Arthur had proudly given them the middle finger, a little something he’d learned from his human years prior. Inwardly though, he felt his heart churn in pain. He knew his brothers spoke the truth. He knew Alfred would never look at him the way Arthur looked at Alfred. Alfred would never hold him, would never hold Arthur’s hand like he held that girl’s.
Although there was a spell, a spell the People from his mother’s nest favored on full moon nights, a little spell so tricky in its bare simplicity. But it was not a welcomed spell amongst the People of his father, the ones whom Arthur had pledged himself loyal to so long ago. His mother had been a vicious vixen, wedded to Arthur’s father against her will. She’d been wild, tricky and cruel to Arthur’s father. His father had been a fool, so besotted with her that he’d forgiven her many affairs, the way she’d smeared his name with mud. She’d favored human men, seducing them and welcoming them to her bed to spite the man who’d loved her more than anything.
Arthur would not be like her. He was not cruel and he was not entirely without heart; he’d made his brothers and sisters go through so much already. Arthur would not hurt them any further.
Even though he so wanted to know how it felt, to know what that human female did, the warmth of Alfred’s hand…
Smiling without mirth, Francis chuckled. “You are fool, little master,” he said to Arthur, sitting beside him, shoulders almost touching. “At least your face is lovely to look upon. You are quite fetching when you cry, I must say, so I guess this trip wasn’t entirely without purpose.”
Green eyes downcast, Arthur glanced at the faery at his side. Francis’ hand, unlike Alfred’s, would be so easy to hold. It was right there after all. Francis was here, right beside him, unlike Alfred, who was so far away and with the current object of his desires.
It was that girl, and not Arthur, who held Alfred’s heart at the moment.
And it hurt.
Rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand, Arthur huffed. “I have told you countless of times to let be me. It is not I who asks you to come, frog.”
“Ah. But you see, I do not need your permission to come visit you, lovely.” Francis’ lips curved in amusement, a few blonde strands escaping the red ribbon holding his hair back. Francis was very beautiful among the People. Many did not understand why Arthur was not happy with his marriage, wedded to someone as striking as the prince. “I am entirely within my rights to be here. You are, after all, my partner in life. Till death do us part, as the humans would say.”
Wrapping his arms around his middle, Arthur looked at the happy human couple once more. He lowered his head, unable to look at them without his eyes feeling moist. Faeries did not cry, were not supposed to cry, for someone as low as a human. Not even when they were so stupidly and foolishly in love with them.
“I don’t know where you’ve been the past years, you blundering buffoon, but I have never considered myself yours,” Arthur said, his voice less biting than he’d intended it.
He felt rather than saw Francis slide closer to him. Their shoulders bumped. Francis’ fingers brushed Arthur’s. Arthur quickly snapped his hand back, curling it into a loose fit.
It was not Francis’ hand that Arthur wished to hold.
Arthur did not need to look up to know Francis was looking at him with disdain. Francis so rarely angered, but Arthur had a peculiar tact for pushing his buttons. “I have been here, watching you suffer and make a fool of yourself for this human. I no longer recognize you, Arthur. The old you would never be this—”
Your Sins Into Me [2/?]
Although there was a spell, a spell the People from his mother’s nest favored on full moon nights, a little spell so tricky in its bare simplicity. But it was not a welcomed spell amongst the People of his father, the ones whom Arthur had pledged himself loyal to so long ago. His mother had been a vicious vixen, wedded to Arthur’s father against her will. She’d been wild, tricky and cruel to Arthur’s father. His father had been a fool, so besotted with her that he’d forgiven her many affairs, the way she’d smeared his name with mud. She’d favored human men, seducing them and welcoming them to her bed to spite the man who’d loved her more than anything.
Arthur would not be like her. He was not cruel and he was not entirely without heart; he’d made his brothers and sisters go through so much already. Arthur would not hurt them any further.
Even though he so wanted to know how it felt, to know what that human female did, the warmth of Alfred’s hand…
Smiling without mirth, Francis chuckled. “You are fool, little master,” he said to Arthur, sitting beside him, shoulders almost touching. “At least your face is lovely to look upon. You are quite fetching when you cry, I must say, so I guess this trip wasn’t entirely without purpose.”
Green eyes downcast, Arthur glanced at the faery at his side. Francis’ hand, unlike Alfred’s, would be so easy to hold. It was right there after all. Francis was here, right beside him, unlike Alfred, who was so far away and with the current object of his desires.
It was that girl, and not Arthur, who held Alfred’s heart at the moment.
And it hurt.
Rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand, Arthur huffed. “I have told you countless of times to let be me. It is not I who asks you to come, frog.”
“Ah. But you see, I do not need your permission to come visit you, lovely.” Francis’ lips curved in amusement, a few blonde strands escaping the red ribbon holding his hair back. Francis was very beautiful among the People. Many did not understand why Arthur was not happy with his marriage, wedded to someone as striking as the prince. “I am entirely within my rights to be here. You are, after all, my partner in life. Till death do us part, as the humans would say.”
Wrapping his arms around his middle, Arthur looked at the happy human couple once more. He lowered his head, unable to look at them without his eyes feeling moist. Faeries did not cry, were not supposed to cry, for someone as low as a human. Not even when they were so stupidly and foolishly in love with them.
“I don’t know where you’ve been the past years, you blundering buffoon, but I have never considered myself yours,” Arthur said, his voice less biting than he’d intended it.
He felt rather than saw Francis slide closer to him. Their shoulders bumped. Francis’ fingers brushed Arthur’s. Arthur quickly snapped his hand back, curling it into a loose fit.
It was not Francis’ hand that Arthur wished to hold.
Arthur did not need to look up to know Francis was looking at him with disdain. Francis so rarely angered, but Arthur had a peculiar tact for pushing his buttons. “I have been here, watching you suffer and make a fool of yourself for this human. I no longer recognize you, Arthur. The old you would never be this—”