them and everything else just falls in line. Carlos hasn’t felt like ‘practice’ around Lorenzo yet, and he hopes it never happens. But it should, and if Blanca was to be King and not Queen, Carlos is confident he would have met the same fate as Charles.

 

Second best; to Papa, to Blanca, the people. Always second best.

 

“Seriously, Carlos, the stables? ”

 

—

 

Lorenzo is scheduled to leave a week after Carlos’ arrival. A week he’s spent avoiding Charles. He wakes up unhappy with a shorter temper than usual. Madness stirring , Mama would call it, and he can picture her shaking her head. It hits him like an axe to his back, the image. He hadn’t realised how odd it was to be travelling so far away from home by himself. Mama or Blanca had always accompanied him, but Blanca was away in the west on official business and Mama was at home.

 

Home. How he wishes he could go back. But he promised Papa he would help him with the deal. He would prove himself. He just has to stick out the first month, and maybe he could even leave early and return when Lorenzo would.

 

It’s unlikely and a childish way of thought. Carlos does not particularly care.

 

“Cheer up,” Lorenzo tells him, slinging an arm around his shoulders. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

 

“You are going away for four months and I am here for five,” Carlos retorts with a glare, but his heart is heavy.

 

Lorenzo’s smile doesn’t dim. “A whole month!”

 

“You could have written,” Carlos whines for the hundredth time. He’s being annoying but last night’s lack of sleep has been getting to him over the course of the morning. 

 

“Where is the fun in that?” Lorenzo motions him over. Carlos goes reluctantly. “Come, sit. Let’s wait for Charles.”

 

And so they wait. And wait. And wait even more. Seriously, it’s getting ridiculous. “What word of Charles?” Carlos asks Jules, startling him as he comes into the room, ignoring Lorenzo’s chatter completely. “Will he come, so we can eat, or will he be eating breakfast in his chambers?”

 

Jules raises an eyebrow at Carlos’ snappish tone. He is more than a little mad; whether it is as Charles, Lorenzo, or his stupid fucking self – he’s yet to decide.

 

“He’s here,” Jules stresses, stepping aside to reveal the topic of the discussion. As he passes, he adds to Carlos under his breath, “and I would not talk that way about the prince if I were you. Lorenzo will let you. Others will not. Watch your tongue.”

 

He leaves Carlos stricken. Charles looks confused. Lorenzo drags him into the seat next to him, and the morning commences.

 

—

 

Lorenzo is waiting impatiently outside his door on the day of his departure. Carlos has been woken up by this before, and each time he cannot tell if it gets more or less unpleasant. Regardless, Carlos likes his sleep, and detests being woken up by another person. He reminds himself it is hard to know that about him considering he never opens his mouth about an issue ever.

 

Wow, he is mean.

 

“Why do you take so long?” Lorenzo grumbles, passing him a slice of fresh bread. “I waited for half an hour.”

 

“I made you wait for longer because I don’t like you.”

 

Lorenzo gasps, affronted. “My best friend,” he cries dramatically and Carlos rolls his eyes. “Really, Carlos. You don’t even have any friends that aren’t me or that other person, what was his name…”

 

“Lando,” Carlos supplies.

 

“Right, Lando. You should be friends with him, you know. I mean Charles of course; you would get along so well,” Lorenzo continues, ignorant of the way Carlos’ shoulders and back tense up at the mention of his brother. 

 

“I’ll only befriend him if you marry me,” Carlos grins, trying to stop his hand from shaking. “That way I will have no choice.”

 

Lorenzo ignores him, which Carlos finds fair. He doesn’t propose every time he visits, but he has done it a few times before that it’s become somewhat of a habit. Carlos knows he has no chance; Lorenzo knows he means it in jest. It’s a familiar routine, except for the part where Lorenzo offers up Charles instead.

 

Carlos tries not to focus on how that will likely not happen again.

 

“I am sorry about not writing, you know,” Lorenzo says, interrupting his train of thought. “I just…I knew you were coming and it took so long to convince your father, I didn’t want it all to be in vain. Charles said you probably needed some time away from home.”

 

“For some compensation,” Carlos starts seriously, only half joking. “I think you should accept my proposal.”

 

Lorenzo groans, but there is a fondness in his tone. “Ugh, I’d never marry you.”

 

He figures this is how he meant to feel when Lorenzo had rejected his advances when they were younger; unbothered but slightly hurt. “That is very polite of you.”

 

He gets smacked on the back of his head as a reward for his efforts. “Brat,” Lorenzo says affectionately. “It would do you well to be this articulate all of the time, you know.”

 

“It is slightly hard to do so when I hate myself,” Carlos says in a deadpan, refusing to admit how hard finally saying it out loud hits him. “But, you know, first time for everything, right?”

 

The older prince doesn’t seem to buy it, worry clear in his expression. “I’m only joking.”

 

“So am I, now will you leave?”

 

“Just one thing,” Lorenzo hesitates, running his bottom lip between his teeth. “Can you keep Charles some company? I know I always joke about him being alone and all that, but I think it would do him good to have a familiar face. And you,” he adds, teasingly wagging a finger in front of his face, “don’t hole up in your room, yeah? Spend some time with him. It will be good for both of you.”

 

He frowns. “Okay.”

 

Lorenzo waves at someone behind him, so he turns to greet the new arrival. 

 

“Hi Charles,” Lorenzo calls happily, pushing past Carlos to talk to his brother.

 

“Hello,” Carlos says awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. “Did you–sleep well, or?”

 

Charles still looks half asleep, his hair sticking out weirdly and his eyes still small and droopy. He nods mildly in response to Carlos’ earlier question, stepping up to give Lorenzo a tight hug. The sight makes Carlos ache for Blanca. The two of them seem to be having a silent conversation, leaving him to stand awkwardly off to the side.

 

At the end of it Lorenzo nods slowly, pulling back and looking a little bit more satisfied, while Charles is left even more closed off than usual. Carlos tries not to take note of it, and if he steals glances then no one has to know. “Carlos,” he nods, “I’ll see you in a few months. You won’t go home early, right?”

 

Carlos shrugs, enjoying the feeling of keeping Lorenzo on his toes. “I don’t know. You’re abandoning me, aren’t you?”

 

“Well, I’m leaving you with him,” Lorenzo complains, pointing to Charles. Charles tenses up at the same time Carlos does. “Is it abandonment then?”

 

Shit. He can’t say yes, he’ll offend Charles even further and that is the last thing he wants to happen. But he can’t say no, either, because then Charles will think he is leaving the incident in the past without even talking to him, and that is almost the last thing he wants to happen.

 

He wants to ask. He wants to ask if Charles thinks it is abandonment. 

 

Carlos has made a lot of stupid decisions in the very near past. Surely another one will not hurt him.

 

“I don’t know,” he repeats diplomatically. “Maybe Charles will have the answer. We will see.”

 

Suddenly it is a lot easier to avoid the younger prince’s eyes. “You have a shit sense of humour, you know,” Lorenzo sniffs, but the mischief in his smile gives him away like it always does. “Goodbye, Charles. I know you won’t kill each other, or fight, so I will not warn you. Both of you are far too nice.”

 

If only you knew, Carlos thinks dully.

 

Lorenzo climbs into the carriage, leaving the two of them alone. Together. Very close. The bridge is high. Carlos could jump. It could be over ( I didn’t raise such a weak person, resounds loudly in his head. Carlos does not dare to think it was the only thing holding him back. If he thinks it, maybe it will become the truth).

 

Lorenzo may think his humour is shit, and while he is probably correct, Carlos has the occasional funny idea.

 

“Wait, Lorenzo,” Carlos calls after him with a grin, “we’re still getting married when you get back, right?”

 

“Fuck off!” Lorenzo shouts back from the carriage, laughing. “Remember what I told you!”

 

Carlos remembers. Very vividly. Partly because he has no intention of going through with it.

 

—

 

It makes for a very depressing realisation, Carlos thinks, that they both end up avoiding each other. Carlos goes against everything Lorenzo told him to, hiding in his room for the first entire week without him. Jules shows up to keep him company one night, introducing another person as Daniel. Daniel is a member of the King’s court, but he’s young still and doesn’t have the personality for it. Carlos spends exactly three and a half minutes with him before the first laugh bubbles up from inside of him.

 

Things get slightly easier after that because after all, this is a castle that he knows as well as the back of his hand. He spent nearly half his childhood running through the halls with Lorenzo, he can brave doing it on his own.

 

“Mate, why do you look like someone stole your horse? She’s right there,” Daniel asks. Carlos thought his accent was very thick for an Eastern, but Daniel explained that his family was originally from the Northern Kingdom, but they came here when he was born. The influence of a large crowd of Northerners is not easy to escape, Daniel had laughed.

 

“I’m not,” Carlos protested, but a disbelieving look from Jules had him folding. “I just…something happened with Charles, earlier. And I don’t know how to apologise.”

 

Jules looks suddenly interested. “What happened?”

 

Why don’t you ask him, Carlos wants to snap. “I don’t want to talk about it. But I have to do something.”

 

“Spend time with him,” Daniel suggests.

 

“What?”

 

“Just ask him if he wants to ride with you,” he elaborates, shrugging. “Or if he has anything to do if you can help him with it. He’ll respond to action, not words.”

 

“Oh,” Carlos says. “But what if he says no?”

 

“Then you ask again until he says yes,” Jules interrupts. “Like Daniel said, if you actually do something he’ll take it better than if you just say you’re sorry. Act like it.”

 

“Okay,” he agrees. He can do that.

 

Daniel opens his mouth, but shuts it just as quickly, sending a quick glance to Jules. Carlos doesn’t turn in time to see the other’s response.

 

—

 

It turns out that Carlos has been stripped of all the courage he once thought he had.

 

He’s been hovering outside the door to Charles’ room for the past five minutes and he still hasn’t been able to get the nerve to knock. Either he knocks now or he throws himself into the river. The latter is getting more and more appealing the longer he waits.

 

I should knock on the door, he tells himself, I should do that, and apologise, and then do what Daniel said. Ask him. You can be friends. You can be sorry. You can do this.

 

It feels wrong. It feels so, so wrong because how can say and act like he is sorry when he is not? The ugly truth Carlos cannot tell anyone is that he is secretly happy he finally heard the voice he has been obsessing over for the majority of the past decade. He can’t be sorry, because Charles won’t speak to him but he wants him to so badly. 

 

Just as he raises his fist to knock, the door opens, effectively knocking all the wind out of him. Charles looks surprised to see him, but he holds up his book that reads I heard pacing.

 

Carlos goes red; he hadn’t realised he was being so loud. “Um, I–I was just.”

 

Charles looks tired and a part of him is scared he literally woke him up. As if the situation couldn’t get any worse. “I was…do you want to go riding with me?” he blurts out, brain-to-mouth filter failing. He’s not been convincing if the look on Charles’ face is anything to go by.

 

Why are you here?

 

Carlos tries to swallow the lump in his throat, but lies he wasn’t comfortable with have never come easy to him, unlike his Papa. “I would like to apologise.”

 

Charles remains unimpressed, but there is a tightness in his posture that gives away. Why now?

 

“I behaved like a fool. I shouldn’t have done what I did.” In itself, it is not a lie, which is good, but it isn’t the whole truth, and he hasn’t even mentioned what he is even apologising for. Maybe he should do that. 

 

The stiffness returns and Carlos wants to take back his entire existence. You needn’t. You couldn’t have known. I understand.

 

If you understand, why do I still feel like shit, Carlos doesn’t ask. “If we followed that logic,” Carlos whispers, “then we would not apologise for the losses others face. And I recognise what this was. A loss of privacy.”

 

Charles picks up his quill again, frowning. His skin feels like ice when Carlos forces his hand down (Carlos doesn’t notice how his hand fits over Charles’. He doesn't, he doesn’t, he does not ). “Maybe you were going to do it on your own,” Carlos reasons, trying to hide the stupid hope in his voice. “Maybe you weren’t. Nevertheless, I took away your right to choose. That is what I am sorry for.”

 

Stop. Don’t apolog

 

“You might have stopped me from coming in,” Carlos interrupts, albeit not unkindly. “Please, I do not dare to ask for your forgiveness directly. I merely ask you to consider my apology.”

 

Of course, I forgive you, Charles scribbles furiously, nearly jumbling the words in his haste. Do not pretend to be so foolish. You did nothing wrong, I have no grudges to hold.

 

“If you’re sure,” he starts warily, disbelieving. “But if you–”

 

Charles’ glare stops him mid-sentence. Carlos goes quiet.

 

A few moments pass before he nods awkwardly. Now, what does he do? He steps back to leave, but Charles begins writing again, and Carlos. Can’t. Move.

 

Will you take me riding now?

 

“I’m…what?”

 

Charles’ eyes look even greener against the growing pink of his skin. You asked me to go riding earlier. I don’t know whether it was genuine, or whether you panicked, but my answer is yes. Your horse is the most beautiful one I’ve ever seen.

 

Carlos cannot hold back his smile. Ferrari is a gorgeous horse, and she always has been, a chestnut Thoroughbred, and she is the best thing Carlos can call his. He spends most of his time back home with her in the westlands. Some of his best memories have been when he was with her, and she knows things about Carlos no one else does.

 

Ferrari is also a horse, and no matter how much Carlos tries, it is hard to convince other people that she is smart. Carlos will never stop trying.

 

Sharing Ferrari means sharing himself. He’s not sure he’s ready.

 

But he can’t say no.

 

—

 

Charles’ eyes go wide with wonder at the sight of Ferrari in all her glory. She grunts softly, pushing into Carlos’ hand. He grins slightly when he sees Charles lift a hand up almost unconsciously, then drop it, almost as if he is afraid.

 

“She doesn’t bite,” he teases lightly. “Come, try a bit better.”

 

He guides the younger prince’s hand slowly to a spot on her head that he knows Ferrari likes, ignoring the fact that Charles’ icy hand has thawed and become warm to the touch. 

 

“You’re a natural,” Carlos marvels, although it is more to bring up Charles’ confidence than the truth. “She likes you so much.”

 

Charles traces letters to spell out R-E-A-L-L-Y on Ferrari’s coat. Carlos nods in response, breathing in the familiar scent, closing his eyes and letting himself remember evenings spent with her.

 

Charles taps Carlos’ shoulder hesitantly, taking his hand and spelling out the words C-A-N I T-R-Y A R-I-D-E W-I-T-H H-E-R?

 

Carlos laughs softly, shaking his head. Charles’ shoulders droop, but Carlos is quick to reassure him, “No, but we can go together. Get on behind me, she needs to get some runtime in anyway.” Charles nods, seemingly satisfied with this turn of events. He’s standing a little too close than Carlos would prefer, so he moves him out of the way gently (he’s so slight) and mounts Ferrari quickly, a hand to her crest to keep her calm. 

 

“Don’t just stand there,” Carlos prompts, extending his free arm to help Charles up. He’s quick about it, oddly, and doesn’t fuss about the limited space or anything; not that Carlos was expecting him to. “Um. This might be better if you–put your hands, um,” he hesitates, gesturing to his waist. “It helps. Since you don’t do this much.”

 

Charles doesn’t seem to find these circumstances nearly as awkward as Carlos does, amusedly tracing O-K-A-Y on his shoulder before complying with the request. The fit is snug, but not uncomfortable, which he will take as a win.

 

“Hold tight,” he advises before he encourages Ferrari into a slow trot, gradually picking up speed as the castle becomes smaller and smaller in the distance. Charles’ arms tighten around him as Ferrari starts into a full gallop, and the roar of the wind reminds him of home, and he has this wild thought to take Charles with him when he goes back, just so they can do this in the fields he knows and loves.

 

It’s an insane idea, and a dream it will stay. Still, he cannot help but hope.

 

Carlos tells Charles about the different kinds of runs Ferrari can do on the different kinds of tracks, and before he knows it he’s describing the woods back at home, letting Charles burn his input onto his shoulder, arms, back and thighs, losing his train of thought halfway all the while. 

 

It’s a good day, a great day even, one that he will remember fondly forever. He thinks it’s poetic that he spent it with Charles. He also thinks that he wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

—

 

They go out again, and again, and again, and before Carlos knows it, he’s inviting Charles to his room for the game nights he has going on with Jules and Daniel. Charles confesses he hadn’t known where Jules was disappearing on most nights, prompting a guilty reply from Carlos and a firm reassurance from Charles.

 

It carries on. The system works.

 

He has a thought halfway through a day spent in the royal library, about the letter that his Mama had written to him a few days ago. He hasn’t responded yet, not been able to find the words, but it’s been three days and Mama will get suspicious soon, so he should get a move on.

 

The problem presented to him was that he didn’t know what to send with the letter, and he certainly couldn’t send it back alone. Which left him with a problem that a book he had borrowed from Charles about flowers reminded him about the younger prince’s little garden had solved. He should ask. “Charles, may I have some flowers from your garden?”

 

Charles’ head perks up at the mention of his name, scribbling a sorry, what? In the corner of the book. 

 

“Your garden,” he repeats in a lower tone. “I’d like to send some flowers home for my mother, and your ones were the finest I’ve ever seen.”

 

Don’t flirt with me, Charles writes. Jules says I should be mad at you still.

 

Traitor, Carlos thinks. “He is probably right,” he says, averting his gaze. “What I did was wrong.”

 

But you apologised, Charles argues, which would be a sound point if Carlos was of sound mind. And you did it well. So why should I be angry with you?

 

Carlos bites back the reply of because I am the worst person you will ever trust. “Jules is all-knowing.”

 

Jules likes you a little. He’s just overprotective over Lorenzo and Daniel and me. So, again, why?

 

Carlos doesn’t have an answer for that.

 

—

 

The thought of going back midway seems silly now that Carlos looks back on it. He’s happy; happier than he’s been in a while. For the first time since he arrived, he does not dread the next day. Lorenzo is due back next month, and Charles fills up all the empty spaces left in his schedule by Daniel, Jules and Ferrari.

 

Ferrari ends up taking to Charles quite well, just like Carlos suspected she would. It brings an endless stream of smiles to Charles’ face, that she leans into his hand the same way she does to Carlos. He fits.

 

Lorenzo sends him an army of letters one day, deciding Carlos can deliver them personally, so he spends an entire morning searching unsuccessfully for Charles to give him Lorenzo’s letter. Jules finds him scouring through the halls and directs him to the garden space, which makes him hesitant to keep going. Jules tells him Charles does not grow poisonous plants. Carlos takes the hint for what it is and complies.

 

Time spent in the gardens steadily increases each day. One day Charles stops bringing paper and traces his thoughts and replies on whatever part of Carlos he can get his hands on. He doesn’t address it, so Carlos doesn’t either.

 

He’s reading a new letter from Blanca, now back home, when Lorenzo comes bursting into his room, making him drop everything in surprise. “You’re a week early! When did you get back?”

 

“You replaced me!” Lorenzo accuses, ignoring him completely. The words don’t have their complete effect given the smile on his lips and the affection in his voice. “I couldn’t believe it when Jules wrote to me, but I should have known.”

 

“What?” Carlos asks, still half asleep and confused. “What did Jules tell you I did?”

 

Lorenzo lets out a long-suffering sigh. “You went off and became Charles’ best friend. Jules told me you spent so much time together he rarely saw the two of you apart after the first month!”

 

“Well,” Carlos grimaces. Jules did technically tell the truth. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

 

“Yes but now you have to spend time with me,” Lorenzo demands, pouting. “You can be Charles’ best friend but you have to be mine too.”

 

“Who would believe you are turning twenty?” Carlos mutters under his breath, but he smiles. It’s good to have Lorenzo back, and perhaps the five of them can all spend time together.

When Charles traces G-O-O-D-B-Y-E in the palm of his hand before he leaves, it feels like a promise.

Notes:

thanks for reading! here it is, feel free to stab me over the first half :) leave a comment if you'd like, i'd love to hear your thoughts x

Chapter 4: why is loving you not fair

Summary:

Even Carlos’ ears go red with embarrassment at the blunt statement. “Well, I did not know!” Carlos stands up to pace around, his chest filling with worry. It’s as if Charles took all of the air from the room when he left. “Oh God, what will I say? I did not think this through!”

Lorenzo rolls his eyes, unbothered. “You two,” he grumbles. “Hopeless. I will go inform Maman. You focus on keeping your heartbeat slow.”

4.

Carlos is twenty-one when he lets himself realise that he likes Charles. In hindsight, it should have been obvious to him. Or anyone else involved really. Blanca is the only one that knows, since that one time he’d told her about the weird Lorenzo proposals and she’d found his poems about green eyes Lorenzo did not have. She was quick to tell him which Leclerc did. He does not need reminding.

 

“Why don’t you tell him?”

 

“He’s my friend,” Carlos repeats for what feels like the umpteenth time.

 

Blanca shakes her head. “Rubbish,” she snorts. “You write about his eyes. You wrote that they stay the same throughout all the seasons, just like your love!”

 

Carlos sighs. “I can’t tell him, Blanca,” he says miserably. “He lives with so much already, how can I add to that? He wouldn’t…he’s too kind. He would figure that it is his fault.”

 

“Isn’t it?” Blanca asks thoughtfully. “I mean, he must have done something to make you so smitten with him.”

 

Carlos throws his book at her. She catches it, cackling.

 

—

 

Another person is Lorenzo himself, Carlos’ best friend. Also the other brother of Carlos’ long-time crush. Also, the person who should know who does not know.

 

He doesn’t know how to tell him. Lorenzo has been suggesting Carlos marry Charles for years now. 

 

His entire family is in the Eastern Kingdom for the annual ball they are holding, and Carlos is left without a date. Blanca is, too, which eased his worry a tiny bit, at least until their parents had sat them down and explained they both need to at least try and look for a Consort. They’d both been reasonably taken aback, mirrored looks of shock on their faces.

 

(“Oh, no,” is the only thing Blanca’s rarely small voice was able to say.

 

Carlos agrees with the sentiment, “Wow, what a warning.”)

 

“I think this is the last time I’m going to ask,” Carlos starts dully. Tomorrow he has to start looking for a person of marital calibre. Lorenzo is still looking, too, but he’s been rejected so many times he doubts his answer will be one of acceptance. “You won’t marry me, will you?”

 

Lorenzo looks genuinely surprised. “Are you still on that?” he asks, incredulous. “I’m sorry, but you are not the Sainz I have feelings for. Sorry to disappoint for, what, the fifth time running?”

 

Carlos sits up, jaw dropping in shock. “What do you mean, not the right Sainz? Which one of my sisters have you been secretly harbouring feelings for?”

 

“Calm down, pet.” Lorenzo rolls his eyes and Carlos wants to skin him. Surely–surely it’s not Ana? “Blanca is a very nice person,” he adds quietly, his whole face softening, and Carlos suddenly feels bad for doubting him. 

 

Fucking hell, Lorenzo is in love with Blanca. “Have you told her? Are you going to?”

 

“Mate, I think she’ll have my head taken off if I try to propose to her. She’s very headstrong, haven’t you said?”

 

“Well–yes, but.” Carlos frowns, thinking. “But,” he starts excitedly, “Blanca loves romance, and she has definitely always thought you were a good person, I think she’ll say yes. You should try at least.”

 

Lorenzo nods dubiously. It’s a start. 

 

—

 

Charles is waiting for him at the entrance to the courtyard after tea, the two of them having agreed to a trek around the outskirts of the forest the day before. He’s wrapped up in warm winter coats, looking like a little roll of cloth. He looks displeased when he sees Carlos and is handing him something as soon as he’s at arm’s length. 

 

They’re…mittens. Oh.

 

Oh. Charles brought extra mittens for him. Whatever warmth his skin was missing is rushing in fast. You never wear anything warm, Charles holds up.

 

“Thank you,” he says softly, words failing. “It’s very nice of you.”

 

The mittens fit him almost perfectly, snug around his fingers and Carlos wants to ask if Charles got his specific measurements, and if so, how. But then Charles is holding the door open, gesturing for him to go through. Carlos has never been one to back down from a challenge, however. It’s a thing they do: unconsciously race each other for the door just so they can hold it open for the other. Carlos usually wins, although not because he gets there first.

 

No, Carlos plays dirty, physically moving Charles through the door at times and at others manoeuvring him over to his other side so it’s harder for him to do it. Even now, as he reaches for his waist, spinning him around (which in hindsight was unnecessary, but Carlos does not particularly care. He will take any opportunity to hold Charles) and pushing him so he steps through.

 

Charles sends him a dirty look, angrily tracing T-H-A-T W-A-S N-O-T F-A-I-R on his forearm, making goosebumps erupt along the area. He tries to shrug it off, adopting an indifferent look. 

 

“I’ll let you ride Ferrari tomorrow,” Carlos promises, and it’s a good trade if he counts Charles’ pleased expression.

 

—

 

Carlos does in fact keep his promise to Charles about Ferrari the next day, sending word with Jules as he heads down to the stables with his riding gloves clutched in his Charles-gifted mitten-covered hands. Ferrari greets him excitedly, which makes him grin involuntarily. 

 

It’s still quite early in the morning, the sun having barely started to rise. But Carlos thinks Charles almost prefers this, the time when the world is almost as silent as him. The evenings can be quiet, too, but more often than not the day’s troubles get to them. The walks help, and the company does too.

 

Carlos also finds it funny Charles likes the early morning but will always show up drowsy and half asleep, just as he does now. Luckily for him, Carlos came prepared: with tea.

 

Charles accepts his offer gratefully, letting Carlos lead him over to Ferrari and pressing his face into her coat. Carlos watches him, trying not to laugh. “Are you done?”

 

Charles gestures for Carlos’ hand, which he extends happily. Charles does not talk to him still, but he sketches and traces and writes and somehow makes it bearable. S-H-E I-S L-I-K-E Y-O-U .

 

“Like me?” Carlos asks, amused. “In what way?”

 

F-U-R-N-A-C-E, Charles explains. He must deem his next reply too long since he takes out his notebook and starts writing there instead. Like a walking fireplace.

 

“That’s…nice?” Carlos tries. It certainly explains how Charles has been sticking to him like glue since he arrived. A part of him wishes it had no explanation, that Charles was doing it out of secret love and not because he got cold easily. “Well, it’s warm in the South. You get used to it, I think.”

 

Warm, Charles writes, like home.

 

Oh. “But it’s cold here?”

 

Charles shrugs, indifferent. Carlos tries not to think about it.

 

—

 

The ride does them some good, and also some bad: the cold finally hits Carlos and he tries to valiantly fight the urge to shiver, but it’s not easy while being pressed up against Charles.  It does not take him long to notice, Charles tensing up and raising Carlos’ blood pressure in the process. 

 

He stops Ferrari gently, easing her down. Carlos has always found it endearing that Charles was able to calm Ferrari better than anyone else (if Charles has the same effect on him no one has to know). He knows he's likely going to get a telling-off in the loosest sense of the word. What he doesn't count on, however, is Charles swinging around to do it. 

 

It leaves them flush against each other, Charles sporting a disappointed look on his face which makes Carlos cringe internally. I want to die, Carlos thinks, dropping the notebook into Charles’ outstretched hand. Please please please let me die.

 

Charles seems like he's in the mood to fluster and catch Carlos off guard today. He takes the paper and holds it up against his chest.

 

Carlos tries not to breathe.

 

Why don't you listen to me, Charles writes. Do you want to catch your death?

 

“I'm not used to your stupid Eastern winters,” Carlos whines petulantly. It's more of a feeble attempt at defence than anything. “Even if I dressed like you I’d still be freezing in this horrible weather.”

 

My mother would have you hanged for speaking like that, Charles writes in response, but he smiles anyway. It vanishes quickly, though, like he's remembered why they're fighting. He takes off one of his coats, arranging it on Carlos until he deems it well. Carlos doesn't fight him, and tries not to think about the fact that Charles’ touch heats him up more than the coat will ever be capable of.

 

A nosebleed or three later they get back (somewhat) safely at the castle. They bicker back and forth for a while, but Carlos ultimately wins the fight and walks Charles back to his room. Charles hugs him, catching him off guard.

 

“Good night,” Carlos says awkwardly.

 

“Good night,” Charles replies softly, turning away with a shy smile on his face, and shutting the door quietly behind him. 

 

Carlos’ heart stops momentarily in his chest, blood circulation ceasing. Two years. Five months. Two years. Two years, five months, two weeks and three days.

 

Two years, five months, two weeks and three days, the first and no longer last time he has heard Charles’ angelic voice. He used to dream of this day, the day when Charles would think of him as half as special as Carlos finds him.

 

For the first time, Carlos has a chance.

 

And he refuses to let it go.

 

—

 

Later, when he gets back to his room, he notices folded paper in his pocket. He frowns, he hadn't put it there.

 

He unfolds it. He stares. He reads it over and over but it doesn't make sense. 

 

You are like home.

 

—

 

“Blanca did tell me about your little crush on my little brother,” Lorenzo tells him conversationally over a game of cards.

 

Carlos splutters, poker face long gone as he stares, stricken, at his best friend. “She what ?”

 

“Over tea,” he replies, diligently placing another card that puts the game in his favour. Carlos cannot even recall what game it is they are playing. “She tells me you write poems . I did not realise my year spent away meant that you replaced me in more ways than one.”

 

“I did not–” he pauses. He knows he’s acting a bit stupidly. Of course. Blanca told Lorenzo; she probably assumed he already knew. “She told you?” His voice sounds small to his own ears.

 

Lorenzo nods slowly, realisation dawning on his face. “Oh, pet,” he sighs, “I gather she was not supposed to tell me.”

 

“No, she wasn’t,” he says quietly, folding into himself. “I was going to tell you, I swear, I was just waiting for the right time.”

 

“I know,” Lorenzo whispers. “I don’t blame you. Charles is very pretty, he probably has half of the kingdom bewitched,” he jokes.

 

Carlos tries for a half-smile. “It’s not that. Not only that,” he corrects. “He’s…he’s so interesting, and he has all these thoughts and I want to listen to them all day, even if he doesn’t tell me. And he’s so kind, always thinking of everyone else, of me, he just gives so much and I want to give them back to him, I can’t explain it, he’s just…Charles.”

 

“That’s disgusting,” Lorenzo says. “But very cute. In a sickening sort of way.”

 

“Oh, and are you one to talk?” Carlos accuses, desperately wanting to wipe the stupid grin off of Lorenzo’s face. “You’re in love with my sister!”

 

Lorenzo goes bright red. “Hey, I thought we were being nice!”

 

“There is no being nice in this friendship,” Carlos says in a monotone, sending them into a tense silence, before Lorenzo snickers and they collapse into laughter.

 

Carlos’ sides are still hurting when Lorenzo says, “Jules got some new liquor from some of the common taverns. Do you want to try it?”

 

Mistake. Such a stupid mistake.

 

—

 

“But why would he like me?” Carlos finally voices, slanted over the games table. 

 

“I don’t know, but he does,” Lorenzo points out, completely unhelpful. “Perhaps you should, I don’t know, ask him? Just a suggestion. It might help.”

 

Carlos half lifts his head up, completely exhausted. “But he could have anyone,” he protests weakly. “I’m just…me.”

 

“Wow, no way. Hi Me, I’m Lorenzo, it’s nice to meet you.”

 

“Fuck off,” he says, but there’s no bite laced into his tone.

 

Carlos is still nursing his first pint and Lorenzo is on his fifth. To add to the unfairness, Lorenzo is soberer than him. He’s never been a lightweight; it wasn’t in his blood, Papa had always said. Carlos is becoming less and less sure that the liquor is made of just alcoholic ingredients.

 

He tells Lorenzo as much, earning a mock-offended, “Are you suggesting I’m poisoning you?”

 

“Yes,” he replies in a deadpan. He’s seeing Charles in the corner of his eye. Strange.

 

“No, Carlos, not strange,” Lorenzo snorts, and Carlos realises he’s said the words aloud, his cheeks going red with embarrassment. “Hi little brother, do you want to try?”

 

Charles’ eyes flit warily between Lorenzo’s extended hand and Carlos’ general state. He declines the offer with a shake of his head, taking the seat next to Carlos, despite the surplus of empty, more comfortable seating around the room. The observation brings a silly smile to his face.

 

Do it, Lorenzo mouths.

 

Carlos stands up, emboldened by his drink and Lorenzo’s words. He has to tell him, he has to.

 

“Can I have dinner with you, in your chambers, tonight?” Carlos asks softly, feeling the tenseness in the air around them. They both know what the proposition really is: it’s a big thing to ask and one without many options.

 

“Yes,” Charles replies, mimicking Carlos’ soft tone. There’s a curious pink flush across his face, and Carlos thinks he definitely prefers this to the warmer red Lorenzo usually has. Charles stands up to leave abruptly, and Carlos feels a loss he cannot explain.

 

Barely a moment passes after Charles’ sudden departure when the silence is broken with a loud scoff from Lorenzo. “He speaks,” Lorenzo mutters, shaking his head. “He speaks for you and yet you doubt his love.”

 

Even Carlos’ ears go red with embarrassment at the blunt statement. “Well, I did not know!” Carlos stands up to pace around, his chest filling with worry. It’s as if Charles took all of the air from the room when he left. “Oh God, what will I say? I did not think this through!”

 

Lorenzo rolls his eyes, unbothered. “You two,” he grumbles. “Hopeless. I will go inform Maman. You focus on keeping your heartbeat slow .”

 

Despite all his panicking, the dinner goes well. Charles does not speak much, but the tidbits he gets Carlos keeps catalogued away to replay in his head until he sees Charles again. He looks pretty, as always, but something about the candlelight hitting the side of his face makes Carlos want to capture the moment forever. Carlos is there to fill in the silences and is more than happy to glance at Charles when he isn’t looking. He catches Charles doing the same a few times, green eyes glowing in what he hopes is happiness. 

 

Carlos wants to get married tomorrow.

 

—

 

Balls were boring when he was a child, and that was one of the things that didn’t change as he got older. At least when he was younger, it wasn’t obligatory to mingle around and make ‘friends’ with the other monarchs, but now that he's developed more coherent speech he has to force a smile and pretend to be interested in whatever discussion he, unfortunately, stumbles on. 

 

Still, he has to admit he’s made a rare friend in some of the other royals. Duke Lando from the Western Isles, of course, being one of them. He wouldn’t say they are friends in the literal sense but he likes him well enough and Lando writes to him sometimes, although that might be because Carlos wrote him one time after a ball where he lost his ring and was in a frenzy to get it back. Lando did not, in fact, have the ring, but he did include a hilariously detailed story in the postscript, almost like an afterthought. It certainly sold Carlos on writing him back.

 

There is also Princess Isa from the Western Kingdom, who he initially had a crush on, but that had fizzled out quickly when he’d gotten to know her more. Not that he didn’t think she was nice and pretty, but more because she was nice and pretty and a She.

 

(The last ball, he’d told her. She wasn’t even a little bit surprised, playfully jabbing a “What, was that supposed to be a shock?”

 

“Actually, it wasn’t because you’re a woman, it was because you’re mean to me.”

 

“Just because Lorenzo coddles you doesn’t mean you’re entitled to the same from me. Brat.”)

 

Carlos had been moderately successful in selling the secret proposal idea in everyone’s heads subtly, hinting at a surprise that has a chance of happening out in the ballroom. It hadn’t taken long for word to make its way to Blanca, who, in her confusion, was one of the first to assemble inside.

 

Lorenzo had been waiting nervously, but the way that his face lit up when Blanca walked into the room, even though Carlos did not have any doubt before, is what fully cements Lorenzo’s commitment to Blanca in him. They will be good for each other, Carlos knows.

 

Carlos does a whole show of loud whispering and tipping off the right people, creating a domino effect that leads to his sister rushing over to Lorenzo, demanding why she hadn’t been informed of his proposal idea. To an outsider, it seems nothing more than idle gossip, but Carlos notices the restlessness of Blanca’s posture and the badly disguised adoration on Lorenzo’s face.

 

A hushed silence washes over a shocked crowd as Lorenzo steps away, dropping to one knee. Blanca’s jaw drops, flailing arms now still. 

 

“Princess Blanca,” Lorenzo starts, voice cracking slightly, but he pushes through with a harsh swallow. “I now pronounce my adorations to you, for you have captured my heart with your mind, beauty and soul. Will you accept my wishes, my love, and marry me?”

 

Carlos has to stifle a laugh at Blanca’s mouthed what the fuck before she clears her throat, and says, “Yes, I will. Why are you still on your knees? You should have kissed me thirty seconds ago. Maybe I should reconsider; you might keep me waiting for another ten years.”

 

There is a collective sigh of relief before the crowd launches into an uproar, all long used to Blanca’s antics. Charles is the first to offer his congratulations, having popped up out of thin air. He stays for just a moment before gliding off to mingle. Carlos’ breath catches at how truly royal he looks, and he has to remind himself to breathe. Multiple times.

 

Still, he has a duty as brother of the bride. “Blanca, Lorenzo,” he greets with a nod, taking Blanca’s furious expression in stride. “Before you ask,” he says, addressing her, “yes, I knew.”

 

“You little shit,” Blanca accuses, but she’s been grinning for two minutes and doesn’t seem keen to stop now. “Your turn next, right?”

 

Carlos goes pink, instinctively looking over his shoulder for a green-eyed monarch. “I’m not so sure.”

 

“Oh please,” Lorenzo cuts in dismissively. “You search for him in a crowd like you are dying of thirst and he is an oasis.”

 

“You tell a lot of tall tales,” Carlos replies, averting his gaze. He turns to leave, and is stopped by a hand on his arm, the earnest eyes of his sister boring into him. 

 

“He went outside to get some air,” she says quietly, nodding to the left exit. “I think he, and you, would like it if you followed him. Do not be so scared of this, Carlos.” She looks elated, and Carlos–Carlos just wants to look like that too. “You know what you want. So go get it.” 

 

So he does. He politely steps away from the swarms of little children and narrowly manages to avoid being drawn into a conversation with Countess Charlotte about the new villages being built in her territories. Carlos likes her well enough–just not enough to deter him from his Charles mission.

 

He wanders through the halls in a pattern he’s spent a lifetime learning. There’s a pull in a certain direction that he cannot explain but if anything he will trust his instincts. They led him to Charles once; he has no reason to believe they won’t again.

 

“Blanca said you might come looking for me,” a voice says softly from his right. He spins around slowly, not wanting to seem too eager despite his racing heart. “I didn’t believe her.”

 

“I don’t often ignore what my sister tells me,” Carlos admits. “She’s usually right.”

 

“I do not doubt it,” Charles agrees. “Why did you come, anyway?”

 

He sounds curious, and Carlos takes a deep breath, wracking up the courage to reply. “Charles, I–”

 

Charles’ eyes go wide with wonder as he stares at something over Carlos’ shoulder, dropping his hands and racing over to the window, hitting Carlos kind of solidly in the process. Carlos gets the air knocked out of him, but he turns to look at Charles gesturing wildly at something outside, but then Carlos notices the droplets on the windowpane, and he realises.

 

It’s raining. How poetic.

 

Carlos joins him at the window, blanketing him with his body, resting his head on Charles’ shoulder. “It’s very pretty,” he says quietly, breathing him in. It’s a comforting scent. Carlos wants to wake up next to it every morning.

 

Charles taps his hand. “I have an idea.”

 

He leads Carlos over to the entrance to the courtyard and Carlos has a wary assumption of what Charles’ mysterious idea is. It will likely end in pneumonia-related deaths for both of them.

 

Fuck, he’s really in deep if his first thought was how romantic and not I don’t want to die so soon.

 

“Dance with me,” Charles says, stepping away from him. Carlos finds it unfair that he looks graceful even while being drenched. His eyes twinkle brightly in the moonlight that seems like it was made just for him. “Come, it’ll be fun.”

 

“You’re getting so wet,” Carlos tries to argue, but saying no to Charles has always been one of his weak points, so he lets Charles pull him into the courtyard, lets himself get doused with the coldest water he has ever felt in his life, opens himself up to the possibility of pneumonia because he truly is head over heels and he’s happy. “I don’t dance.”

 

Charles grins, face bright and it hits him hard that he’s the prettiest person Carlos has ever seen and he is suddenly so happy about this because there is no way he would have chosen Carlos out of everyone else in the world; Carlos had never understood the phrase ‘the world at your feet’ before but it sounds tailor-made for Charles in all his glory, laughing and smiling and all his. “That’s alright,” Charles brushes off. “Just follow what I do.”

 

He hardly notices the M-I-N-E Charles traces onto the skin of his neck. It doesn’t matter: Carlos has only ever belonged to him.

 

If he gets to do it with Charles, he’s happy to waltz for the rest of his life.

 

—

 

He tells his parents the next morning. They’re admittedly very surprised, but then he starts on Charles and the colour returns to Mama’s face. The approval on their faces is so validating, even though the conversation was more of an “I’m doing this,” than a “Can I do this?”, he cannot lie and say the acceptance does not relieve him a little.

 

He gets Charles on his own a bit after lunch, and formally proposes his hand and everything that comes with it.

 

Comfort like he’s never known laces into him slowly as Charles scrawls out the word yes, his hands shaking with excitement. King Hervé and Queen Pascale are another matter entirely, but with Charles, in his arms, everything is just a little bit easier.

 

You’ll know when you’re in love, Carlos, because it’ll feel worthy of a story. Even if there isn’t one, you’ll want to tell it.

 

It will be the best story you ever tell.

Notes:

thanks for reading! if you have any thoughts or just enjoyed, feel free to let me know in the comments x

Chapter 5: let's skip all the small talk

Summary:

“The decorations, if you would allow it,” Carlos starts, turning to Charles, who looks curious. “I want the flowers to be from your garden, the ones on the altar.”

Charles’ eyes go wide, a soft smile spreading across his face. “I thought you’d forgotten,” he whispers, eyes crinkling. “I would like that, too.”

5. 

Lorenzo and Blanca’s wedding is a large, boisterous affair, fitting of what one would expect of the coalition between two of the strongest kingdoms in the land. Carlos had a default invite, as the brother of the bride and best man of the groom. 

 

Charles was part of the wedding party, too.

 

Since the ball and the waltz in the rain, Carlos had only seen him during Lorenzo and Blanca’s wedding discussions and the matters of their own engagement. They – their parents – tried to put the proceedings on hold, and told the two they could resume discussions after a few years, but Carlos had arranged for them to formally meet in the Leclerc’s throne room and had firmly informed all the parties present that Carlos’ wedding to Charles wasn’t something he saw as inferior to postponable matters of the state and that they had more than enough free time, and no, you couldn’t convince him otherwise because he is a prince too (it had taken him weeks to say that without his voice cracking) and he knows how things are done.

 

Throughout the speech, he tried to stop his gaze from flitting over to Charles. He’d gone fully upright in his throne when he’d seen Carlos walk in, and even from this far away Carlos can see the unfiltered awe in his shiny green-eyed gaze. He thinks both his Mama and Queen Pascale were holding back laughter at his solemn tone.

 

It worked, though, and they started drawing up the treaties later that day. Lorenzo had laughed at him and Blanca told him he was sickening. He said the same thing to both of them: it’s Charles.

 

It’s been a few weeks since Carlos last saw him, though he’d seen Lorenzo more than a few times in between. Charles had been in his kingdom when Carlos wasn’t, and when Carlos was Charles wasn’t. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little dissatisfied with the arrangements.

 

He also thinks his behaviour is justified, contrary to what others may think. “Where is he?” Carlos demands. Lorenzo doesn’t look surprised at all; rather, he has a self-satisfied grin on his face. Blanca lets out a long-suffering sigh, throwing a few coins at a cackling Lorenzo.

 

“Idiot, I thought you’d have at least a little self-restraint,” she grumbles, but cannot fight her smile. “I think he’s up on the balcony. Go find him.”

 

Well. He would have appreciated more explicit instructions, but it’s fine. He can find his fiancé.

 

Fiancé. It still feels like a fever dream.

 

Only after he steps out with a stupid smile on his face does he remember he forgot to ask which balcony. Before he was stuck with no clues, now he is stuck with a clue he doesn’t know how to use. 

 

Instincts. Instincts work. Soulmate shit or whatever. (He doesn’t think about that all the time. He doesn’t blush and giggle foolishly to empty rooms about that. He doesn’t lie to himself about it either.

 

Sometimes he lies to other people.)

 

“Carlos, hi!”

 

He stops, turns to step into Daniel’s outstretched arms, accepting the hug. From anyone else, the informal greeting would be grounds for disrespect, but the rules have never applied to him and Jules in the Eastern Kingdom like they did to everyone else.

 

“Hi Daniel,” he greets warmly. “How is Jules?” 

 

“You can ask him yourself, he was asking about you anyway,” Daniel shrugs, sizing him up mischievously and Carlos knows that smirk and he knows he’s going to choke after whatever ridiculous thing Daniel is going to say next. “You’re looking for that little fiancé of yours, aren’t you? You look antsy.”

 

Carlos nods, feeling slightly uneasy, trying not to focus for too long on Daniel’s words to suppress the redness of his cheeks. “Um. Yeah, I am. Blanca said–”

 

“I left him on the roof,” Jules interrupts from behind Carlos. “He said he had something to discuss with you or something in private. Can I have Daniel back now?”

 

“You never let me have any fun,” Daniel teases, but goes nonetheless. “Have fun with Charles on the roof. Not too much, it’s not good for your health,” he adds with a wink, making Carlos go red again.

 

He waves awkwardly before turning on his heel and sprinting off as soon as he is able to, leaving behind a conversation he never wants to reopen.

 

(Lie.)

 

—

 

At least Jules was not lying about Charles being on the roof, peering over his kingdom. Carlos has a wild thought of walking up behind him and wrapping him up in his arms like he did on that night, back when he was sure and felt ready. Still, he does not let the intrusiveness of the idea win him over, settling to join Charles beside him at the wall.

 

“Hi,” he starts awkwardly. Why is this so awkward? They are friends first, Carlos has nothing to be afraid of, right? “How are you?”

 

Charles shrugs in response, his shoulders tense and Carlos needs him to stop that. Carlos is a self-conscious and apprehensive person in general, but he has never felt this way around Charles. Even now, the prickliness beneath his skin burns with tension that feels less uneasy and more…sexual.

 

Fuck. That’s normal, no? He’s not weird?

 

“Do you want to kiss me?” Charles blurts out and then swears, which Carlos should not find as endearing as he does. “It’s just–Lorenzo said–he said that you’d have this weird pained expression–I don’t think I’m saying this right, shit. You look like you want to kiss me? And we’re engaged? We should kiss, right?”

 

He keeps tilting his voice up at the ends, which only feeds into Carlos’ belief that Charles finds this as weirdly tense as he does. But to all his questions, he sounds and looks like someone who wants to be kissed, which is what he chooses to hold on to.

 

Moving into Charles’ space comes surprisingly easy to him, Charles taking a step back as Carlos takes a step forward. Carlos hasn’t exactly done this before, so he’s not sure what possesses him to pull Charles in by the waist. Charles doesn’t stop him, rather, he goes that lovely shade of pink Carlos loves seeing him in, eyes fluttering shut. 

 

“Yeah, I want to kiss you,” Carlos murmurs, and then he does exactly that.

 

All the poetry that Carlos knows could never do justice to the real marvel that is kissing Charles. It feels better than anything he could have ever imagined, and he has been imagining for a long time. He never wants the moment to end. 

 

It feels like a story unfolding in front of him. Carlos pours his whole self into it, tries to leave his imprint on Charles’ lips. It’s like magic, the way his leg slips between Charles’ and his hands come up to cup his jaw in a manner he wasn’t even aware he was attuned to.

 

Charles’ free hand slips into his hair, tugging at the knots, eliciting a soft noise from Carlos. He tries to bring them impossibly closer, frowning as Charles draws back to laugh at him. His brain is on autopilot, zoning in on Charles’ neck and tries to recall stories he'd heard from his friends when he was younger. He kisses down his jaw, occasionally stopping to bite and enjoying the way Charles’ breathing hitches when he does.

 

When he stops to catch his breath for a moment, he takes in the somewhat open environment and cringes at the uncomfortable look of the borders of the roof.

 

“Do you want to take this–somewhere else? It’s not the most…” Carlos trails off, fixating on everything but the bright red mark he has left on Charles’ neck, false bravado gone.

 

To his surprise, Charles shakes his head. “I don’t think I’m ready,” he says in a low tone, and Carlos can feel himself physically deflating. “I–I did like it, what we did, but I don’t–I’m not ready for that.”

 

Carlos nods mechanically, ignoring his racing heart. “Of course,” he nods, “I don’t want to pressure you. It’s okay.”

 

Charles nods, though it looks more to himself than to Carlos. Carlos lets him go, though everything in him is screaming at him to follow.

 

Carlos has never been good at following instructions. He’s been made more than aware of that.

 

—

 

“Charles isn’t here?” Carlos asks, trying not to sound too disappointed, but he can tell he’s not as convincing as he would have liked.

 

“Ouch,” Blanca teases. “You would think you care nothing for us. He’ll be here soon, heathen.”

 

Carlos knows it’s a joke, but he cannot help the apology that spills from his lips. Blanca waves him off, passing his allocated pint over to him. Lorenzo starts chattering almost immediately, clearly tipsy. Carlos zones out, focus completely on the door as he takes small but purposeful sips of his drink.

 

Thankfully, Charles does not take too long, sneaking in and quickly taking a seat close to Carlos. He gestures subtly to Lorenzo, “He’s okay?”

 

Carlos nods, although Lorenzo’s drunken singing has him more than a little worried too. Charles relaxes slightly, stealing Carlos’ drink off of him, making a face at the taste before abruptly handing it back. Carlos wants to say something, but is suddenly cut off by Lorenzo.

 

“I can’t believe you left me for my brother,” Lorenzo complains, wiping a fake tear away. “Truly I am heartbroken, how could you do this to me, Carlos?”

 

“You think you are one to talk? Didn’t you reject me like, ten times, because you were secretly in love with my sister?”

 

“He makes a good point,” Blanca muses. “But then you were secretly in love with Charles too, and I had to find your–”

 

Carlos claps a hand to Blanca’s mouth, unsure of his actions but operating on autopilot. “You didn’t even know you liked Lorenzo until he proposed.”

 

“Yeah, because he never told me anything! And I was going to, but then he beat me to it. He’s annoying.”

 

“I’m also right here, darling.”

 

Blanca shrugs, taking a sip. “You should hear this anyway. Where did you even find the balls to do it?”

 

Lorenzo points to Carlos, “He said I should go for it.”

 

“And you should be thankful I did, bastards,” Carlos argues, scowling, ignoring Blanca’s attempts to decapitate him.

 

They’re all slightly drunk, so Carlos blames the alcohol in his system for his next actions.

 

Carlos gets down on one knee, dramatically clearing his throat. “Lorenzo Leclerc, fairest Prince in the land, will you leave my sister at the altar, and run away with me to get married?”

 

Blanca is scrawled across the bed, pissing herself with laughter. Lorenzo isn’t faring much better, hands hugging his knees as he shakes with the force of his wheezes. The only one who is silent amongst them is Charles, a half smile plastered on his face. On its own, it’s not an immediate cause for alarm, but it makes Carlos frown, at how dead his expression looks.

 

He will talk to him later, and find out what is wrong, like a good spouse-to-be.

 

“My life is so poetic, I have not one but two monarchs fighting over me. I am a gift from God.”

 

—

 

Charles is restless and prickly on the walk back to his room, having shaken off Carlos’ tentative hand on the small of his back. His jaw is clenched–Carlos has absolutely fucked up in some way.

 

“What’s wrong?” Carlos finally asks, trying to keep up with Charles’ pace. “You’ve been quiet–er, quieter than usual.”

 

He underestimated how mad Charles really is, mouth dropping in shock as he pulls out a paper and quill. His hands are shaking as he writes, Carlos notes. He wordlessly extends the note to Carlos, not even stopping to check if he’s got it.

 

Carlos reads it aloud, “Nothing is wrong.”

 

He frowns. Charles is–Charles is lying to him. “No, you can tell me,” Carlos reassures in a low tone, taking note of how Charles’ shoulders relax the tiniest bit. “Talk to me, Charles.”

 

His accent slips without meaning to, turning the harshness dead and making it sound like sharls – the way that is reserved only for when they are alone. Charles stops in his tracks for a fraction of a second, but he does not let Carlos catch up to him; just snatches the paper back to scribble a bit more. 

 

You were so comfortable with Lorenzo tonight.

 

Is this a weird dream? “He’s my friend, you know that. My best friend.”

 

Friends, right…that’s why you proposed to him, in front of me?

 

“Charles,” Carlos says sharply, taking his hand and not letting him shake it off. He pulls him flush against him, but Charles avoids his eyes still, head bowed slightly. “Listen to me.”

 

He tips his chin up to meet his eyes, “You know Lorenzo was there, right? And Blanca was there too? They are to be married in three days! Do you think I meant that? I care about you, and I want you,” Charles’ eyes go wide as he blushes, “I would never do that to you. And I don’t want to. I’ve been proposing to Lorenzo for years. It was all in jest. You are the only one who was ever for me.”

 

Sometimes I feel like you don’t even want me there, Charles writes. But it’s not you, it’s everyone. I feel useless.

 

Oh, how he knows the feeling. It takes everything in him not to say the stupid words. “I always want you there,” he says seriously, “I feel lost without you.”

 

“Now you just want me in your bed,” Charles whispers out loud, voice hoarse from hours of not speaking, Carlos knows.

 

“But the bed is yours,” Carlos points out. “It’s your room. So you are the one who wants me in your bed.”

 

“Yes,” Charles agrees, a smile spreading across his face. Carlos just wants it to stay.

 

—

 

Everything goes exactly as planned, Blanca looks regal in her gown, stitched of the finest fabrics the royal tailors could find. A years' worth of tailoring, Blanca had told them with a long-suffering sigh. If Lorenzo tries anything, I think Hanna will have him murdered.

 

(Carlos had leaned into Charles’ side, and whispered into his ear, “Should I start a search for more fabric for your gown?” 

 

“Jules may or may not be hiding in your chambers with a knife if you do,” Charles had whispered back nonchalantly. Carlos dug his nails into his palms to keep himself from laughing.

 

It feels good. But not great.)

 

He returns to his wing soon after the after-party celebrations, Charles having begged off halfway through complaining of a headache. Things had been slightly strained between them ever since the night they’d gotten drunk with their siblings. Carlos tried not to think too much about it, but he could hardly escape it when Charles had barely even stopped to look at him as he bid him good night.

 

He couldn’t not think of how Charles had spoken more to his sister in congratulations than to him the entire night.

 

“What are you thinking, Carlos?” the voice of his sister says from above. She’s dressed in less fabric than Carlos last saw, but the gown still looks daunting in all its pretension. “Penny for your thoughts?”

 

“My thoughts are worth so much more, though,” Carlos quips, but his heart isn’t in it. “I was just thinking. About him.”

 

Blanca does not ask who. “Why?” she questions, sounding genuinely curious. “I mean, that is sweet but I cannot imagine why. Don’t lie to me and say you’re having second thoughts,” she adds before Carlos can open his mouth, “you look at that boy like he hung the stars and then gave them to you as a gift. And he looks at you the same way. So what is the real problem?”

 

“I don’t want to ruin what we have,” Carlos whispers, leaning into his sister’s side. “I love him so much, and I know that because it feels like everything Mama said it would.”

 

“Oh pet,” she sighs, but it doesn’t sound uninterested. “Tell me about him,” she continues, surprising Carlos. “Tell me what it is that you love about him. Pretend I don’t know anything about him. Pretend I haven’t seen your thoughts in your poem. Tell me the story Mama said you would love to tell.”

 

He doesn’t know when he nods off, safe in his sister’s arms, reminiscent of when they were younger. All he knows is that he falls asleep dreaming of the boy he loves.

 

Dreaming of being his.

 

—

 

“Have a seat, Carlos. Prince Charles will be along in just a minute,” Papa explains, gesturing to the seat next to him.

 

“Where will he be seated?” Carlos asks, ignoring his Papa’s request. “I want to sit next to him if it’s not too much trouble. That is okay, right?”

 

The room is silent, but Queen Pascale looks strangely approving. “His seat is two seats to your left, darling. You can take the one on his right, please go ahead.”

 

Carlos nods his thanks, trying not to focus on how all eyes are on him. It takes a few moments, but the discussions resume and Carlos sighs his relief. There is no abrupt silence when Charles walks in, but Carlos thinks he’s making for Jules, to ask about his seat, so it comes as a surprise when Charles walks up behind him. Before he can write anything, Carlos blurts, “You’re sitting next to me.”

 

Charles raises his eyebrows at the breach of tradition. Carlos does not care much.

 

Nonetheless, he does sit down, and lets Carlos intertwine their hands under the table, though not without a blush high on his cheeks. “Right,” King Hervé says, clearing his throat. “Before we start, are there any specific requests either of you have?”

 

“The decorations, if you would allow it,” Carlos starts, turning to Charles, who looks curious. “I want the flowers to be from your garden, the ones on the altar.”

 

Charles’ eyes go wide, a soft smile spreading across his face. “I thought you’d forgotten,” he whispers, eyes crinkling. “I would like that, too.”

 

“I could never forget,” he whispers back, kissing his knuckles, which intensifies the redness on the younger prince. 

 

“Ew,” Blanca complains. “You can’t wait till the wedding?”

 

“Blanca, silence yourself,” Mama reprimands firmly. “We said the same about you and Prince Lorenzo, and you would do well to remember. I, for one, think that’s very sweet of you, Carlos. I’ve had the pleasure to receive flowers grown by you, Charles. They really were of the highest quality.”

 

Carlos thinks Charles’ blush can be seen from a sea away. “You are too kind, my Queen.”

 

“It is not just kindness, my dear, but the truth. It will complete the day, I’m sure.”

 

“I was hoping for a spring wedding, then,” Charles says. “It – the flowers – will be at their best. They will look their finest during that season, I think.”

 

“Then a spring wedding we shall organise,” King Hervé agrees, and Carlos relaxes minisculely.

 

He zones out, Charles’ hand in his the only thing grounding him.

 

—

 

Carlos is adamant about fixing this weird uneasiness between him and Charles, and by his behaviour, so is Charles.

 

Charles drags Carlos down to the stables for the third time that day to visit Ferrari. Carlos can’t complain, because they’re his two favourite things in the world: riding and Charles. But he also knows that Charles is getting restless too and skiving off on his duties to be with Carlos, which is something he should be less enthusiastic about (he isn’t; he loves it). Carlos is about to call the stable hand over when Charles is suddenly wrenched from his side.

 

Carlos turns to the source of the commotion with a look of confusion. “Charles!” the unfamiliar person greets, and Carlos thinks, another exception to the rules, that makes three. “Have you been doing alright? Is this your prince?”

 

(Charles’ prince. He thinks nothing of it. Absolutely nothing.)

 

Charles nods, reaching inside Carlos’ coat pocket for his notebook and pen. It’s not a Charles-speak person like Carlos initially thought, since Charles keeps his mouth shut. Not another Daniel. It warms him, that Charles has taken to keeping tidbits of himself inside Carlos’ clothes for him to find later. Carlos never gets rid of them, in case Charles ever finds himself in need of them, like now. 

 

M-A-X is the only detail Carlos gets. He doesn’t quite catch what Charles writes, and doesn’t really care to as he zones out waiting for them to finish their conversation.

 

What he does care to notice, however, is when they are done and Charles does the same thing he does with Carlos to this Max person: traces out his goodbye on his hand.

 

Jealousy. He’s never felt like this before, but something about Charles doing a thing that Carlos thought was meant for him to someone else has his blood boiling under the surface of his skin. 

 

He doesn’t say a word to Charles as he tries his best not to snap at the poor stable hand. Maybe seeing Ferrari will do something to slow his mind. He’s wrong; it does nothing to calm his irritation. Charles has probably noticed by now, he always does, but he cannot bring himself to care, which he must admit startles him.

 

Ferrari seems to have picked up on his bad mood, unusually restless and prickly. She shies away from his touch, doesn’t allow him to saddle her up, and won’t stay still long enough for Carlos to do anything he’s supposed to do to her. 

 

“Why are you mad?” Charles asks with a frown, pulling him back before he can unsuccessfully mount her. “You’re stressed. You’re stressing her. What happened?”

 

Carlos tries to brush him off. “Nothing happened,” he replies stiffly, unsubtly pushing Charles' hand off of him. “What could have happened? I’m fine. You’re just thinking about things.”

 

“Yes, that is what one does,” Charles snaps, but he takes a deep breath and Carlos feels bad about his mood suddenly. It isn’t Charles’ fault he’s bad at communicating his stupid feelings. “Stop sulking and tell me what made you so upset.”

 

Just talk to him, the voice in his head complains stubbornly, sounding suspiciously like his sister. He won’t run away screaming. You’re committed; act like it.

 

“I don’t like that you did that to him at the end,” Carlos blurts out, unable to hold it in. “I don’t want you to do that…I mean–no, I don’t–“

 

“Breathe,” Charles instructs, hands looping around his neck. “Talk to me.”

 

Carlos squeezes his eyes shut, wishing he’d never opened up this conversation. He tries to focus on Charles, tries to stay in the present, tries not to get sucked up in the dark, dark place of his past. “What you did…to Max, the word tracing thing on his hand, I–I thought that was for me. I don’t like that you do it to him. To other people,” he clarifies.

 

“You don’t like it when I talk to other people?” Charles says incredulously, but he sounds like he already knows that an instinctive no is going to come out of Carlos' mouth, so he presses a finger to his lips before he can speak (thoughts are out the window). “Tell me what you mean, clearly, please. What is it you don’t like?”

 

“I thought that it was for me,” Carlos mumbles, trying to push the shame out of his voice. “I never saw you doing it to anyone else. I thought it was only me.”

 

“Carlos,” Charles teases, a smirk playing on his lips, and Carlos is in deep shit. “Are you jealous of that, that I touch other people?”

 

“No,” he lies, purposely averting his gaze. “Me, jealous? Never. Why would you think that?”

 

Even Ferrari looks at him dubiously at that. Damned horse. “I can think of a few reasons,” Charles counters. 

 

“Really,” Carlos says disbelievingly. “I haven’t the faintest idea why you would say that.”

 

“Well, for starters, you didn’t even ask if Max was my friend. He’s really nice, I’ve known him for a long time and I think he’s here to take Daniel back to the Northern Kingdom or something. And secondly, you are special to me, you know that, and the tracing thing started with you! So I–”

 

“I love you,” Carlos interrupts, unable to stop himself. 

 

“I love you too,” Charles says, puzzled. He has a delayed reaction: first, he registers Carlos’ interruption, then what Carlos said in his interruption, and then he takes in what he said in response. At the latter, he goes bright red. “What’s going on?”

 

“I want to love you every day,” Carlos confesses, zeroing in on Charles’ shoulder. “I don’t want us to not fight, I know that’s not possible. But I don’t want things to be so tense between us. I don’t want to stop loving you.”

 

“Me too,” Charles agrees quietly, hands slipping from his neck and forcing their way into Carlos’ own. It’s a comfortable feeling. “Do you think we rushed into this?”

 

Well. Isn’t that a thought? Carlos doesn’t hesitate when he shakes his head, “No. I think I’ve been ready for a long time. It feels right, with you. But I don’t think the way we’re going about it is healthy.”

 

“I agree,” Charles says, tilting his head thoughtfully. “How do we fix this?”

 

Carlos shrugs, at a loss. He’s not very good at these things. He’s good at observing, at drinking in knowledge and of storing things away, but it doesn’t help much in creating icebreaker games.

 

“Tell me something about yourself.”

 

“What?”

 

“Tell me something that I wouldn’t know, but don’t tell it to me. Tell it as you would to village children,” Charles elaborates, the familiar gleam of mischief bright in his eyes.

 

“Tell you something you wouldn’t know…even though I’ve known you your whole life,” Carlos muses, grinning. This reminds him of a scene he would read about, but Charles has always seemed like his perfect storybook love interest, so it’s nothing new. “How are they calling it these days? “Niche”, right?”

 

“I don’t know, I just want my fact,” Charles demands, “surely there’s – Carlos what are you doing – put me down!”

 

“Wait,” he replies simply, adjusting his grip around a flailing Charles. He thinks for a moment, and then deposits him on top of Ferrari, climbing on behind him. With his head on the other’s shoulder, he takes the reins in his hand, and asks, “Let me?”

 

“I’ll always let you,” Charles says softly, leaning back into Carlos’ chest.

 

Then I will tell you everything, Carlos leaves unsaid.

Notes:

i will be frank with you all...i struggled a lot with the flow of this chapter, and i'm posting this even tho i am still unsure of how this progresses from beginning to end. still, it is likely i cannot do anything to fix it, so i'm going to leave this up to you all to decide.

thank you for reading this mess, and see you in a bit for the final chapter (which might take a while...) :) leave me a comment if you have any thoughts x

Chapter 6: when we finally say "i do"

Notes:

sorry for ghosting this fic,,,,i come with 5k ok

the story draws to a close! thank you to all the readers who have been reading since the very first chapter, and a final hello to those joining us just now! enjoy x

+ 6.

This is the last time Carlos lets Lorenzo plan anything.

 

After more than a few sleepless nights over the insane wedding details (“It’s a small wedding, which means we have to go big!” “Lorenzo, then what is the point of it being small?”), Lorenzo had taken it upon himself to do yet another unhinged project – this one to start a new tradition in both kingdoms to show unity between the two marriages. Instead of a normal tradition like announcing a celebration in the towns, he had decided to build an annual carnival.

 

A lovely, passionate idea. If only he hadn’t given himself under two weeks.

 

Still, Carlos has to admit it’s startlingly good for something that had been pitched only twelve days ago. Lorenzo is usually nothing if not responsible, but once in a while he indulges in his crazy ideas and weaves the responsibility into it and it turns out okay.

 

It is an event orchestrated by the Crown Prince, which means that the whole royal family and visiting monarchs had to inaugurate the opening of the carnival. Queen Pascale instructed them to wander in pairs, to show more of a united front to the townspeople. Carlos had been stuck to Charles’ side anyway, so he had no real complaints to offer.

 

“This is unusually amusing,” Charles comments offhandedly. Carlos shakes his head in disbelief, marvelling at the large structures of games buildings. “I knew he could manage it, but I wasn’t expecting it to be so…good?”

 

“I’m going to tell him you said that,” Carlos threatens, gaze fixating on a rack of children’s toys near the centre of the carnival. He drags Charles over, trying not to look too excited. He points to a funny blue creature, “Do you want me to win it for you?”

 

Charles tilts his head doubtfully, which is–ouch. He’d appreciate a little more confidence in his abilities, but okay. “What,” he starts in mock-offence, “you don’t think I can?”

 

“You can try,” Charles allows with a smirk. “Maybe you can prove me wrong.”

 

Carlos drops his hand and shoves past him with a huff. He marches up to the vendor, waving her hasty curtsy off. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he says with a pleasant smile. “Could you explain to me how this game works?”

 

“Well, my lord,” she begins, blushing. “Er, I hear you are quite accomplished on horseback, yes? Then this should not be so hard.”

 

Carlos motions for her to continue, sidestepping as Charles comes up on the platform beside him. “If you can get that pony,” she gestures to the side, where a cute young pony sits, adorably lost, “to follow that straight line, any prize you’d like is yours.”

 

“You hear that, Charles?” Carlos calls over his shoulder, already trying to coax the foal into standing up. “I’ll even wrap it up, all nice and pretty.”

 

Charles is being handed a sheet of paper before he can even ask. On it, he’s written Win it first, will you?

 

“Of course, my love,” he agrees with a wink, laughing at Charles’ frown. Charles has always been jealous of Carlos’ ability to wink, even when they were very small children. Charles kept trying as they grew older, but the most he’s managed in 21 years involves his whole face scrunching up (Carlos secretly thinks it’s cute, but he never says so, in case Charles does something like stopping). 

 

He gets the job done easily enough, the poor little pony following wherever he places the carrot pieces down. It’s surprisingly well-behaved for its age, and he ruffles its forelock and feeds it an extra carrot as a reward. Charles appears behind them, looking simultaneously unsurprised and unamused. Carlos takes the offered piece of paper; you won.

 

Charles stalks off with his arms folded, but Carlos knows it’s in jest. He returns to the vendor woman. “That was the fastest time anyone has set, my lord,” she tells him, wide-eyed. “And no one has done it with the carrot in pieces, that is new.”

 

“Ah, well,” Carlos shrugs, embarrassment seeping in. “What can I win?”

 

“I think I’ll have to offer you two prizes now,” she laments, sighing. “Because of the time you set. Take your pick.”

 

Carlos points to the blue creature thing he saw earlier, and when she moves to get it for him, he catches sight of something behind her. “What is that?” Carlos asks curiously, nodding to the familiar design.

 

“Oh, this. My father was a designer for the royal family, and he made things for the princes upon request. This one was for Prince Charles. In fact, I think he only made two, one of which he gave to the prince. This one was the other.”

 

“Can I get that, please?” Carlos presses distractedly, eyes sweeping the surrounding area for any trace of Charles. “And if you–you could actually wrap that up, that would be nice.”

 

She gives him the toys, the special one wrapped in cloth and kept in a bag as asked. He wanders around for a few minutes, until he finds Charles sitting alone at a bench. “I won,” he greets, smiling down at Charles.

 

Charles pulls him down to sit next to him. Something has been weighing on him since they dispersed the latest organising party last week, and he so desperately wants to know. “Will you take my name?” Carlos asks abruptly, cursing at himself in his head. “I am older, so I cannot–but will you?”

 

Charles shrugs, indifferent. D-O Y-O-U W-A-N-T M-E T-O-?

 

I need you to, Carlos doesn’t say. “I don’t care,” he lies, fidgeting with the buttons on his coat. He has a feeling Charles knows he’s lying anyway. “But it would be traditional?”

 

T-H-E-N I W-I-L-L. Charles moves to withdraw his hand, but Carlos catches it before he can, intertwining them. A small smile creeps onto the former’s face, and Carlos is content.

 

—

 

Charles leaves the task of giving feedback to Lorenzo up to him, faking a headache. To his merit, he doesn’t let up even when Carlos eyes him suspiciously, batting his eyelashes innocently. Carlos watches him go woefully, but he’s almost immediately accosted by Blanca, so he doesn’t really have much time to think about it.

 

She shoves him out. “Go find my husband,” she orders, “stop mooning after your own.”

 

“But he’s mine,” he sighs.

 

“Lorenzo wants you to make a statement,” she continues, ignoring him completely. “And I want to talk to Charles. So go away.”

 

“I’ll steal your husband next, then we can see how well you like it,” Carlos mutters under his breath, getting the door slammed right after him for his troubles. He finds Lorenzo easily enough, reading over a newly drawn up map of the kingdom. 

 

A bittersweet smile tugs at the corner of Carlos’ mouth, a pang of pain hitting him over seeing his best friend, having to act as King so young. It’s been nearly half a year since his coronation, a result of his father’s steadily deteriorating health. They can only be thankful that he will see Charles’ wedding to him, though he will likely never meet Blanca and Lorenzo’s children. 

 

“Hello,” Carlos interrupts, announcing his presence. Lorenzo glances at him with tired eyes, but his smile is as bright as ever. “I’m here at your request.”

 

“No, you’re here to propose to me and we’re going to run away,” he corrects.

 

“Blanca said you wanted me to make a statement?”

 

“She lied,” Lorenzo replies cheerfully. “I wanted to give you the traditional shovel talk thing, if you break his heart and all that.”

 

“Do you have to?” Carlos groans, trying to sound pitiful. Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t work: Lorenzo has long since been accustomed to Charles’ pleading eyes. “I thought we were best friends, Lorenzo–”

 

Lorenzo sighs mockingly, unsympathetic. “Shut up, you let my brother steal you.”

 

That leaves Carlos speechless, which he assumes was Lorenzo’s goal. “Anyway,” Lorenzo continues, as if the past few moments hadn’t happened. “Hmm, let's see…if you do anything at all, that hurts him, I’m going to let him kill you, and then I’m going to reward him, for fulfilling the penalty, and then I’ll help him bury the body.”

 

Lorenzo says this all with a sweet smile on his face, dimples and all, and Carlos feels like he’s been doused with cold water, a rude awakening as to exactly what family he is marrying into: the second oldest, right after his own, and the third most powerful, and if there is one thing the Eastern kingdom isn’t lacking in, it’s family. 

 

And Carlos has never fit in better than in a place with family.

 

“If I hurt him, I’ll hang myself,” Carlos admits softly. Lorenzo looks far from surprised, slightly bored even, as if the answer was one that he expected. Carlos thinks he should take that as a win.

 

Carlos takes the offered map, tracing over the lines as they lapse into a comfortable silence. He doesn’t really know why he was worried, after all, he is Lorenzo’ best friend.

 

“You make him really fucking happy, you know?” Lorenzo says suddenly. Carlos turns to him, surprised. They don’t really have these types of conversations often. “After Papa…we were all in such a bad place, and you all–your whole family, really–you took care of us so well.”

 

Carlos puts an arm around his shoulders, concerned. “Of course we did, Lorenzo,” he says. “We are family.”

 

Lorenzo shakes his head stubbornly. “No, you saw how Charles was after Papa’s diagnosis. How crushed he was. And I felt so fucking selfish, taking that chance of a wedding away from him.”

 

“Lorenzo, no–“

 

Lorenzo clamps a hand over Carlos’ mouth, effectively shutting him up. “Let me finish,” he insists. “I saw how you picked up his broken parts. You put him back together, Carlos, you made him Charles again. There is nothing I could do that would let me rest easy knowing that you know how grateful we all are.”

 

“That’s not fair,” Carlos protests. “I didn’t do it for him. He didn’t need me. I did it because I needed him.”

 

“But that is why,” he counters. “He does need you, and you need him. You treat him like he’s given you the world, and that is why I know that you will never hurt him; not intentionally at the very least.”

 

“I don’t get it.”

 

Lorenzo smiles, an intricate weave of emotions on his face. Carlos just desperately wants to understand. “You will.”

 

—

 

Lorenzo shoos him out and away after an hour or so, claiming that he couldn’t bear to look at Carlos’ stupidly lovesick face, and a request to “send my wife back, Charles can’t have her all of the time”.

 

After talking to Lorenzo, Carlos feels like he’s gained a new perspective on how love should feel like. He used to think it was selfish, to love Charles so hard because he wanted to be loved like that in return, but now he knows the truth: love is selfish, and so is the one who gives it.

 

There is no one or nothing Carlos would rather be selfish about.

 

“Can you stop avoiding the question now?” his sister’s voice asks exasperatedly. “It’s okay to feel your feelings, Charles.”

 

It piques Carlos’ interest. Whatever he was expecting Blanca and Charles to be talking about for so long, it certainly wasn’t him. A part of him had his suspicions it was an attempt to do the same shovel talk thing Lorenzo gave to him, but he thought better of his sister.

 

(No, he didn’t. He thought it was stupid and unnecessary, but he wasn’t going to tell his older sister that.)

 

“I don’t know how to not feel around him,” Charles admits, increasing Carlos’ confusion. “Is it like…normal? To not want to be away from him? Why are you laughing at me, Blanca!”

 

Carlos tries to stifle his own laughter, biting into the meat of his hand as he shakes silently against the stone wall. “I’m going to get so sick of you two, you know?” Blanca giggles. “I’d tell you not to be so…attached but I really don’t think you can do that.”

 

There’s a pause and then Blanca lets out a soft yelp of pain. “Give your brother back to me,” Charles complains. “Get out.”

 

“I’m going,” Blanca says, and Carlos quickly rearranges himself to look as if he’s just passing through. “Oh, hello, Carlos. Your fiancé is throwing a tantrum. Best see to that, I think.”

 

Carlos rolls his eyes with a soft laugh of disbelief. “Thank you, sister dearest,” he deadpans, unhappily accepting Blanca’s hair ruffle. He sighs deeply, “I will attend to the matters of my betrothed later. I need your help with something first.”

 

“Such a good husband-to-be. What can I help you with?”

 

—

 

“Blanca tells me something,” Carlos announces later that night, startling Charles and making him drop his book as he walks in. “The night before the wedding should be an equal trade of your truth from the heart.”

 

Charles regards him with an amused look. Carlos isn’t offended by his lack of response. He climbs into the space beside him, squeezing him against the wall. Charles stares at him, unimpressed, before he gets up and out, walking over to the window sill.

 

“Well, I will tell you anyway,” Carlos says unnecessarily. “I wrote you a poem. Many poems.”

 

It catches Charles’ attention, and Carlos preens under his stare. He clearly means to say, can I see?

 

Carlos hands the notebook over, filled with scribbles of green and lines about emeralds. ‘...in your eyes, I saw…’ ‘...how they sparkle and shine…’ ‘...greener than grass, clearer than glass…’ ‘...a green-eyed gipsy…’ ‘...prettier than pine…’ ‘...more fanciful than the evergreen…’

 

“Years,” Charles says, wonder in his eyes like he can’t quite believe it. “Your hand changed so many times. Carlos, these are years .”

 

“Yes.” Carlos shrugs as if his heart isn’t beating one thousand times per minute. “I’ve been writing them for a long time.”

 

“If I wasn’t marrying you, I think I would have to have you killed,” Charles jokes lightly, but there is a slight shake in his voice and then there are tears in his eyes. 

 

Carlos is faintly alarmed. “Why are you crying?”

 

“I am not crying,” Charles protests, laughing wetly as he hugs the book close to his heart. The suspicious tears trickling down his face would beg to differ. “I’m just shocked, a little more than a lot.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Carlos wants to say something, but no words come out of his mouth. He vaguely wonders if this is how Charles has ever felt. “Your turn.”

 

“My turn?”

 

“If you…want to.”

 

Carlos isn’t expecting an answer as well, and he doesn’t mind if he doesn’t get one. One thing he knows about Charles is that he needs time and patience. He’s waited a few years for Charles. He would wait a lifetime. 

 

“You heard my voice,” Charles mumbles, staring out the window, his gaze sweeping over Carlos’ kingdom. If someone were to have painted him, Carlos is sure he would look like an angel. “And you didn’t ask. Not once. You never asked to hear it again, you never assumed, that you were entitled to it.”

 

“I didn’t,” Carlos agrees, and he smiles when he says, “I didn’t understand at first, why you would hide a voice so beautiful.” It has its intended effect: Charles blushes to the tips of his ears. “But then later, I was glad for it. You had your whole kingdom and half of mine bewitched with your beauty. Surely, the other half would have been with your voice.”

 

Charles turns back to him, gesturing him forward. Carlos steps in between his legs immediately, and feels Charles’ hands around his waist as he pulls him closer. “Don’t you mind?” Charles asks, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth. “That we won’t have a grand celebration like Lorenzo and Blanca? Didn’t you have a–a dream, a thought of a celebrated wedding?”

 

“I thought I made it clear.”

 

“What?”

 

“That our love could be forbidden and I would still fight an army for you.”

 

“You flirt,” Charles retorts, sounding embarrassed but his eyes are fond. Carlos can feel his smile against the skin of his neck when he pulls him in.

 

“Do you think you’ll like being married to me?” Charles asks, twisting Carlos’ hair around his fingers.

 

He hums, thinking. “Ask me again, when I am.”

 

Carlos tries to kiss him, and chases his lips even as Charles pulls away, giggling. “Tomorrow,” he tells Carlos solemnly, the fire in his eyes glowing brightly. “Tomorrow you will marry me, and then you can hear my voice whenever you so wish.”

 

“Then tomorrow cannot come fast enough,” Carlos whispers, copying his monotone.

 

Charles smiles. “Now, get out of my room.”

 

—

 

“Do you, Prince Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro of the Southern Kingdom, take Prince Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc of the Eastern Kingdom, to be your husband? Do you take him to part with you in his dying breath, to share your happiest moment, to take the title of Prince Consort of the Southern Kingdom, to share with him your throne?”

 

“I do.”

 

“Do you swear to stay true and faithful, to support him at his lowest, to share your whole heart and soul with him for the life that you will live together?”

 

“I swear.”

 

“Then do you, Prince Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc of the Eastern Kingdom, take Prince Carlos Sainz Vázquez de Castro of the Southern Kingdom, to be your husband, to take him to part with you in his dying breath, to share your happiest moment, to take the title of Prince Consort of the Eastern Kingdom, to share with him your throne?”

 

Charles nods.

 

“And do you swear to stay true and faithful, to support him at his lowest, to share your whole heart and soul with him for the life that you will live together?”

 

“I swear to.” Charles’ voice rings out above the crowd, a hushed silence befalling them as they stare at the prince who does not speak, swearing his vow to his husband aloud.

 

Carlos has never been more in love.

 

—

 

Carlos has wanted to put an early end to a lot of evenings and events, but none more so than his own wedding.

 

Charles looks stunning in his wedding gown. He looks beautiful every day, but today he glows with a brightness that is blinding, and the only thought that crosses Carlos’ mind the whole afternoon is IdidthathelookslikethatbecauseofmeIdidthat.

 

Carlos wants to marry him every day for the rest of their lives. He will never not want to see Charles in any way, but especially not if he is like that.

 

They have to walk around the ballroom during the reception, letting all the guests from the other kingdoms greet and congratulate them. They have many mutual friends, as it turns out, King Lewis and his King Consort Sebastian are some of them. “You’ll do good things, the two of you,” Lewis tells Charles. 

 

“It’s like you were meant to be,” Sebastian says. Charles’ grip tightens around his arm, a bashful smile on his face as he ducks his head.

 

“Maybe we were,” Carlos agrees. Carlos doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for Charles to kiss him in front of nearly a hundred people.

 

The kiss stops time. Carlos will tire of a lot of things in his lifetime, and he knows it. Charles, and everything that comes with him, will not be one of them.

 

The room is silent for a beat and then Lorenzo is cheering so loud Carlos thinks he is compensating for shutting up during the ceremony. Blanca, the traitor, merely looks at him amusedly, and refuses to say a word. Arthur stands near them, giggling. Lorenzo starts a trend, and soon the entire room is whistling and shouting in support of the newlyweds. 

 

Carlos is about to tell them off, but then he sees Charles grinning from ear to ear, and his resolve dies in his throat.

 

He settles for pulling the younger prince onto the now-cleared ballroom floor, leading a dance they both know well.

 

—

 

It takes a long while until they are released from the duty that is pretending that they are not dead on their feet from worry and excitement the night before and the endless tasks they had to take care of in the morning before the actual ceremony during midday. 

 

They tried to keep the guest list small for Charles’ sake, but when drawing it up there were so many people they just had to invite despite not having seen some of them for years.

 

(Carlos is a liar if he says that it hadn’t touched him that every single person who received an invitation had sent an acceptance back within the requested date, and had shown up dutifully, each one of them looking absolutely delighted for him and Charles.

 

They brought his childhood back with them.)

 

Carlos is looking forward to finding this new room that’s been set up for the two of them and collapsing head first onto the bed; wedding clothes and all. Charles has been slightly jumpy ever since he’d proposed the leaving idea (a whole two hours ago). Carlos thought it was just the nerves in being a largely crowded area, and it had subsided some in the past few minutes. 

 

He leads them through a few hallways, hand wrapped around Charles’ before the latter halts sharply in his step, catching Carlos off guard. “What happened?”

 

“I just–I have to show you something.”

 

Carlos runs a weary hand through his hair, trying not to sound too exhausted. “I’m kind of tired, are you not as well? Are you sure it can’t wait for tomorrow?”

 

“I know, I am,” Charles shrugs, but he still seems nervous: the tenseness of his shoulders and the subtle shakiness of his hands. Tells that took Carlos a lifetime to study. “There’s just one more thing.”

 

“O-kay,” Carlos says dubiously. He trusts him; it’ll be fine.

 

They veer violently off course, adding to Carlos’ growing confusion. “Why–”

 

“Trust me,” Charles interrupts, but it’s more of a blanket statement than a suggestion. Carlos shuts up. 

 

Carlos’ stomach plummets when he realises they are going way past the courtyard and on course for the stables. He hasn’t told anyone how heartwrenching the sudden loss of Ferrari was last summer, not even Charles. Carlos has always been one to suffer in silence, and he doubts getting married will change him any. But maybe Charles…maybe Charles will. 

 

Maybe he can…change. As foreign and scary as it sounds.

 

“I know you lied,” Charles whispers abruptly, catching Carlos off guard. “I know you have lied every time someone has mentioned her. I know you very well, it hurt you so much but you wouldn’t tell anyone about it, would you?”

 

Carlos tries not to choke on the air. “What?”

 

Charles’ anxiousness has eased some, but not completely. “She was the most special person in your life,” no, that is you, “and I know you miss her every day. So I thought I would try to help. I don’t know if it will, but…”

 

“Please just tell me what’s going on,” he begs, trying not to whine. He doesn’t–he doesn’t want to hope. He did too much of that while Ferrari was still with him; he won’t disrespect her memory with hope.

 

“I think I will just show you,” Charles says quietly, and Carlos lets himself be led into a space he has avoided like the plague for months. A space that has haunted his nightmares. A space that he has barely allowed himself to glance at, lest he has to swallow any more tears.

 

The sight of her makes his heart stop.

 

“Charles,” he whispers, disbelieving. “Where did you find her?”

 

“It took me a while,” Charles admits shyly. “I had to find a lot of people through a lot of people. Horse breeders have exceptionally good memories.”

 

“ Charles .” He doesn’t believe it; doesn’t register the way his feet are moving until he’s right in front of her, a complete copy of Ferrari when he got her 14 years ago (admittedly, he’s now nearly double the height he was at 10, so it doesn’t have the complete effect). But he cannot think, because it is Ferrari and yet she feels so foreign.

 

Charles comes up behind him, guiding his hand to her forehead the same way Carlos did for him all those years ago. “I know she is not yours,” he says, still in that low tone, like Carlos is a fragile child. He feels strangely touched. “But maybe she can be ours, yes?”

 

He sucks in a harsh breath, still unable to believe his eyes. She feels like she is his, known, and yet so strange, so unfamiliar. And yet she looks at him with those beseechingly gorgeous eyes, and Carlos cannot help but melt.

 

“Yes,” he says, feeling strangely sure. “She is ours.”

 

—

 

Seeing the new horse that he has yet to name instilled a new wave of energy inside Carlos, and Charles has to literally drag him away from her because his legs were slowly starting to give away. It takes a while but the guilt does settle in, as does the exhaustion.

 

Charles seems worse off than him, leaning almost too heavily into Carlos’ side and nearly dozing off while Carlos tries to unbutton his layers of clothing. He’s moderately successful, gets him down to his undershirt before he calls it a day and gives up. He leaves Charles flopped on the bed as he moves the strewn around fabric to a corner of the room and shrugs off his own coat and downs a glass of water before he gingerly joins Charles on the bed.

 

Thankfully, Charles rearranged himself in the time he was gone, at first seeming asleep, but Carlos catches his half open eyes and then lets himself settle down next to him. They’ve shared beds before, of course, but that was due more to poor planning as opposed to months of planning now.

 

“Took your time,” Charles notes sleepily, shifting on to his side and Carlos can only think, too far, come back.

 

Carlos makes a soft noise of protest, reaching blindly for Charles’ hand in the dark and somewhat subtly scooting closer. He silently ignores the way Charles makes him drag it over his stomach before he lets him interlock their fingers. “Found you.”

 

“Lucky shot,” Charles mumbles, but pulls their intertwined hands up to his heart, relaxing slightly in his hold.

 

“Don’t need to be lucky,” Carlos says, his voice muffled as his face is partially squished into the warm skin of Charles’ neck. “I know every part of you.”

 

“Not every part,” Charles argues stubbornly, going nearly limp through his tiredness. “But soon.”

 

Soon.

 

—

 

“I lied,” Carlos says over breakfast, foot tapping restlessly against the hardwood floor. “I had something to give you too.” They had mutually agreed to no other wedding gifts, but Charles had broken his end of the deal by gifting him the new Ferrari and, well, Carlos had already broken it well before the pact. 

 

“Really?” Charles prompts, setting his cutlery down and fully turning his body to look at Carlos. He feels small and big under Charles’ steady gaze, the contradiction of his own feelings throwing him off course. “What is it?”

 

With his words failing him, he simply slides the box over to Charles, who takes it with a confused air. Carlos watches, his anxiety off the charts as Charles undoes the ribbons, uncovers the toy, and then stares.

 

Carlos lets him take a few minutes to take it all in, but he only has so much patience. As soon as he opens his mouth, however, Charles asks, “Where did you find this?”

 

“That day at the carnival,” Carlos explains softly. “Your one, it was specially designed for you, yes? With the hidden crest and all…she said only two were ever made.” Taking his husband’s hand in his, he’s always so surprised at how they just fit. “I had to get it.”

 

“I lost him, when I was told to move from my old wing,” Charles says without taking his eyes off of the little toy. “I think I cried for a few hours. I wanted to…”

 

Charles trails off, but when Carlos tugs on his arm he climbs into Carlos’ lap all the same. Carlos lets him hide in the juncture of his neck for a few minutes, and doesn’t flinch when his tears trickle down onto his shoulder. The world is scary, but Carlos will protect him.

 

—

 

They don’t speak much for the rest of the day, but Carlos tries not to let it worry him. Charles spends a long time in his parents’ wing with his father, leaving Carlos to his own devices. He decides to write thank-you letters to all the attendees of the previous day on behalf of both of them. He keeps most of them short and to the point, but makes sure to keep them genuine.

 

There are a few he takes a little more time to finish, the ones to the people he knows best. Some of them he leaves up to Charles, knowing his husband will want to add his own message.

 

He’s swiped one of Charles’ books off of their new shared bookshelf and is lounging on the bed, reading, when Charles barrels straight into the room and flops next to him in the bed. Carlos watches him with an amused expression as he determinedly crawls closer, burying his head into his lap.

 

Carlos swirls little bits of his hair around his fingers, smiling softly as the tenseness in Charles’ shoulders gives away slightly. Domesticity suits us.

 

“I wanted to call him Carlos, did you know?” Charles mumbles into his thigh. “You probably don’t know. I made Lorenzo swear on his crown he wouldn’t tell you.”

 

Carlos stills the hand he has in Charles’ hair, straightening his back into a comfortable posture. “You…what?”

 

“Prince C,” Charles continues. “I thought maybe it was less obvious. I think Papa knew, since then, when I asked. Can you see this?” He sits up to face Carlos, passing the toy over with his finger pressing on an initial – a CS.

 

He stares and stares until he can’t stare any longer, glancing back up at Charles, startled to see that his eyes are wet. He has to ask. “Did you know?”

 

Charles shakes his head. “I only found out after, years later, when I was going through my things.” He explains, rubbing his eyes. “I wanted to know what was under that flimsy thing, I guess.”

 

“So he knew then?”

 

“I think I did, too.”

 

Carlos loses himself in those big green eyes that plagued his dreams for most of his life. He moves to kiss him before he can stop himself, and Charles tastes of the future.

 

—

 

They settle into a soft sort of domesticity in the days to follow. It takes a while for Carlos to get acquainted with not treating Charles like he’s a porcelain sculpture, but an argument that ends up with them making out against a tree drills the message quite well into his head.

 

It’s an issue he’s always had, seeing Charles as an angel from high above and Carlos as the starstruck mortal he’s chosen (which he silently thinks is the truth). Learning more and more about him over the years has done both good and bad to dispel those thoughts, at least enough so that Charles knows it’s there but it doesn’t bother him as much anymore.

 

Still, the conversation he eavesdropped on lingers heavily in the back of his mind. He wants to bring it up so badly, but he can’t . How can he even say it, “hey I know you are super attached to me, and I’m attached to you too”?

 

No, that’s stupid. He needs a better plan.

 

It’s only when he accidentally walks in on Charles shirtless does he realise he should have looked at Charles’ schedule better when formulating said plan. He definitely hadn’t accounted for how his brain absolutely stopped and died when said man was found shirtless.

 

It doesn’t help that Charles looks like he’s been caught doing something particularly shameful, when he’s very much allowed to be shirtless. In their shared room. Where Carlos goes in and out as he pleases. Carlos is thinking thoughts he really shouldn’t be thinking.

 

“Oh,” is all he manages to say.

 

Charles goes scarlet, holding up his previously discarded shirt like a shield. “I didn’t–”

 

“–It’s okay–”

 

“–I was just–”

 

“–I get it, you’re allowed –”

 

Charles suddenly looks affronted, and Carlos wants to backtrack. “What are you talking about,” he demands, “of course I’m allowed!”

 

Carlos blinks. “Then why are you saying–”

 

“ I’m not saying anything,” Charles cuts over him loudly. “You’re my husband! We’re married! You’re allowed to look at me!”

 

“I don’t understand, what is the problem?”

 

“Because I want you to look at me and it’s making me feel weird!”

 

The confession leaves Charles even more out of breath and Carlos stunned. “Why does it make you feel weird?” he blurts out before he can think it through.

 

“I don’t know! I never talked about this stuff, and maybe we should have because we’re married and I don’t know anything about this, and I don’t know what you think about it–”

 

“I think you should shut up,” Carlos offers, grinning at Charles’ annoyed face. “You could have come to me instead of overthinking, love.”

 

“It’s not like you talked to me either,” Charles huffs, pulling his shirt on again, ruffling up his hair adorably in the process. 

 

Carlos sits next to where he’s flopped himself down on the bed. “I was going to take that off anyway,” he says, gesturing to Charles’ shirt. Ignoring his husband’s strangled noise in response, he adds, “You nearly said you were in love with me your whole life, I assumed you knew how sex worked.”

 

“Oh god,” Charles whispers, voice small. “Stop.”

 

Laughing, Carlos lies beside him, prying his hands away from his face. “It’s okay,” he assures, “we can work it out. Maybe not today, yes?”

 

“No!” Charles exclaims. “No,” he repeats shyly, “yes? I want–I’m not saying it.”

 

“Come on,” Carlos teases, unrelenting. “Try it, say it–”

 

“No, Carlos.”

 

“I know you want to say it–”

 

“I’m not going to.”

 

“Fine, then should I?” he counters, smirking. Charles whimpers, squeezing his eyes shut. “Knew that would stop your rambling,” he taunts.

 

Charles doesn’t say anything for a few minutes and Carlos is half-sure he’s literally stopped his brain, which while it wasn’t exactly the thing he was going for, isn’t entirely unwelcome. 

 

“I want you to fuck me, Carlos,” he finally says softly, and Carlos can only smile proudly.

 

“I can do that,” Carlos replies, and then kisses him.

 

—

 

Carlos needs to know, in the aftermath. “Ask me again,” he demands softly. 

 

The smile that develops on Charles’ face feels like a reward greater than anything he could have asked for. “Do you like being married to me?”

 

“I think it’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.”

In the silence, the room filled with only the quiet sounds of their breathing, Carlos’ arm splayed over Charles’ naked stomach, Carlos thinks, this is what it feels like to be King.

 

the end.

Notes:

and we are done! please do let me know your thoughts about a possible epilogue :) leave me a comment if you want about what you thought about this ending!