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Bucky sighs, leaning into the scrub brush hoping that his slight body weight will help get the soot out. It doesn’t budge. He can barely see it against the variation of the slate anyway, but he knows his uncle will see it and probably withhold his dinner for it. He sits back on his heels, wiping the sweat off his brow. The brush drips dirty water down his arm and he drops it irritably. He’s still not used to only having one arm after all these years.
He drags his bucket closer, dropping the brush in and going back to the hopeless task of scrubbing the stone floor. He’d lost his arm in the carriage accident that had taken his parents, and left him in the not-so-tender mercies of his uncle Pierce. He’d been barely conscious when the man had swept in and taken control of everything, trailing his two cousins. Allegedly cousins, Bucky thinks with a snort. There’s no way Jack and Brock are related, let alone all three of them, but no one is going to question Pierce.
Bucky wonders idly if Pierce is some sort of a crime lord with the amount of power he seems to wield in town, but it ultimately doesn’t matter where his power comes from. He’s got enough to keep Bucky here under his thumb despite his 18th birthday coming and going months back with no fanfare. He’d had mild, tiny hopes that he could escape once he turned eighteen, but nothing changed. No one is going to take on a one-armed orphan with Alexander Pierce as a relative. Bucky can’t even save up enough money - or any - to escape on his own.
A pitiful meow startles him out of his morose thoughts, and he smiles at his little cat, Alpine. He’d found her as a kitten in the stable shortly before the fateful carriage accident, and now she’s the only happiness he has. She meows again, her white coat surprisingly pristine considering how filthy Bucky is where she’s rubbing against his side.
He decides the tile is as clean as it’s going to get and moves farther down the hearth. Pierce will come up with any excuse he wants to punish Bucky if he’s in a bad enough mood, even if everything is perfect. Sometimes even his fake-cousins get punished for who knows what. He’s not sure what they’re doing with Pierce, but neither of them have been terrible to Bucky so he doesn’t mind them as much. They’re not about to help him escape though, or help him at all to be honest. It’s a sad fact of his life that ‘not actively being horrible’ is a positive trait to him.
Sometimes he dreams of not just running away, but running away and meeting some handsome man who likes him, takes care of him, hides him from Pierce. Or maybe even kills Pierce. It seems a little disloyal, but Pierce is so terrible that Bucky doesn’t feel that guilty wishing for it. He shoves his hair behind an ear again, annoyed that he can’t tie it up anymore. It constantly hangs into his face. He’d tried to cut it off once, and the less said about that the better. Alpine bats at it and he laughs, nudging her away so he can get back to scrubbing.
At this point, the best he can hope for is Pierce dying and his cousins letting him go without a fight. He’s not entirely sure he can count on that, even if they’re not as bad as his uncle. Hooves ring out in the courtyard and Bucky scrubs a little faster. His uncle isn’t supposed to be back this early, but that doesn’t mean he won’t punish Bucky for not finishing his chores ahead of schedule. Pierce calls out for his cousins, and Bucky hears them thundering down the stairs like a pack of dogs.
Their voices rise excitedly in the courtyard and Bucky frowns. Something is definitely up, and he decides to eavesdrop. He leans against the door, peering through a little loose knot in the wood. Pierce is standing next to his horse, a large piece of paper held in his hand and his cousins are jockeying to get a look at it. The paper looks rich and creamy and Bucky can’t read what’s written on it, but the calligraphy is exquisite. He’s never seen anything that nice before, not even when he’s been cleaning Pierce’s study.
“Quiet!” Pierce barks over the chatter of the other two finally. “Listen.”
Bucky presses himself harder against the wall, straining his ears desperate to know what’s on the paper.
“Prince Zemo is finally looking for a husband, and all the eligible men in the kingdom are invited to a ball. One of you is going to be that man, got it?”
His cousins nod like deranged chickens, and Bucky suppresses an eyeroll. Neither of them looks particularly pleased, but they’re also not going to disobey Pierce. It’s not the first time Bucky’s wondered if those two have something going on behind closed doors. It’d definitely explain the displeased look Jack is leveling at Brock. Brock would likely be the one to snag the prince after all.
Bucky turns away from the courtyard and leans against the wall. If all the men are invited, that includes him. He has to find some way to attend. This could be his chance to get out from under Pierce. He’s not dumb enough to set his cap for the prince, but he could meet someone there. He knows he’s not bad looking, other than the scars, but those would be under his clothes. He chews on his lip. Where is he going to get the clothes to go to a ball at the castle?
He looks down at himself and snorts bitterly. He’s basically got cast-offs of cast-offs of rags. Maybe he can snag some old clothes from his cousins, they won’t care. It’s not like he’s a threat to them, and maybe he can hide on the back of the carriage when they all go to the palace. It’s not a great plan, but it’s his only plan.
It takes him a little while to find the pieces of clothing he needs from his cousins, secreting them up to his little garret room where Pierce won’t look. Luckily they’re in good condition - sewing is nearly impossible now with only one arm. He painstakingly stitches the empty sleeve up, trying to make it as neat as possible. He’s not the only amputee in the kingdom, but he still gets strange looks.
Getting ahold of actual soap turns out to be the more challenging part - Pierce is nearly miserly at times, and it takes a lot of stealth and one very fortuitous interruption thanks to Alpine for Bucky to steal a sliver of the quality soap Pierce uses. The rough laundry soap he usually has to make do with isn’t good enough for a ball at the palace.
The day of the ball, Bucky is kept scrambling to help Pierce and his cousins get ready for the ball. He doesn’t know why they can’t get dressed themselves, but he keeps his head down and rushes through all the chores. It takes him nearly too long to scrub himself clean, even after his aggressive bath last night in preparation. He combs his hair as best as possible, wishing he could do anything besides just leave it down.
He can hear the carriage clattering around the courtyard, the noise of his cousins and Pierce heading through the house. He rushes down the stairs, hoping against hope to get down unnoticed and onto the back of the carriage. He skids around the corner and nearly runs into his uncle’s back. Jack and Brock must already be in the carriage as the hall is empty except him and Pierce. Pierce turns slowly, an eyebrow slowly arching. Bucky hides a wince. Pierce’s expression is dangerous but Bucky stubbornly stands his ground.
“And what do you think you’re doing?” Pierce asks silkily. “Surely you don’t think you’re going to the palace.”
“The invitation said it was for everyone,” Bucky says stubbornly, clenching his fist.
Pierce purses his lips, unimpressed. “Well, it would be rude of me to go against what the prince wishes, wouldn’t it?”
Bucky holds his breath. He can’t believe his luck.
“Why don’t you- oh dear,” Pierce says, as he trips Bucky into the cold fireplace. “Well, that’s certainly not acceptable to visit the palace like that. What a shame.”
Bucky stares up at him from the cloud of soot, settling black and gritty everywhere.
“If only someone had cleaned out that fireplace,” Pierce says with a faux sympathetic look. “Best you finish that before we get back,” he adds, turning to climb into the carriage. The door slams and Bucky is left trapped yet again. Alpine winds her way around the stair banisters, meowing in sympathy.
Bucky sighs and stands, trying to brush the soot off but knowing it’s a lost cause. Alpine meows again, scratching at the door to the small back garden.
“Sure, sure,” he sighs, opening the door for her and following her outside to sit on the little mossy bench.
He might as well enjoy the peace and quiet for a bit since Pierce and his cousins won’t be back until sunrise likely. Alpine winds around his ankles, and he pets her absently, trying not to get soot on her. He should have known better than to think Pierce would ever let him have a chance to escape his possession. He has no idea why Pierce hates him or why he wants him around, but clearly he’s trapped.
Alpine jumps and meows angrily and Bucky tries to sooth her but she hisses.
“What is it?” Bucky asks her, trying to smooth her fur back down.
She pauses, licks a paw, and walks into the shadowed garden, purring up a storm. Bucky stares after her, confused. He’s even more confused when the garden picks her up and Alpine rolls, purring even louder.
A woman materializes out of the shadows, Alpine stretched happily in her arms. She’s small, fiery red hair hanging around her jaw like a sheet of silk. Her piercing green eyes seem to look right through Bucky and he realizes he’s staring with his mouth open and shuts it abruptly.
“Who are you?” he manages, as if strange women appeared in the garden all the time.
“I’m your,” she starts, and her generous mouth twists like she ate a lemon, “fairy godmother.”
Bucky looks at her doubtfully. She’s wearing what looks like black battle leathers, like an assassin or a border guard.
“My fairy godmother?” he asks skeptically.
“It’s a title,” she snaps.
She takes a breath, stroking Alpine gently. “Do you want help or not?”
“Help?” Bucky asks inanely. “I mean, yes. Please. With what?”
She gives him an unimpressed once over. “Going to the ball. To meet the prince?”
“Ah,” Bucky manages, looking at his soot-covered second hand clothes. “Well.”
“That’s fixable,” she says. “Snagging the prince’s attention is your problem though.”
Bucky decides not to say he doesn’t care about meeting the prince. “You can fix this?”
She raises one manicured hand and he flinches automatically. Her mouth tightens, but she doesn’t say anything. She flicks her fingers and Bucky sneezes.
“How’s that?” she asks, smugly.
“How’s…” Bucky trails off, staring down at himself.
All of his clothes have been replaced with a perfectly tailored deep blue suit, complete with silver metal detailing. The biggest change is that he has his left arm back. He swings it experimentally and it feels real. The fingers flex easily in the white gloves.
“How…?” he asks, eyes wide.
“Magic,” she says, as smug as Alpine is. “Now, we have to get you to the ball. What do you think, darling?” She directs the last to Alpine and Alpine purrs in response. She walks to the house door, opening it and arching a sculpted brow.
“Are you coming?”
Bucky scrambles to follow her out into the front courtyard, still marveling at his new arm and fine clothing. He watches as she whispers to Alpine, setting the cat down in the middle of the courtyard and stepping back. Another flick of her fingers, and suddenly Alpine is a delicately beautiful mare, complete with tack. She looks like a nobleman’s steed, and Bucky suddenly realizes he looks like a nobleman right now.
“The charm will last until the clock tolls midnight,” she tells him. “You best get back before then if you don’t want to be walking home covered in soot and carrying a cat.”
Bucky nods rapidly, his head still spinning with the sudden change in his circumstances.
“Thank you,” he says breathlessly, and she smiles a little at him as he swings into the saddle.
***
Alpine is thrilled with her new form, and Bucky is glad he hasn’t lost his seat after so many years unable to ride. She is just as sassy as a mare, and just as vain, shaking her beautiful tack and jingling the little bells with every step. Bucky loves her happiness and is a little pleased about how many looks they get riding through the smaller town towards the palace. Sure, everyone else is on their way to the ball too in their finery, but none of them have Alpine.
“Try not to get into too much trouble?” Bucky says to her quietly after they reach the palace courtyard. “I know it’ll be a challenge.”
Alpine snorts and dodges the groom reaching for her bridle.
“She’ll be fine on her own,” he tells the confused man as Alpine takes herself off to explore the stables. Her catlike behavior is going to cause a lot of rumors in the stables he suspects, and the little chaos as she noses at a stable cat makes him laugh.
He climbs the marble stairs with trepidation, trying to look like he belongs even though he still feels like a one-armed grimy orphan. His clothing is the height of finery thanks to his visitor, glittery subtly in the warm lantern lights and the silver detailing just as eye-catching as Alpine’s tack. He catches a glimpse of himself in a large mirror in the entry hall and barely catches himself from gaping like an idiot.
Of course his visitor wouldn’t have sent him here dirty and unkempt, but he hadn’t thought about how she’d clean him up alongside the clothing. His hair is smooth and shiny, pulled back into a neat bun and it shows off his jaw. He didn’t know he had such a strong jaw until this moment. Bucky wonders a little hysterically if she’d given him a face enhancement too, surely he doesn’t look this good.
The crowd shuffles him along away from the mirror, and he forgets about his appearance as he’s carried into the ballroom. It’s overwhelmingly huge and fancy and bright, all the rich colors of the guests whirling through dances Bucky doesn’t know and can’t follow. He dodges to the side as soon as a gap appears, still favoring his left arm even though it exists right now. He’s too used to it being gone and a little sensitive.
He hopes with the radical change in his appearance, if he sees Pierce or his cousins they won’t recognize him. Hopefully he also just won’t cross paths with them while they’re on the hunt for the prince. Or maybe making out in a closet like he’s pretty sure his cousins do when Pierce is gone. He doesn’t really care what they get up to, as long as they leave him alone.
All of his awkwardness is forgotten the instant Bucky spies the banquet tables. He beelines for them, doing his best to dodge the little knots of people and sighing with delight at the sheer volume of food. He doesn’t recognize most of it, but it doesn’t matter. He hasn’t seen this much food in years, since before the carriage accident. Even then, this is still far more than he’s ever seen all at once, all of it presented like artwork.
He eyes the people around the table, but no one is really looking at him or the food. More for him, then. He darts in and picks up a delicate little plate hesitantly - it looks so breakable in his hands and he feels clumsy just holding it. The food calls to him, and he forgets about the ornate dish immediately in favor of working his way down the table.
Bucky doesn’t know how long he’s been eating his way through the platters when there’s a warm laugh behind him. He whirls around, offended, and freezes.
The man is gorgeous, unfairly attractive and Bucky’s mind can’t process it all at once. There’s a lot of nice looking people here, but this man is on another level. His hair looks even softer than Bucky’s, warm brown with shiny highlights and an elegant swoop back from his face, and Bucky wants to touch it so, so badly. If his hands weren’t full of food, he might have done it accidentally.
He’s shorter than Bucky, face tilted up teasingly and smiling at him. His mouth is, is - Bucky’s brain stops again, lost contemplating that little smirk. He barely manages to pull his eyes up and immediately gets lost in the man’s eyes instead. They’re like pools of dark honey, the kind of honey Bucky only sees at the markets and has never tasted. They reel him in, make him want to fall into them and drown and he catches himself leaning forward.
“It’s rude to laugh at guests,” Bucky says haughtily after recovering his voice and remembering the man laughed at him. “Don’t you have any manners?”
It’s a bit hypocritical of him to criticize anyone’s manners right now, but Bucky doesn’t like being judged and he already feels out of place enough without some rich man making fun of him.
The man’s smile falters and his face closes down a little. Bucky misses the warmth.
“You’re here for the prince, then?” the man asks, his voice controlled.
“No,” Bucky says immediately. “I don’t care about the prince. I just wanted to see the palace. And the food.”
The man brightens up at that, and Bucky isn’t sure why. He’d just insulted the host of the ball, and the prince of the kingdom, and the man is beaming at him like he’d just said the best thing ever. He’ll never understand rich people, and tosses his confusion aside to look back at the food.
He’s reaching for another pastry when the man cuts him off, picking up the one Bucky had been eyeing. He glares at the man, who winks at him. He holds the pastry up to Bucky, oddly high for passing it to him and hovering it near his face. Bucky frowns and leans back, grabbing it from the man’s hand and stuffing it into his mouth with a distinct lack of grace. The man looks even more besotted with him.
“Dance with me,” the man says abruptly.
Bucky nearly chokes on the little pastry.
“I can’t dance,” he says after clearing his throat. “I’m sure you can find another partner though, since you’re all…” he trails off with a wave at the man’s everything.
The man frowns. “I’m all…?”
“Handsome,” Bucky says. He blushes a little, but it’s not like he’s going to see this man ever again.
“You think I’m handsome?” the man asks, his smile returning.
“Shut up,” Bucky grouses, his face burning with embarrassment. “You know you’re handsome, with your, your, everything. Stop looking at me like that,” he adds at the absurd delight in the man’s gorgeous face.
“If you won’t dance with me, will you walk with me in the gardens?” the man asks.
Bucky squints at him, unsure if he’s being made fun of. He looks back at the table, loath to leave the food despite how much he’s eaten.
“Are you really choosing food over me?” the man asks, beaming at Bucky.
“Maybe,” Bucky concedes.
“What if I promise to bring you back to it?” the man bargains.
Bucky hesitates. “Fine,” he says with a sigh.
“Excellent!” the man says, stealing Bucky’s plate out of his hands and passing it to a servant without looking. He offers his arm and Bucky takes it hesitantly, the rich black fabric soft under his rough fingers. “My - ah, the gardens are quite lovely at night.”
“I do like gardens,” Bucky says as the man steers them deftly out of the ballroom and onto a small balcony overlooking the palace grounds. He frowns, there’s no way off the balcony.
“I thought we were going to the gardens,” he says, turning to the man.
He looks unrepentant. “I wanted to get you alone, I hope you don’t mind,” he says with a low purr in his voice. “The crowds are so much, and I don’t want to share you.”
Bucky blushes. The way the man is looking at him sets his chest alight, nervous anticipation building in him the longer the man stays silent. He’s so far out of his depth and he fidgets a little.
“You’re truly something else,” the man murmurs, moving closer to Bucky.
“I...thanks?” Bucky hazards. It sounds like a compliment, but not one he’s ever heard before. “So are you?”
He shivers when the man slides one surprisingly calloused hand around his cheek, cupping Bucky’s face reverently.
“Can I kiss you?” the man asks, eyes flicking down to Bucky’s mouth like he’s never wanted anything more. Bucky knows the feeling.
“Okay,” Bucky breathes.
He doesn’t know what to do with himself or his hands or his face but the man guides him down, his other hand resting lightly on Bucky’s waist as he brings their mouths together. It’s light, a barely there brush of lips but Bucky feels like fireworks are going off inside him and he pushes into the kiss inelegantly, desperate for more.
The man sucks in a breath and pulls Bucky closer, pressing their bodies together and deepening the kiss. Bucky makes a small noise in his throat and he feels like he’s floating and only tethered to the ground by the man’s hands where they’re holding onto him like he never wants to let go.
Bucky tentatively slides his hands around the man’s waist in turn, pulling him in when the man makes an approving noise against his mouth. He loses himself in the kiss, in the man’s arms, forgetting there’s a ballroom full of people just through the door.
The chime of the clock rips him out of the moment with a cold rush of fear. He’d lost track of time, and at midnight he’ll be revealed for the little unwanted orphan he is, and he’s sure the man won’t be interested when he sees the real Bucky. He tears himself away in panic.
“I have to go,” he says urgently as the bell continues to toll. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
The man catches his hand desperately. “At least tell me your name!”
“I’m sorry,” Bucky says again.
The man is holding onto his left hand, and as Bucky’s arm starts to lighten, he’s left with only Bucky’s glove clutched in his hand. Bucky takes the opportunity to vault over the balcony railing into the dark garden with the man’s shouts fading behind him as he runs for the stables.
***
He’d only barely made it out of the palace before the charm failed, and he’d trudged home carrying a tired Alpine across his shoulders. The sky was just lightening to dawn when he arrived at the house, and he thanked everything that he’d still made it home before his cousins and Pierce got back. He’ll be exhausted today, but it was absolutely worth it.
Bucky scrubs at the hearth Pierce had pushed him into, lost in the memory of the handsome man and daydreaming of what it’d be like if he’d been able to stay. The man had looked rich, surely rich enough that not even Pierce could gainsay him if he took Bucky away. He knows it’s a futile dream, but he wants to dream for just a little while before the bleakness of his life comes back.
His dreams start to fade into the blur of memories as the days march on and his life returns to its normal drudgery. He’s back cleaning the front hall again when Pierce slams the door open, looking just as pleased as when he got the ball invitation. His cousins jump up from their table at Pierce’s look, straightening automatically. Bucky keeps cleaning.
“The prince is looking for a mysterious guest from the ball, and is visiting every eligible male of a certain age,” Pierce announces, waving a flier. “Since you both already failed at the ball, one of you will make this work.”
Bucky suppresses a snort as his cousins nod unhappily. He thinks about the kiss he had at the ball, wondering what it’d be like if he’d been able to stay instead of returning here. He hopes his cousins don’t trick the prince, there’s no way either of them would be a good consort. They clearly don’t want to be either, but no one goes against their uncle.
He startles when only two hours later there’s a clatter of hooves in their courtyard. He peers around the doorway, and gapes as a whole flood of royal guardsmen ride into the space. There’s one horse in the lead, a dark elegant horse and Bucky’s head goes light and dizzy when he recognizes the man on top.
It’s the man from the ball, hair ruffled from the wind, dressed just as elegantly as he had been that night. His cloak flares out as he dismounts, and Bucky catches sight of the royal sigil embroidered on the hemline. He blinks rapidly, there’s no way he’d met the prince at the ball, but there’s no mistaking that face.
He’s yanked back viciously, Pierce’s hand digging into his arm.
“Get upstairs,” Pierce snarls quietly. “I don’t want to hear a peep from you.”
“But-” Bucky starts to protest.
“No,” Pierces growls, shaking him. “Nothing.”
Bucky is dragged upstairs, Pierce’s grip too strong to break and he’s thrown into his little room, unable to get up fast enough before the door slams and clicks locked behind Pierce. He pounds at it helplessly, knowing the door is solid and he’ll never be able to get out. He sinks down against it in despair.
Alpine meows, standing next to the little window and Bucky jumps up, running to look out next to her. The voices echo up to him, and he leans a little farther out to catch them. The prince takes a white glove out of his cloak and Bucky knows it’s his. He has the matching one, and he grabs it from its secure hiding spot. He wants to run down, wants to climb down and show the prince that it was Bucky he’d met, and he has the other glove, but he’s trapped.
He looks at himself again and remembers what he looks like. He’s filthy and unkempt and nothing like the fine man he’d impersonated at the ball. He might have the right glove, but he doesn’t even have a left arm. How would he explain that without sounding like a madman? None of it matters anyway, since Pierce has locked him up here.
He watches for a little bit longer, his dreams and memories of the ball sliding further and further out of reach. It was easier when the man was just some rich, nameless man, but knowing he’d met and kissed Prince Zemo? It’s almost so unrealistic as to be impossible, even as Bucky stares at him from above.
Bucky sighs and tosses the glove onto his little table, not wanting to watch his dreams turn to dust in front of him. Alpine meows and he watches, horrified, as she bats the glove out the window with a smug look. Bucky rushes over, reaching out the little window, desperate to grab it but he’s too late.
He watches it flutter down, the last reminder he had of the best night of his life, and he wants to cry as it drops. A gust of wind blows it sideways, up and over a horse and landing gently in the lap of the prince. The prince grabs it, looking at it wonderingly. He pulls out the matching glove, lining them up and Bucky watches his face shift into sharp determination.
The prince looks up and Bucky realizes he’s still hanging out of the window, arm outstretched and he throws himself backwards. The prince has seen him, Pierce is going to kill him, and Bucky starts to hyperventilate as voices rise and shouts echo in the courtyard. It doesn’t even matter if the prince finds him now, he’ll never want a one-armed orphan, but the door is still locked and he can’t escape.
Boots thunder up the narrow stairs, and someone slams into the door, trying the latch but it’s still locked. The door shakes twice more as the person rams it, and then it bursts open, revealing the prince looking frantic.
His face breaks into a relieved smile when he sees Bucky still sitting on the floor, and he strides in, dropping to one knee and reaching for him.
“I’ve found you,” he breathes. “Finally. I thought I’d lost you forever.”
“What,” Bucky says dumbly. He was prepared for derision, for dismissal, not this absolutely smitten and desperate look.
“I fell in love with you as soon as I set eyes on you,” the prince says.
“I was eating,” Bucky says. “And then I insulted you.”
“I know,” the prince says, looking far too happy about it. “I knew you were perfect as soon as you told me off.”
“You’re mad,” Bucky says, but his heart is rising in his throat with hope and too many feelings to name.
“Yes, but I love you,” the prince says earnestly. “Please tell me you feel the same way, please.”
“Yes,” Bucky confesses, knowing it’s true with the way the feelings surge inside him. “I love you.”
The prince beams at him, and extends his arm. Bucky takes it tentatively, and the prince pulls them both up.
“You’re perfect,” the prince declares again before kissing Bucky senseless.
“Oh,” Bucky manages. “Okay.”
“And we’re leaving,” the prince adds, sweeping Bucky out of the tiny room.
Alpine meows angrily and the prince extends an arm for her to climb up. She perches on his shoulder regally.
“Now we’re leaving,” he corrects.
“But Pierce…” Bucky says, the specter of his uncle too strong to not worry about, even for the prince himself.
“Arrested by my guards,” the prince says, waving it away. “He’s been wanted for crimes for a while actually. He won’t bother you again.”
The relief and love and happiness that floods Bucky leaves him nearly unable to think, and he goes easily as the prince pulls him into the saddle in front of him.
“I searched my kingdom for you,” the prince says as they leave Bucky’s old life behind. “Marry me. Tomorrow. Or today. Right now.”
“Yes,” Bucky says happily, leaning back in the prince’s warm hold. “Absolutely.”