Prince's Hand And Half of the Kingdom (3/?) [fanfiction]
Title: Prince's Hand And Half of the Kingdom
Author: marinoa
Characters/Pairings: England, France, Spain, Prussia. FrUK, hints of other(s?).
Rating: T
Summary: Having once refused to obey a frog, Prince Arthur is now forced to marry one. Both parties are unwilling, but even with the help of their friends, can they win against spells... and time? FrUK AU.
Prince's Hand And Half of the Kingdom
Chapter Three:
Kings and Frogs Do Keep Their Promises
In every story and fairy tale that involved princes and princesses, kingdoms and spells, knights and dragons, the prince always got his princess, and the princess never failed to find her prince - depending on from who's perspective the story was told. Dragons and other villains were always defeated, spells would come to nothing every time and the prince would earn the hand of the princess and half of the kingdom, and so the happy couple would get their happily ever after.
The problem with Arthur's case was that the whole thing was just a huge misunderstanding; he would much rather die than let his slimy 'saviour' have his hand, and giving half of the kingdom to that bastard would be such a tremendous waste. Unfortunately, as it seemed, fate was against him, for his father the King was clearly too cruel to care about his son and save him from his unpromising future with Francis.
Though, to the King's credit, he was absolutely reluctant to give his son away to a Frenchman. At first, on Arthur and Francis entering the throne room (Arthur throwing the doors open and yelling profanities at his father), he had been incredibly pleased with himself, ready to rub the whole marriage thing in Arthur's face, but as soon as he realised that the Prince's escort was French of all things, his smirk had all but faded. He glared at Francis from beneath his massive, grey eyebrows, perhaps hoping to expire the Frenchman with the power of his stare. As the disrespectful Frenchman, however, still insisted on living just to be a nuisance, the King finally spoke, for the first time after he had realised just who his son was supposed to marry.
“What the fuck,” he muttered angrily, pacing in front of the young, reluctant soon-to-be couple. “Like hell I'm going to let my son marry a frog!”
Arthur's eyes lit up with hope. “I definitely agree!” he proclaimed, eagerly stepping towards his father.
“For once, so do I,” Francis uttered sourly. “Though for different reasons than you, Sire,” he added just the tiniest bit haughtily.
That, however, proved not to be the wisest thing for the Frenchman to say; the King speared him with his fiery stare, eyes burning with rage.
“What the fuck,” he yelled angrily, “Like hell I'd let a Frenchman reject my son! Are you implying that the Prince and half of my kingdom weren't good enough for a frog like you? As if! You will accept my son's hand and you will accept it as a great honour!”
“Father-”
“Arthur, don't.”
Francis groaned. “Like father, like son,” Arthur heard him mutter.
“Silence!” the King roared - apparently his ears were yet to be affected by years - then sighed and calmed down a bit, evaporating his anger in slow exhales. “I only wanted to teach you a lesson, my son,” he said quietly, walking over to Arthur and brushing his cheek with his aged fingers. “And maybe laugh at your expense a bit. I swear, had the possibility of you meeting a Frenchman in my country ever crossed my mind, I would have never given such an order. But,” he added sadly, “I am a king, and kings cannot take back their promises. I am sorry, Arthur, but this man here will be granted with your hand and half of the kingdom... whether either of you liked it or not. Believe you me, son, I'd sacrifice anything to save you, but not my own word.”
Arthur's shoulders slumped, but touched by his father's sympathy, he uttered no word and seemingly resigned to the inevitable. Francis, too, sighed, defeated. “Then how about you keep your son and give me the whole kingdom instead?” he yet suggested half-heartedly, giving it one more weak try. The corners of the King's lips actually twitched up for a moment, and the monarch shook his head. “That's too much of a sacrifice for my son, too,” he added with gentle taunt in his voice.
Arthur raised his hands to his temples, rubbing them lightly. Just what have I done to deserve this? he asked himself. What can I possibly have done to be forced to marry a frog..?
Wait... Arthur frowned, getting a feeling of something important escaping his grasp. A... frog?
“Thus I announce you to be engaged to one another, Arthur Kirkland and Francis Bonnefoy. You shall give your vows in ceremony that will be held in one month from today,” King Lionheart pronounced, sending off some knights to announce the merry news to the people in all England. “And you two, dismissed,” he added, pointing at his sour son and his sulky fiancée.
Only when the heavy doors of the throne room closed behind the couple did Arthur remember. Of course, a frog! The frog - sitting in front of the gates of London ten years earlier - asking for a night in the Prince's bed - casting the evil spell...
“Oh, fuck it!” Arthur groaned in panic, not noticing Francis' inquiring look. “I should have just let it in!”
Ignoring the Frenchman's curious expression the Prince turned his back to his brand new fiancée and cowardly all but fled to the safety of his own room.
Slamming the oak door shut behind himself and leaning against its reassuring hardness, Arthur took deep, slow breaths to calm himself down. Right - now he remembered everything; a frog's request all those years ago, his refusal, the frogs terrible curse. “Because you didn't want to help a poor creature like me, I'll reveal you something of your future. One day you will have to marry a frog!” it had croaked, and oh, how Arthur wished he had followed his father's advice and let the frog have its own way, but no; he had simply had to be 'young and punk' back in his teen years. And now he was going to pay for it - dearly. Arthur's heartbeat increased despite his attempts to calm himself; as what was now happening was all due to the curse, there was no way to escape it...
“Croak!”
Now, even though Arthur had inherited his father's bravery, anyone could be taken by surprise once in a while, and thus be Arthur forgiven for his scare. The Englishman yelped, jumping on hearing rather loud a croak in his presumably empty bedchamber. “Who's there?”
“Give it a guess,” a croaking voice answered from the depths of the dim room, and Arthur didn't need much effort to recognise the intruder. He strode to his bedside table and hastily lit a candle, letting his eyes roam around the room - and there it was. Luxuriously like a king in the middle of the Prince's bed sat a certain contented frog, mischievously gawking at the startled Prince.
“Howdy,” it casually greeted.
Arthur stared. “You,” he half groaned, half spat.
Had the frog had arms and shoulders, it would have probably shrugged. “Don't act so surprised. My visit was to be expected, wasn't it?”
The Englishman didn't say anything, just kept opening and closing his mouth like a fish in the air. The frog was right of course - Arthur should have known. Should have remembered. That, however, wasn't important; whether or not the Prince had kept in mind the frog's curse, it wouldn't have changed anything. The curse was there anyway, and the Prince, prince, King Lionheart's son, was at a mere frog's mercy. Never before had Arthur felt as humble in front of anyone or anything as before that frog that afternoon.
It took him a moment to find his voice again, and as soon as he regained it, he put it to good use, saying the only thing he was in position of saying. He looked deep into the frog's bright yellow eyes, trying to reach whatever humanity there might be. “Please,” he whispered hoarsely, despair making his voice shake.
But apparently there was no such thing as humanity in the frog's vocabulary. It merely laughed its croaking laughter and took a better position on the bed. “I would have expected a little bit more of a prince's bed,” it said tormentingly casually.
“Please,” Arthur repeated through his gritted teeth, desperate. “I've learned my lesson!”
“Have you?” the frog asked. “I'm not convinced in the slightest. Tell me, isn't that a Frenchman you just left totally lost in a strange castle all alone?”
“I-” Arthur started, but cut himself off; what could he say to that? “I'm sorry,” he said instead of defending himself. “I truly am... But neither of us wants this marriage! Please, be so kind and cancel the curse!”
The frog grinned with all the width of its yellowish lips. “I cannot remove the curse,” it explained. “Back then I already explained how to do it. Your new 'frog' has to kiss you of his own free will, without you telling him about the curse or even as much as hinting anything. He needs to want to kiss you.”
“That's impossible!” the Englishman groaned, knowing that despite his pervertedness, Francis would never want to kiss him. Given that Arthur would allow him to, of course.
The frog bored its eyes into the Englishman's and stretched its lips into a smile. “Dear Prince,” it said. “I cannot help you with that. In fact, I came here only to wish you great happiness in your marriage. Good luck!” And with those words and obnoxious laughter, the evil, green creature disappeared as if it had never sat on the royal bed in the first place.
All strength the Prince possessed seemed to abandon him, and sliding down on his knees, Arthur hid his face in his arms. This was the end of him...
Arthur didn't leave his chamber that evening anymore, and he stayed there late into the noon of the following day. When he finally crawled out of his haven, he had dark circles around his eyes and all in all, his appearance was rather miserable and messier than the usual. His groom Veneziano (who was a living proof of Italians being useless) started fussing around him as soon as Arthur showed his face in the dining room where the Italian had been airing the heels, but the Englishman wasn't in the mood to deal with it. With only few words he asked about Francis' whereabouts and headed to the directed way, determination slowly building up in his steps.
He found Francis at one of the large balconies of the castle, busying himself with inspecting the small garden displayed there. Unintentionally, Arthur halted to observe the sight presented to him. Francis was alone, and he looked just as lost as Arthur had been only a couple of days earlier in the forest. He was clad in fancy clothes that certainly hadn't been his, and the Englishman snorted quietly; although the material and style of the clothes were that of the English, that Frenchman managed to wear them in a way that announced him to be a foreigner.
Apparently Francis had heard the snort, for he turned around and spotted Arthur standing at the balcony entrance. “Like what you see?” he asked jokingly, cracking a small, humourless smile, and Arthur snorted again, turning his eyes away. Seriously, when one wore a tunic, it was supposed to be buttoned up, not reveal the neck and half of the chest... Typical French.
“Bastard,” he answered and stepped on the balcony.
Francis crossed his arms, lifting one of his eyebrows, unamused. “Bastard, me?” he asked. “Oh, okay. And here I thought that hiding your royal identity, getting me kidnapped with you, getting engaged to me and then finally leaving me all alone in the castle without even pointing a direction to guest rooms would make you the bastard.”
“It wasn't my fault you were taken to the castle with me,” Arthur mumbled, but truth be told, he felt a pang of guilt for leaving Francis without a word all alone in the castle the previous night.
Francis didn't respond and turned to gaze at the view. The balcony gave to the central market place of London. It was full of market stalls, some of which bigger, some smaller, and the area was crowded with people and domestic animals such as chickens, pigs and cows. Arthur sighed and walked to stand beside the Frenchman, a disturbing feeling of uneasy guilt and something else nagging at him inside. For a moment he said nothing, either, and looked down at the market place. It had always fascinated him how so many people of different kinds could fit in so - relatively - small area. And those were his people, all English with only few exceptions. One day, he would become their king.
“They are talking about us,” he said matter-of-factly. “Father said that our en- engagement... has already been announced. We'll even have an official celebration.”
Francis only let a snort at this, effectively preventing Arthur from attempting to continue the conversation. Finally he turned to look his unexpected fiancée in the eyes. “So, now what? I mean, you haven't yet swallowed this whole marriage thing, have you?”
Arthur met the blue eyes proudly, sensing some disregard in them and not wanting to appear weaker. “Of course not!” he snorted. “That's why I wanted to see you. We need to-” he paused in order to make sure there was no one hearing them, “We need to come up with a plan of some sort to avoid the- the marriage.”
Francis lifted his eyebrows, managing to make the gesture look overly elegant together with his fancy clothing. “I'm curious,” he said. “Do tell me more.”
Arthur gritted his teeth, getting both annoyed at Francis and frustrated at himself for not having a plan yet. “I said we need to come up with a plan, not that I have one!”
“Pity.”
A moment followed during which neither of the men uttered a word, until Francis began speaking again. “Your father will never change his mind, that much is for sure.”
“He bloody well won't,” Arthur agreed grumpily. “So we have to come up with something... subtle.”
“Mm,” Francis mused. “A mysterious disappearing.”
“That's hardly subtle.”
“An accident, then.”
“That's too obvious, too.”
“Well why don't you try to give an idea if you're so clever, then?”
Arthur gave the Frenchman a dirty look, then started to think aloud. “It has to be something that no one can suspect was planned beforehand, otherwise it'll dishonour my father as a king...”
“Gilbert and Antonio could kidnap me. We could make it look like someone was jealous over you and wanted me out of the game.”
“Hm, maybe... But a lot of fuss and troubles would ensue. Someone might get suspected, and naturally my father would have to organise a search for you and your kidnappers, and were you found, those two would get executed.”
“True. Though I need to get in touch with them later, anyway.”
“Mm. Speaking of them, I hope you realise it'd be the best if we shut up about them.”
“Pardon?” The Frenchman's voice had got edgy, and Arthur hurried to clarify himself.
“I mean, to everyone else. Otherwise, knowing my father, I'd end up with fucking three spouses.”
Francis uttered a laughter, undoubtedly imagining the pictured scene in his mind, and Arthur snorted. They wordlessly watched the crowd below them, lost in thoughts.
“Well, let's consider that accident again,” Francis suggested after a while. “If it happens for example... in woods. Imagine. A horse-riding accident, or attack of a wild animal and say, my body would never be found...”
“A hunting accident!” Arthur exhilarated, starting to get hopeful. “But wait, no. That would never be believable. I mean, we obviously hate each other. Half of the castle heard how we proclaimed our unwillingness to get married! If you suddenly disappeared... too suspicious. Hell, I would be suspected for secretly assassinating you or something!” Despite himself, Arthur couldn't help uttering a laughter at the thought.
Francis looked at the Prince, unimpressed. “I don't see a problem here,” he said calmly. “We simply have to start pretending that we like each other and want to get married after all.”
Arthur looked at the Frenchman, stunned. Then he laughed again. “Do you think that's possible?”
Francis obtained a hurt expression and crossed his arms. “It can't be that hard,” he pouted, then got serious again. “But, we have one month before the wedding. That's plenty of time for you to fall all head over heels for me.”
“To pretend that I'm starting to like you,” Arthur sharply corrected and shot a glare at Francis, who, perhaps for the first time that day, gave a genuine grin. Arthur smacked the man on the shoulder, starting to feel his face colouring for some reason, and the Frenchman chuckled heartily. “And less than a month.”
“But remember, the progress has to happen slowly to be believable,” Francis reminded him before they separated to different rooms; Francis had been given his own chamber near to Arthur's.
“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur answered and closed the door after himself. He should be feeling relieved by then, they had come up with a good plan after all, but something kept disturbing the Englishman. Only when Arthur started preparing for bed did he realise what it was: there was a curse upon him - which meant that despite all plans, no matter how brilliant they were, he would end up married to Francis unless the Frenchman kissed him before the ceremony.
“Great,” the poor Prince mumbled, pulling his blanket to cover his face. “Bloody brilliant...”
xXx
“You've got to be kidding me.”
“Someone must be mistaken. There's no way they had fallen in love so suddenly!”
“...That's not the essential problem!”
While Arthur and Francis were teaming up in order to separate, their two friends had heard the jolly news, too. And it had been quite a piece of news; Gilbert and Antonio, after finally arriving in London, had gone to a pub to decide what to do next, and had there heard the news that excited the whole kingdom. They had learnt that their best friend Francis Bonnefoy was to be married to their new acquaintance Arthur Kirkland, who just happened to be nothing less but the Prince of England.
“Seriously, that guy...” Gilbert grumbled while the two friends walked towards the market place. “He's got some nerve, going and seducing the fucking Prince of England! That's a bit too much, even for Francis.”
“It's clear that his ambitions are getting higher and higher at the sector of seduction...”
“And who would have guessed for that goblin to be a prince of all things...”
A thoughtful silence took momentarily place between Antonio and Gilbert as each philosophised their own line, until Gilbert spoke again.
“We need to find them somehow.”
“Finding is not a problem,” Antonio said dryly, nodding towards the castle. “But getting to speak with them is another thing.”
“Nah, nothing is impossible for the awesome me. We only need a plan for them to notice us.”
“Let's just wait at the gate of the castle - it has to open, eventually.”
“Great, Antonio,” Gilbert uttered. “And what then, simply walk in?”
The Spaniard faced his friend solemnly. “Exactly.”
Gilbert's lips widened into a grin. “Good plan! I like it - simple and effective. Why then, what are we waiting for?”
X
Previous><Next
Author: marinoa
Characters/Pairings: England, France, Spain, Prussia. FrUK, hints of other(s?).
Rating: T
Summary: Having once refused to obey a frog, Prince Arthur is now forced to marry one. Both parties are unwilling, but even with the help of their friends, can they win against spells... and time? FrUK AU.
Prince's Hand And Half of the Kingdom
Chapter Three:
Kings and Frogs Do Keep Their Promises
In every story and fairy tale that involved princes and princesses, kingdoms and spells, knights and dragons, the prince always got his princess, and the princess never failed to find her prince - depending on from who's perspective the story was told. Dragons and other villains were always defeated, spells would come to nothing every time and the prince would earn the hand of the princess and half of the kingdom, and so the happy couple would get their happily ever after.
The problem with Arthur's case was that the whole thing was just a huge misunderstanding; he would much rather die than let his slimy 'saviour' have his hand, and giving half of the kingdom to that bastard would be such a tremendous waste. Unfortunately, as it seemed, fate was against him, for his father the King was clearly too cruel to care about his son and save him from his unpromising future with Francis.
Though, to the King's credit, he was absolutely reluctant to give his son away to a Frenchman. At first, on Arthur and Francis entering the throne room (Arthur throwing the doors open and yelling profanities at his father), he had been incredibly pleased with himself, ready to rub the whole marriage thing in Arthur's face, but as soon as he realised that the Prince's escort was French of all things, his smirk had all but faded. He glared at Francis from beneath his massive, grey eyebrows, perhaps hoping to expire the Frenchman with the power of his stare. As the disrespectful Frenchman, however, still insisted on living just to be a nuisance, the King finally spoke, for the first time after he had realised just who his son was supposed to marry.
“What the fuck,” he muttered angrily, pacing in front of the young, reluctant soon-to-be couple. “Like hell I'm going to let my son marry a frog!”
Arthur's eyes lit up with hope. “I definitely agree!” he proclaimed, eagerly stepping towards his father.
“For once, so do I,” Francis uttered sourly. “Though for different reasons than you, Sire,” he added just the tiniest bit haughtily.
That, however, proved not to be the wisest thing for the Frenchman to say; the King speared him with his fiery stare, eyes burning with rage.
“What the fuck,” he yelled angrily, “Like hell I'd let a Frenchman reject my son! Are you implying that the Prince and half of my kingdom weren't good enough for a frog like you? As if! You will accept my son's hand and you will accept it as a great honour!”
“Father-”
“Arthur, don't.”
Francis groaned. “Like father, like son,” Arthur heard him mutter.
“Silence!” the King roared - apparently his ears were yet to be affected by years - then sighed and calmed down a bit, evaporating his anger in slow exhales. “I only wanted to teach you a lesson, my son,” he said quietly, walking over to Arthur and brushing his cheek with his aged fingers. “And maybe laugh at your expense a bit. I swear, had the possibility of you meeting a Frenchman in my country ever crossed my mind, I would have never given such an order. But,” he added sadly, “I am a king, and kings cannot take back their promises. I am sorry, Arthur, but this man here will be granted with your hand and half of the kingdom... whether either of you liked it or not. Believe you me, son, I'd sacrifice anything to save you, but not my own word.”
Arthur's shoulders slumped, but touched by his father's sympathy, he uttered no word and seemingly resigned to the inevitable. Francis, too, sighed, defeated. “Then how about you keep your son and give me the whole kingdom instead?” he yet suggested half-heartedly, giving it one more weak try. The corners of the King's lips actually twitched up for a moment, and the monarch shook his head. “That's too much of a sacrifice for my son, too,” he added with gentle taunt in his voice.
Arthur raised his hands to his temples, rubbing them lightly. Just what have I done to deserve this? he asked himself. What can I possibly have done to be forced to marry a frog..?
Wait... Arthur frowned, getting a feeling of something important escaping his grasp. A... frog?
“Thus I announce you to be engaged to one another, Arthur Kirkland and Francis Bonnefoy. You shall give your vows in ceremony that will be held in one month from today,” King Lionheart pronounced, sending off some knights to announce the merry news to the people in all England. “And you two, dismissed,” he added, pointing at his sour son and his sulky fiancée.
Only when the heavy doors of the throne room closed behind the couple did Arthur remember. Of course, a frog! The frog - sitting in front of the gates of London ten years earlier - asking for a night in the Prince's bed - casting the evil spell...
“Oh, fuck it!” Arthur groaned in panic, not noticing Francis' inquiring look. “I should have just let it in!”
Ignoring the Frenchman's curious expression the Prince turned his back to his brand new fiancée and cowardly all but fled to the safety of his own room.
Slamming the oak door shut behind himself and leaning against its reassuring hardness, Arthur took deep, slow breaths to calm himself down. Right - now he remembered everything; a frog's request all those years ago, his refusal, the frogs terrible curse. “Because you didn't want to help a poor creature like me, I'll reveal you something of your future. One day you will have to marry a frog!” it had croaked, and oh, how Arthur wished he had followed his father's advice and let the frog have its own way, but no; he had simply had to be 'young and punk' back in his teen years. And now he was going to pay for it - dearly. Arthur's heartbeat increased despite his attempts to calm himself; as what was now happening was all due to the curse, there was no way to escape it...
“Croak!”
Now, even though Arthur had inherited his father's bravery, anyone could be taken by surprise once in a while, and thus be Arthur forgiven for his scare. The Englishman yelped, jumping on hearing rather loud a croak in his presumably empty bedchamber. “Who's there?”
“Give it a guess,” a croaking voice answered from the depths of the dim room, and Arthur didn't need much effort to recognise the intruder. He strode to his bedside table and hastily lit a candle, letting his eyes roam around the room - and there it was. Luxuriously like a king in the middle of the Prince's bed sat a certain contented frog, mischievously gawking at the startled Prince.
“Howdy,” it casually greeted.
Arthur stared. “You,” he half groaned, half spat.
Had the frog had arms and shoulders, it would have probably shrugged. “Don't act so surprised. My visit was to be expected, wasn't it?”
The Englishman didn't say anything, just kept opening and closing his mouth like a fish in the air. The frog was right of course - Arthur should have known. Should have remembered. That, however, wasn't important; whether or not the Prince had kept in mind the frog's curse, it wouldn't have changed anything. The curse was there anyway, and the Prince, prince, King Lionheart's son, was at a mere frog's mercy. Never before had Arthur felt as humble in front of anyone or anything as before that frog that afternoon.
It took him a moment to find his voice again, and as soon as he regained it, he put it to good use, saying the only thing he was in position of saying. He looked deep into the frog's bright yellow eyes, trying to reach whatever humanity there might be. “Please,” he whispered hoarsely, despair making his voice shake.
But apparently there was no such thing as humanity in the frog's vocabulary. It merely laughed its croaking laughter and took a better position on the bed. “I would have expected a little bit more of a prince's bed,” it said tormentingly casually.
“Please,” Arthur repeated through his gritted teeth, desperate. “I've learned my lesson!”
“Have you?” the frog asked. “I'm not convinced in the slightest. Tell me, isn't that a Frenchman you just left totally lost in a strange castle all alone?”
“I-” Arthur started, but cut himself off; what could he say to that? “I'm sorry,” he said instead of defending himself. “I truly am... But neither of us wants this marriage! Please, be so kind and cancel the curse!”
The frog grinned with all the width of its yellowish lips. “I cannot remove the curse,” it explained. “Back then I already explained how to do it. Your new 'frog' has to kiss you of his own free will, without you telling him about the curse or even as much as hinting anything. He needs to want to kiss you.”
“That's impossible!” the Englishman groaned, knowing that despite his pervertedness, Francis would never want to kiss him. Given that Arthur would allow him to, of course.
The frog bored its eyes into the Englishman's and stretched its lips into a smile. “Dear Prince,” it said. “I cannot help you with that. In fact, I came here only to wish you great happiness in your marriage. Good luck!” And with those words and obnoxious laughter, the evil, green creature disappeared as if it had never sat on the royal bed in the first place.
All strength the Prince possessed seemed to abandon him, and sliding down on his knees, Arthur hid his face in his arms. This was the end of him...
Arthur didn't leave his chamber that evening anymore, and he stayed there late into the noon of the following day. When he finally crawled out of his haven, he had dark circles around his eyes and all in all, his appearance was rather miserable and messier than the usual. His groom Veneziano (who was a living proof of Italians being useless) started fussing around him as soon as Arthur showed his face in the dining room where the Italian had been airing the heels, but the Englishman wasn't in the mood to deal with it. With only few words he asked about Francis' whereabouts and headed to the directed way, determination slowly building up in his steps.
He found Francis at one of the large balconies of the castle, busying himself with inspecting the small garden displayed there. Unintentionally, Arthur halted to observe the sight presented to him. Francis was alone, and he looked just as lost as Arthur had been only a couple of days earlier in the forest. He was clad in fancy clothes that certainly hadn't been his, and the Englishman snorted quietly; although the material and style of the clothes were that of the English, that Frenchman managed to wear them in a way that announced him to be a foreigner.
Apparently Francis had heard the snort, for he turned around and spotted Arthur standing at the balcony entrance. “Like what you see?” he asked jokingly, cracking a small, humourless smile, and Arthur snorted again, turning his eyes away. Seriously, when one wore a tunic, it was supposed to be buttoned up, not reveal the neck and half of the chest... Typical French.
“Bastard,” he answered and stepped on the balcony.
Francis crossed his arms, lifting one of his eyebrows, unamused. “Bastard, me?” he asked. “Oh, okay. And here I thought that hiding your royal identity, getting me kidnapped with you, getting engaged to me and then finally leaving me all alone in the castle without even pointing a direction to guest rooms would make you the bastard.”
“It wasn't my fault you were taken to the castle with me,” Arthur mumbled, but truth be told, he felt a pang of guilt for leaving Francis without a word all alone in the castle the previous night.
Francis didn't respond and turned to gaze at the view. The balcony gave to the central market place of London. It was full of market stalls, some of which bigger, some smaller, and the area was crowded with people and domestic animals such as chickens, pigs and cows. Arthur sighed and walked to stand beside the Frenchman, a disturbing feeling of uneasy guilt and something else nagging at him inside. For a moment he said nothing, either, and looked down at the market place. It had always fascinated him how so many people of different kinds could fit in so - relatively - small area. And those were his people, all English with only few exceptions. One day, he would become their king.
“They are talking about us,” he said matter-of-factly. “Father said that our en- engagement... has already been announced. We'll even have an official celebration.”
Francis only let a snort at this, effectively preventing Arthur from attempting to continue the conversation. Finally he turned to look his unexpected fiancée in the eyes. “So, now what? I mean, you haven't yet swallowed this whole marriage thing, have you?”
Arthur met the blue eyes proudly, sensing some disregard in them and not wanting to appear weaker. “Of course not!” he snorted. “That's why I wanted to see you. We need to-” he paused in order to make sure there was no one hearing them, “We need to come up with a plan of some sort to avoid the- the marriage.”
Francis lifted his eyebrows, managing to make the gesture look overly elegant together with his fancy clothing. “I'm curious,” he said. “Do tell me more.”
Arthur gritted his teeth, getting both annoyed at Francis and frustrated at himself for not having a plan yet. “I said we need to come up with a plan, not that I have one!”
“Pity.”
A moment followed during which neither of the men uttered a word, until Francis began speaking again. “Your father will never change his mind, that much is for sure.”
“He bloody well won't,” Arthur agreed grumpily. “So we have to come up with something... subtle.”
“Mm,” Francis mused. “A mysterious disappearing.”
“That's hardly subtle.”
“An accident, then.”
“That's too obvious, too.”
“Well why don't you try to give an idea if you're so clever, then?”
Arthur gave the Frenchman a dirty look, then started to think aloud. “It has to be something that no one can suspect was planned beforehand, otherwise it'll dishonour my father as a king...”
“Gilbert and Antonio could kidnap me. We could make it look like someone was jealous over you and wanted me out of the game.”
“Hm, maybe... But a lot of fuss and troubles would ensue. Someone might get suspected, and naturally my father would have to organise a search for you and your kidnappers, and were you found, those two would get executed.”
“True. Though I need to get in touch with them later, anyway.”
“Mm. Speaking of them, I hope you realise it'd be the best if we shut up about them.”
“Pardon?” The Frenchman's voice had got edgy, and Arthur hurried to clarify himself.
“I mean, to everyone else. Otherwise, knowing my father, I'd end up with fucking three spouses.”
Francis uttered a laughter, undoubtedly imagining the pictured scene in his mind, and Arthur snorted. They wordlessly watched the crowd below them, lost in thoughts.
“Well, let's consider that accident again,” Francis suggested after a while. “If it happens for example... in woods. Imagine. A horse-riding accident, or attack of a wild animal and say, my body would never be found...”
“A hunting accident!” Arthur exhilarated, starting to get hopeful. “But wait, no. That would never be believable. I mean, we obviously hate each other. Half of the castle heard how we proclaimed our unwillingness to get married! If you suddenly disappeared... too suspicious. Hell, I would be suspected for secretly assassinating you or something!” Despite himself, Arthur couldn't help uttering a laughter at the thought.
Francis looked at the Prince, unimpressed. “I don't see a problem here,” he said calmly. “We simply have to start pretending that we like each other and want to get married after all.”
Arthur looked at the Frenchman, stunned. Then he laughed again. “Do you think that's possible?”
Francis obtained a hurt expression and crossed his arms. “It can't be that hard,” he pouted, then got serious again. “But, we have one month before the wedding. That's plenty of time for you to fall all head over heels for me.”
“To pretend that I'm starting to like you,” Arthur sharply corrected and shot a glare at Francis, who, perhaps for the first time that day, gave a genuine grin. Arthur smacked the man on the shoulder, starting to feel his face colouring for some reason, and the Frenchman chuckled heartily. “And less than a month.”
“But remember, the progress has to happen slowly to be believable,” Francis reminded him before they separated to different rooms; Francis had been given his own chamber near to Arthur's.
“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur answered and closed the door after himself. He should be feeling relieved by then, they had come up with a good plan after all, but something kept disturbing the Englishman. Only when Arthur started preparing for bed did he realise what it was: there was a curse upon him - which meant that despite all plans, no matter how brilliant they were, he would end up married to Francis unless the Frenchman kissed him before the ceremony.
“Great,” the poor Prince mumbled, pulling his blanket to cover his face. “Bloody brilliant...”
xXx
“You've got to be kidding me.”
“Someone must be mistaken. There's no way they had fallen in love so suddenly!”
“...That's not the essential problem!”
While Arthur and Francis were teaming up in order to separate, their two friends had heard the jolly news, too. And it had been quite a piece of news; Gilbert and Antonio, after finally arriving in London, had gone to a pub to decide what to do next, and had there heard the news that excited the whole kingdom. They had learnt that their best friend Francis Bonnefoy was to be married to their new acquaintance Arthur Kirkland, who just happened to be nothing less but the Prince of England.
“Seriously, that guy...” Gilbert grumbled while the two friends walked towards the market place. “He's got some nerve, going and seducing the fucking Prince of England! That's a bit too much, even for Francis.”
“It's clear that his ambitions are getting higher and higher at the sector of seduction...”
“And who would have guessed for that goblin to be a prince of all things...”
A thoughtful silence took momentarily place between Antonio and Gilbert as each philosophised their own line, until Gilbert spoke again.
“We need to find them somehow.”
“Finding is not a problem,” Antonio said dryly, nodding towards the castle. “But getting to speak with them is another thing.”
“Nah, nothing is impossible for the awesome me. We only need a plan for them to notice us.”
“Let's just wait at the gate of the castle - it has to open, eventually.”
“Great, Antonio,” Gilbert uttered. “And what then, simply walk in?”
The Spaniard faced his friend solemnly. “Exactly.”
Gilbert's lips widened into a grin. “Good plan! I like it - simple and effective. Why then, what are we waiting for?”
X
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