Prince's Hand and Half of the Kingdom (5/?) [fanfiction]
Title: Prince's Hand And Half of the Kingdom
Author: marinoa
Characters/Pairings: England, France, Spain, Prussia, Romano. 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.
Author's note: Here I am, darlings! Thanks for your patient waiting, it shall be rewarded!
Prince's Hand And Half of the Kingdom
Chapter Five:
Plan of Action
Almost a week had passed since Antonio and Gilbert's arrival in the castle, and nothing worth mentioning had happened concerning The Grand Escape Plan or the Evil Curse. Well, nothing that Arthur would ever mention, not even to save his own life. (If admitting his pathetic doings would somehow save a unicorn's or a faerie's life, he might consider it, but anything less was out of the question.)
What embarrassed the poor Englishman so was his rather sad attempt to confront the only condition that would make the curse come to nothing; to be kissed by Francis. What was particularly sad about that attempt was that, in fact, to be totally precise, it didn't even happen.
Arthur, being the proud Prince he was, had decided soon after their two friends' arrival that before any actions could be taken according to the escape plan, the curse had to be overcome - otherwise their plan would be of no use, pointless. Thus, when he once found himself alone with Francis in the library of the castle, the Prince had resolved to act. He had moved to stand right beside the Frenchman, who was flipping through the pages of an old book, and forced himself to look at him. After a moment Francis had languidly turned his eyes from the book to the Englishman and indifferently raised his eyebrows, as if silently saying, 'Yes, what do you want? Do speak; you're wasting my time.' But what Arthur could have done? Obviously he hadn't considered his plan quite thoroughly enough; he had no idea of what to do next. He couldn't kiss Francis to get rid of the curse, it had to be other way round to work, and there was absolutely no reason for him to kiss the Frenchman just because. Even though, from so close a distance, he had to admit that Francis was very attractive with his blue eyes and light stubble and all... for a frog. Yes, for a frog.
And so, blocking all those thoughts, Arthur had just dumbly stood there and stared at the Frenchman, slowly starting to panic. Fortunately, for once luck had been on his side and the library door had opened letting in one of the maids. She had immediately noticed the couple and a small 'oh' had escaped her lips, effectively ending the awkward moment. That was what triggered Arthur to stumble away from the Frenchman's proximity while the maid excused herself and exited the library. Francis had watched all this with growing amusement and, after the maid had left, shaken his head and given Arthur a pitying smile. “I can see you aren't used to acting liking anyone,” he had said, lips twitching. “Didn't I say we have to start showing affection slowly? That was hardly subtle, Arthur. From now on, do nothing and let me take care of it.”
That had been humiliating, unbearably humiliating, but at least it had been a blessing in disguise that Francis had regarded his unsuccessful, poor attempt to be kissed as an attempt to fake attachment as planned. Also, it had been a lesson; obviously getting kissed wasn't that simple after all.
Now, the wit Arthur had inherited from his father, together with the humbleness he had recently learned due to the frog, made the Englishman resign himself to the fact that he had absolutely no idea of how to lure Francis into kissing him, and admit to himself that he needed help.
And who else would be more suitable for giving him a hand if not Francis' two best friends, who probably knew the Frenchman inside out? (Though, even if they weren't suitable in the slightest, which was also possible and even likely, they were the only ones to whom Arthur could turn for help - no one else did nor could know about the Plan.) So, basically, that was the reason why the second night since the embarrassing incident in the library the Englishman was not to be found in his bed.
Sneaking in the castle in the dead of night and staying unnoticed was fairly easy and nothing Arthur wasn't used to; sneaking in the castle in the dead of night and staying unnoticed with a sleepy Spaniard was another thing instead.
The Englishman had realised that during daytime it would be nearly impossible to tell about the curse and discuss it without Francis noticing anything, so he had to take advantage of the darkness that night provided. Too bad Antonio, whom Arthur had woken up and started dragging towards the stables, was not one for nightly trips like that. If he wasn't yawning as loudly as an elephant sneezes, he was stumbling over his very own feet if there wasn't anything better to trip upon. Miraculously, however, the two fellows made it to the stables without anyone noticing; Arthur knew his way in the castle better than the guards.
As the tradition had it, stablemen had their own residence attached to the stable building. It included three bedrooms and several smaller chambers for different purposes, and unless Romano had kicked Gilbert out of the whole house to sleep among the horses, the Prussian was probably occupying one of the bedrooms - which one, was the tricky part. There was no way Arthur was going to let his hot-tempered stableman wake up to any sounds... and not only to prevent the Italian finding out about the plan, but also because Romano was hellish to deal with when he was bothered from his sleep. (There were two things that got Romano absolutely furious and those were waking him up and maltreating his horses.)
“Hush, you stay here while I go and get him,” Arthur whispered to Antonio when they stood at the stables. The Spaniard nodded drowsily and the Englishman disappeared in the building.
One of the bedrooms was on the first floor and the two others were up on the second floor, where Arthur knew Romano resided. Thus concluding that Gilbert was on the first floor - Romano didn't really let people close to him - the Prince sneaked to the bedroom door and as quietly as possible, peeked in. There was a lump on the bed, and closer inspecting proved the Englishman to be right; it indeed was Gilbert.
It took hardly any time to wake up the Prussian, who apparently was a light sleeper, and soon the three fellows found themselves in the actual stables where the chance of being taken unawares was relatively small. With one lantern giving rather little light, the three men listened carefully if there were people around, and on being convinced they were totally alone, Arthur cleared his throat and began clarifying the whole dreadfulness of the situation to Francis' friends.
At first it seemed hopeless; Gilbert and Antonio had considered Arthur mentally ill when he had told them about the unicorn, so in the end it was no surprise that they weren't too impressed with the Englishman's story about speaking frogs who cast spells at people.
“You are sleepwalking, aren't you,” Gilbert commented flatly, starting to get annoyed for having been disturbed from his sleep only to hear fairy tales.
“Arthur,” Antonio said softly, “If you want Francis to kiss you, you should just honestly say so instead of coming up with poor excuses.”
At that point Arthur was ready to tear at his hair in agony, but managed not losing his temper. “Look,” he said, drawing in a long breath, “You know that I don't want to marry Francis, and you know even better that he doesn't want to marry me. Hell, even if you don't believe me... Reason! Due to regretful accidence you three were forced to break off your journey and are now stuck in my castle. The only way for you to continue your way together with Francis is to avoid the wedding, but believe you me, if the curse won't be foiled, that won't happen.”
Maybe it was the sincerity in Arthur's desperate eyes, or the acknowledgement of the existence of magic that was planted deep in the two friends' hearts, but in the end, they chose to believe the Englishman. They lived in the world of spells and magic after all... whether they believed in it or not.
“If it's how you say it is, this is very bad,” Gilbert mused.
“The problem is that if he hasn't tried to kiss you yet,” Antonio explained, “he either has absolutely no intentions of doing so in the future, either, or then he is so extraordinarily deeply in love with you that he doesn't have the guts to kiss you in fear of losing you.”
“The former one, in your case,” Gilbert added, seeing Arthur's baffled look. The Englishman shook his head. “What's wrong with him?” he muttered, slightly sourly. “He's fine with kissing people in all occasions but one; when he loves them. Well, or completely hates.”
“It's not that simple,” Antonio pointed out but Gilbert chimed in before he could clarify what he meant - not that Arthur specifically wanted to know.
“The essential part here is to make Francis kiss you,” the Prussian said thoughtfully. “How can we make that happen..?”
“Hmm. Well, Francis has always been the mood-conditional kind...”
For a moment Arthur sat saying nothing, letting the two friends discuss the subject matter together. He felt oddly nonplussed; seeing how close people seemed to know one another inside out wasn't really something he had ever experienced, and that made him slightly jealous, even. Not that he was unhappy or disliked certain amount of solitude, but the status of a prince effectively kept other people at a safe distance from him - not only in a physical sense. He simply couldn't become close friends with anybody; because he was a prince, naturally everybody regarded him as one. That's why, Arthur realised almost startled, the company of Gilbert and Antonio and - dear Lord - even Francis was actually most welcomed. They didn't give a damn about who he was.
“Yeah, I suppose that's the best. Artie, you sleeping or what?”
Not even noticing the nickname, Arthur blinked, returning his wandering thoughts to the present. “Uh, sure. I mean- I'm not. Err, so..?”
“If you had listened, you'd know,” Gilbert sighed like an exasperated tutor. “So we figured that it might be the best to wait until that engagement celebration of yours and see what will happen. Francis is the kind that can rather easily get carried away with sensations or atmosphere or stuff like that, so what'd be better occasion for kissing you than your own engagement party?”
Arthur's eyes widened. “In public?”
“Of course; he has no reason to do it privately when no one sees.”
“I suppose...” Although the Englishman wasn't burning with desire to be kissed by the bloody frog, it still put him in a slightly bad mood that Antonio and Gilbert - and Francis obviously - seemed to take it as a matter of course that in normal occasions Francis wouldn't even think of kissing him. “And if he won't?” he asked somewhat edgily.
“Then,” Antonio shrugged, “we'll meet again in order to find a way to make him.”
Everybody nodded to that, and nothing much was left to say. Francis and Arthur's official engagement celebration was to be held in two days - if all went well, the greatest of Arthur's problems would be only a fading nightmare after that. The Englishman stood up and took the lantern. “I guess that's that then.”
“Wait,” Antonio said pregnantly, and he and Gilbert exchanged significant looks. The odd stern look that Arthur had already spotted few times in the Spaniard's eyes was now fully overt, and it made the Prince uncomfortable. “There is one thing we want to make clear. You see, Francis is our friend, and we don't want our friends to get hurt. So, make him kiss you - but do not even thinking of playing with his heart in any way. Have we made ourselves clear?”
Arthur could only stare at the normally so kind Spaniard and involuntarily shivered at the steadfast look in his and Gilbert's eyes. He nodded seriously, understanding it was no place for jokes. “Perfectly.”
“Good,” Antonio smiled again, and Arthur found it creepy how easily he went from kind to dangerous and back to kind again. “Finally back to bed, then!”
As the three fellows put out the lantern and took off to their chambers each their own way, nobody noticed a dark figure in a window on the second floor of the stablemen's residence.
xXx
Francis was in his element.
Despite loathing the reason of the celebration - his and Arthur's engagement - the Frenchman had been exceedingly excited the whole day before the party, and now, watching him, no one could have guessed that he had been snatched from a forest to royal halls. He was sailing all around the great hall with enough grace to make even most elegant prince jealous (not that Arthur was!), socialising with English nobility so suavely that no one could find an ill word to say about him even though he was known to be French, and looking simply said stunning in his outfit, which had been specifically tailored for him.
Arthur, occupying one of the three thrones, watched the Frenchman from afar and absently swirled wine in the glass he was holding, not really focusing on anything particular. It was his celebration more than anyone's, more than even Francis' because he was the Prince of the country, and yet he couldn't force himself to put on a smile and mix with the crowd. Of course he had, in the beginning of the party, accepted his people's congratulations and danced the first waltz with his now official fiancé, but it was like those little ceremonies had drained all his energy and now all he could do was sit beside his father and gaze at the rejoicing crowd.
The only one in addition to the celebrated couple who was unhappy was the King himself. He sat majestically on his throne, holding his grey head high and observing his court from under his huge, white eyebrows. But his, like Arthur's, eyes were fixed mostly on a certain Frenchman.
“I'd like to know what's the truth behind this Frenchman of yours,” King Lionheart muttered into his beard, speaking more to himself that to Arthur.
“What do you mean?” his son asked idly, frowning as he saw Francis making a bunch of ladies-in-waiting laugh.
“Look at him,” the King uttered, not knowing that that was just what Arthur had been doing the whole evening. “Look at his manners, the way he speaks and moves. He even dances. His behaviour is equivalent to that of nobility.”
“Yeah..?”
“'Yeah?' Don't you wonder what a French nobleman was doing in our woods?”
Arthur shrugged, his mind just a bit too foggy from tiredness to be interested. “Well maybe he's just a mere commoner who's naturally that charming,” he blurted, earning a stern glare from his father.
“No more wine for you tonight, Arthur,” he said dryly, even though Arthur hadn't drank more than two glasses at most. The king turned to watch Francis again, and the two remained silent for a while, until the King spoke again. “It can't be like you suggested, because if Francis is just naturally gifted like that I would have to respect him, which I refuse to do.”
Arthur mustered a small sneer and sank into his thoughts. He didn't really care about Francis' roots or his social rank, but now that his father had mentioned it, he realised that he didn't know anything about his fiancé. All he knew was that Francis had been exploring the lands with Antonio and Gilbert for quite a long time now. Well, it shouldn't even matter; the Frenchman would not become a permanent part of his life anyway.
The trail of thoughts took him to remember what he had agreed with Gilbert and Antonio the other night - he should go and see if Francis was in his kissing mood in favour of overcoming the curse.
Apparently Francis was in his blasted kissing mood, because immediately on thinking so Arthur's eyes caught him kissing the cheeks of the giggling and fascinated lady-in-waiting. The Prince's eyebrow twitched. How dare that Frenchman - in their engagement party? That man had no civility! Kissing hands was natural, but cheeks?
“That's what they do in France.”
“Huh?”
The King gave Arthur a twisted smile. “Kiss on the cheeks. A habit of Frenchmen.” He said it in a tone in which most people would talk about bathing in sewage.
“Balls! He's just using it as an excuse to be his perverted self,” Arthur responded, grumbling.
King Lionheart looked at the Prince and suddenly smiled gently, slightly sadly, smiled as a father to his son. “Go there,” he suddenly encouraged his son. “This is your night after all.”
“You know that I'd rather not, father.”
The King winked and patted Arthur's hand. “Go. Show them who's the Prince in this hall.”
How could Arthur reject such kindness? Despite having a shell around him, the Englishman had a soft heart, and so he rose from his throne, walked the few steps down and headed towards the Frenchman. He would have obeyed his father even if he hadn't have a curse to get rid of.
On his way to Francis Arthur caught a glimpse of Antonio, who was chatting happily with Veneziano on their place at the wall, and the Englishman couldn't help smiling to himself. Antonio might not have been the very best influence on the Italian, for both of them loved to sit back and take a nap, but at least now Veneziano had someone to help him out when he had messed things up. It was a blessing that the Spaniard seemed to possess an endless string of patience.
Glad that Antonio was so occupied with the younger Italian - now he would see neither Arthur's possible victory nor his likely defeat about Francis - the Prince approached his fiancé with determination yet having butterflies in his stomach. Aware of the people's gazes that followed him, Arthur halted within a few steps from Francis, who was currently standing alone, yet too busy winking to some lady to notice the Prince. Arthur forced on a smile and cleared his throat, which was when the Frenchman deigned to notice his fiancé.
“Arthur,” he greeted, his blue eyes shining with mirth the celebration had awakened in him.
“Hi,” the Englishman responded, stepping a bit closer. Damn, he so hated it when people were staring at him when he needed it the least... when he was unsure about himself!
Fortunately Francis apparently somehow sensed Arthur nervousness, for he extended his arm for him. “May I get this dance?” he asked politely, smiling slightly. But his smile wasn't the same it had been with the ladies before.
“You may,” Arthur said a bit coolly and accepted the hand.
In the swirls of the dance no one could hear what they were talking about, so Arthur took the advantage of it. “You should at least pretend,” he hissed through his teeth as soon as they took the first steps.
“What do you mean?” the Frenchman had the nerve to ask while guiding them into a twirl.
“Them,” Arthur jerked his head towards random ladies, the motion small enough to stay unnoticed by others. “You smile to them with shining eyes but when it comes to me, your face just falls.”
Francis laughed heartily. “Oh,” he said, stretching the sound. “Is that jealousy I hear~?”
“Bollocks!” Arthur all but spat, appalled by such a ridiculous statement. “But if you haven't realised it yet we are engaged and supposed to like one another, so it's anything but fucking appropriate of you to flirt with everyone else!”
“Oh, don't take it seriously - no one does!”
“I bloody well take it seriously, the rest of my life depends on our plan being successful and this doesn't look like progression to me!”
Arthur's tone was angrier than it should have perhaps been, but he couldn't help it; Francis just was such a prick. The Frenchman's eyes darkened at his fiancé's outburst and when he spoke, shimmering frost covered his words.
“You speak like you despised me with every fibre of your being,” he hissed, still managing to maintain a smile for the public. Fortunately many other couples had entered the dance floor too, so less and less interest was shed upon the Prince and his supposed beloved one. “You don't have to love me, not even particularly like me as I certainly do not like you, but still I find it rather offending how you speak of me - like I was nothing more than scum. Before accusing me of anything do take a look at yourself first and perhaps you'll see just why there's no 'progression'!”
Arthur gritted his teeth but then mirrored the shallow smile on Francis' lips. “I guess we have to work really hard then,” he said poisonously, “as it seems that we cannot even pretend to like each other until we actually do.”
“If our success truly depends on that, prepare to spend the rest of your miserable life with me,” Francis snorted and spun them around for the last time with the music dying down. The two bowed to one another and smiled, and despite their bitter argument just a moment ago they stayed side by side not to arise suspicions. Arthur was already regretting his words in spite of his anger - he had been supposed to earn a kiss but instead he had got the Frenchman only mad at him. This will be hard, he though, this will be so hard...
He spotted Antonio across the hall and their eyes locked for a moment. It was the seriousness in the Spaniard's eyes that made Arthur's heart sink in frozen worry.
xXx
“Well, how did it go?” Gilbert asked enthusiastically as soon as Arthur stomped angrily to the stables; stablemen didn't attend celebrations of the nobility, instead the Prussian had managed to persuade Romano into accompanying him to the commoners' party elsewhere. “Did he kiss you?”
“Kiss me?” Arthur's eyes were flaming with rage and disappointment. “He was bloody flirting with every single woman in the whole castle and you talk about him kissing me!”
Antonio, who had followed soon after the Prince, shook his head. “This will be hard, amigo,” he said to Gilbert. “It seems that in this case, Francis will never even consider kissing Arthur were it up to him.”
“Fine,” Gilbert said after a short, thoughtful silence, as if accepting a challenge. ”Luckily it's not up to him - it's up to us now! Franny will get what he bargained for - our awesome kick-ass plans will definetely get him not only kiss you Arthur but also beg to have the permission to kiss you! Come here, Toni! We've got some plots to do.”
X
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Author: marinoa
Characters/Pairings: England, France, Spain, Prussia, Romano. 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.
Author's note: Here I am, darlings! Thanks for your patient waiting, it shall be rewarded!
Prince's Hand And Half of the Kingdom
Chapter Five:
Plan of Action
Almost a week had passed since Antonio and Gilbert's arrival in the castle, and nothing worth mentioning had happened concerning The Grand Escape Plan or the Evil Curse. Well, nothing that Arthur would ever mention, not even to save his own life. (If admitting his pathetic doings would somehow save a unicorn's or a faerie's life, he might consider it, but anything less was out of the question.)
What embarrassed the poor Englishman so was his rather sad attempt to confront the only condition that would make the curse come to nothing; to be kissed by Francis. What was particularly sad about that attempt was that, in fact, to be totally precise, it didn't even happen.
Arthur, being the proud Prince he was, had decided soon after their two friends' arrival that before any actions could be taken according to the escape plan, the curse had to be overcome - otherwise their plan would be of no use, pointless. Thus, when he once found himself alone with Francis in the library of the castle, the Prince had resolved to act. He had moved to stand right beside the Frenchman, who was flipping through the pages of an old book, and forced himself to look at him. After a moment Francis had languidly turned his eyes from the book to the Englishman and indifferently raised his eyebrows, as if silently saying, 'Yes, what do you want? Do speak; you're wasting my time.' But what Arthur could have done? Obviously he hadn't considered his plan quite thoroughly enough; he had no idea of what to do next. He couldn't kiss Francis to get rid of the curse, it had to be other way round to work, and there was absolutely no reason for him to kiss the Frenchman just because. Even though, from so close a distance, he had to admit that Francis was very attractive with his blue eyes and light stubble and all... for a frog. Yes, for a frog.
And so, blocking all those thoughts, Arthur had just dumbly stood there and stared at the Frenchman, slowly starting to panic. Fortunately, for once luck had been on his side and the library door had opened letting in one of the maids. She had immediately noticed the couple and a small 'oh' had escaped her lips, effectively ending the awkward moment. That was what triggered Arthur to stumble away from the Frenchman's proximity while the maid excused herself and exited the library. Francis had watched all this with growing amusement and, after the maid had left, shaken his head and given Arthur a pitying smile. “I can see you aren't used to acting liking anyone,” he had said, lips twitching. “Didn't I say we have to start showing affection slowly? That was hardly subtle, Arthur. From now on, do nothing and let me take care of it.”
That had been humiliating, unbearably humiliating, but at least it had been a blessing in disguise that Francis had regarded his unsuccessful, poor attempt to be kissed as an attempt to fake attachment as planned. Also, it had been a lesson; obviously getting kissed wasn't that simple after all.
Now, the wit Arthur had inherited from his father, together with the humbleness he had recently learned due to the frog, made the Englishman resign himself to the fact that he had absolutely no idea of how to lure Francis into kissing him, and admit to himself that he needed help.
And who else would be more suitable for giving him a hand if not Francis' two best friends, who probably knew the Frenchman inside out? (Though, even if they weren't suitable in the slightest, which was also possible and even likely, they were the only ones to whom Arthur could turn for help - no one else did nor could know about the Plan.) So, basically, that was the reason why the second night since the embarrassing incident in the library the Englishman was not to be found in his bed.
Sneaking in the castle in the dead of night and staying unnoticed was fairly easy and nothing Arthur wasn't used to; sneaking in the castle in the dead of night and staying unnoticed with a sleepy Spaniard was another thing instead.
The Englishman had realised that during daytime it would be nearly impossible to tell about the curse and discuss it without Francis noticing anything, so he had to take advantage of the darkness that night provided. Too bad Antonio, whom Arthur had woken up and started dragging towards the stables, was not one for nightly trips like that. If he wasn't yawning as loudly as an elephant sneezes, he was stumbling over his very own feet if there wasn't anything better to trip upon. Miraculously, however, the two fellows made it to the stables without anyone noticing; Arthur knew his way in the castle better than the guards.
As the tradition had it, stablemen had their own residence attached to the stable building. It included three bedrooms and several smaller chambers for different purposes, and unless Romano had kicked Gilbert out of the whole house to sleep among the horses, the Prussian was probably occupying one of the bedrooms - which one, was the tricky part. There was no way Arthur was going to let his hot-tempered stableman wake up to any sounds... and not only to prevent the Italian finding out about the plan, but also because Romano was hellish to deal with when he was bothered from his sleep. (There were two things that got Romano absolutely furious and those were waking him up and maltreating his horses.)
“Hush, you stay here while I go and get him,” Arthur whispered to Antonio when they stood at the stables. The Spaniard nodded drowsily and the Englishman disappeared in the building.
One of the bedrooms was on the first floor and the two others were up on the second floor, where Arthur knew Romano resided. Thus concluding that Gilbert was on the first floor - Romano didn't really let people close to him - the Prince sneaked to the bedroom door and as quietly as possible, peeked in. There was a lump on the bed, and closer inspecting proved the Englishman to be right; it indeed was Gilbert.
It took hardly any time to wake up the Prussian, who apparently was a light sleeper, and soon the three fellows found themselves in the actual stables where the chance of being taken unawares was relatively small. With one lantern giving rather little light, the three men listened carefully if there were people around, and on being convinced they were totally alone, Arthur cleared his throat and began clarifying the whole dreadfulness of the situation to Francis' friends.
At first it seemed hopeless; Gilbert and Antonio had considered Arthur mentally ill when he had told them about the unicorn, so in the end it was no surprise that they weren't too impressed with the Englishman's story about speaking frogs who cast spells at people.
“You are sleepwalking, aren't you,” Gilbert commented flatly, starting to get annoyed for having been disturbed from his sleep only to hear fairy tales.
“Arthur,” Antonio said softly, “If you want Francis to kiss you, you should just honestly say so instead of coming up with poor excuses.”
At that point Arthur was ready to tear at his hair in agony, but managed not losing his temper. “Look,” he said, drawing in a long breath, “You know that I don't want to marry Francis, and you know even better that he doesn't want to marry me. Hell, even if you don't believe me... Reason! Due to regretful accidence you three were forced to break off your journey and are now stuck in my castle. The only way for you to continue your way together with Francis is to avoid the wedding, but believe you me, if the curse won't be foiled, that won't happen.”
Maybe it was the sincerity in Arthur's desperate eyes, or the acknowledgement of the existence of magic that was planted deep in the two friends' hearts, but in the end, they chose to believe the Englishman. They lived in the world of spells and magic after all... whether they believed in it or not.
“If it's how you say it is, this is very bad,” Gilbert mused.
“The problem is that if he hasn't tried to kiss you yet,” Antonio explained, “he either has absolutely no intentions of doing so in the future, either, or then he is so extraordinarily deeply in love with you that he doesn't have the guts to kiss you in fear of losing you.”
“The former one, in your case,” Gilbert added, seeing Arthur's baffled look. The Englishman shook his head. “What's wrong with him?” he muttered, slightly sourly. “He's fine with kissing people in all occasions but one; when he loves them. Well, or completely hates.”
“It's not that simple,” Antonio pointed out but Gilbert chimed in before he could clarify what he meant - not that Arthur specifically wanted to know.
“The essential part here is to make Francis kiss you,” the Prussian said thoughtfully. “How can we make that happen..?”
“Hmm. Well, Francis has always been the mood-conditional kind...”
For a moment Arthur sat saying nothing, letting the two friends discuss the subject matter together. He felt oddly nonplussed; seeing how close people seemed to know one another inside out wasn't really something he had ever experienced, and that made him slightly jealous, even. Not that he was unhappy or disliked certain amount of solitude, but the status of a prince effectively kept other people at a safe distance from him - not only in a physical sense. He simply couldn't become close friends with anybody; because he was a prince, naturally everybody regarded him as one. That's why, Arthur realised almost startled, the company of Gilbert and Antonio and - dear Lord - even Francis was actually most welcomed. They didn't give a damn about who he was.
“Yeah, I suppose that's the best. Artie, you sleeping or what?”
Not even noticing the nickname, Arthur blinked, returning his wandering thoughts to the present. “Uh, sure. I mean- I'm not. Err, so..?”
“If you had listened, you'd know,” Gilbert sighed like an exasperated tutor. “So we figured that it might be the best to wait until that engagement celebration of yours and see what will happen. Francis is the kind that can rather easily get carried away with sensations or atmosphere or stuff like that, so what'd be better occasion for kissing you than your own engagement party?”
Arthur's eyes widened. “In public?”
“Of course; he has no reason to do it privately when no one sees.”
“I suppose...” Although the Englishman wasn't burning with desire to be kissed by the bloody frog, it still put him in a slightly bad mood that Antonio and Gilbert - and Francis obviously - seemed to take it as a matter of course that in normal occasions Francis wouldn't even think of kissing him. “And if he won't?” he asked somewhat edgily.
“Then,” Antonio shrugged, “we'll meet again in order to find a way to make him.”
Everybody nodded to that, and nothing much was left to say. Francis and Arthur's official engagement celebration was to be held in two days - if all went well, the greatest of Arthur's problems would be only a fading nightmare after that. The Englishman stood up and took the lantern. “I guess that's that then.”
“Wait,” Antonio said pregnantly, and he and Gilbert exchanged significant looks. The odd stern look that Arthur had already spotted few times in the Spaniard's eyes was now fully overt, and it made the Prince uncomfortable. “There is one thing we want to make clear. You see, Francis is our friend, and we don't want our friends to get hurt. So, make him kiss you - but do not even thinking of playing with his heart in any way. Have we made ourselves clear?”
Arthur could only stare at the normally so kind Spaniard and involuntarily shivered at the steadfast look in his and Gilbert's eyes. He nodded seriously, understanding it was no place for jokes. “Perfectly.”
“Good,” Antonio smiled again, and Arthur found it creepy how easily he went from kind to dangerous and back to kind again. “Finally back to bed, then!”
As the three fellows put out the lantern and took off to their chambers each their own way, nobody noticed a dark figure in a window on the second floor of the stablemen's residence.
xXx
Francis was in his element.
Despite loathing the reason of the celebration - his and Arthur's engagement - the Frenchman had been exceedingly excited the whole day before the party, and now, watching him, no one could have guessed that he had been snatched from a forest to royal halls. He was sailing all around the great hall with enough grace to make even most elegant prince jealous (not that Arthur was!), socialising with English nobility so suavely that no one could find an ill word to say about him even though he was known to be French, and looking simply said stunning in his outfit, which had been specifically tailored for him.
Arthur, occupying one of the three thrones, watched the Frenchman from afar and absently swirled wine in the glass he was holding, not really focusing on anything particular. It was his celebration more than anyone's, more than even Francis' because he was the Prince of the country, and yet he couldn't force himself to put on a smile and mix with the crowd. Of course he had, in the beginning of the party, accepted his people's congratulations and danced the first waltz with his now official fiancé, but it was like those little ceremonies had drained all his energy and now all he could do was sit beside his father and gaze at the rejoicing crowd.
The only one in addition to the celebrated couple who was unhappy was the King himself. He sat majestically on his throne, holding his grey head high and observing his court from under his huge, white eyebrows. But his, like Arthur's, eyes were fixed mostly on a certain Frenchman.
“I'd like to know what's the truth behind this Frenchman of yours,” King Lionheart muttered into his beard, speaking more to himself that to Arthur.
“What do you mean?” his son asked idly, frowning as he saw Francis making a bunch of ladies-in-waiting laugh.
“Look at him,” the King uttered, not knowing that that was just what Arthur had been doing the whole evening. “Look at his manners, the way he speaks and moves. He even dances. His behaviour is equivalent to that of nobility.”
“Yeah..?”
“'Yeah?' Don't you wonder what a French nobleman was doing in our woods?”
Arthur shrugged, his mind just a bit too foggy from tiredness to be interested. “Well maybe he's just a mere commoner who's naturally that charming,” he blurted, earning a stern glare from his father.
“No more wine for you tonight, Arthur,” he said dryly, even though Arthur hadn't drank more than two glasses at most. The king turned to watch Francis again, and the two remained silent for a while, until the King spoke again. “It can't be like you suggested, because if Francis is just naturally gifted like that I would have to respect him, which I refuse to do.”
Arthur mustered a small sneer and sank into his thoughts. He didn't really care about Francis' roots or his social rank, but now that his father had mentioned it, he realised that he didn't know anything about his fiancé. All he knew was that Francis had been exploring the lands with Antonio and Gilbert for quite a long time now. Well, it shouldn't even matter; the Frenchman would not become a permanent part of his life anyway.
The trail of thoughts took him to remember what he had agreed with Gilbert and Antonio the other night - he should go and see if Francis was in his kissing mood in favour of overcoming the curse.
Apparently Francis was in his blasted kissing mood, because immediately on thinking so Arthur's eyes caught him kissing the cheeks of the giggling and fascinated lady-in-waiting. The Prince's eyebrow twitched. How dare that Frenchman - in their engagement party? That man had no civility! Kissing hands was natural, but cheeks?
“That's what they do in France.”
“Huh?”
The King gave Arthur a twisted smile. “Kiss on the cheeks. A habit of Frenchmen.” He said it in a tone in which most people would talk about bathing in sewage.
“Balls! He's just using it as an excuse to be his perverted self,” Arthur responded, grumbling.
King Lionheart looked at the Prince and suddenly smiled gently, slightly sadly, smiled as a father to his son. “Go there,” he suddenly encouraged his son. “This is your night after all.”
“You know that I'd rather not, father.”
The King winked and patted Arthur's hand. “Go. Show them who's the Prince in this hall.”
How could Arthur reject such kindness? Despite having a shell around him, the Englishman had a soft heart, and so he rose from his throne, walked the few steps down and headed towards the Frenchman. He would have obeyed his father even if he hadn't have a curse to get rid of.
On his way to Francis Arthur caught a glimpse of Antonio, who was chatting happily with Veneziano on their place at the wall, and the Englishman couldn't help smiling to himself. Antonio might not have been the very best influence on the Italian, for both of them loved to sit back and take a nap, but at least now Veneziano had someone to help him out when he had messed things up. It was a blessing that the Spaniard seemed to possess an endless string of patience.
Glad that Antonio was so occupied with the younger Italian - now he would see neither Arthur's possible victory nor his likely defeat about Francis - the Prince approached his fiancé with determination yet having butterflies in his stomach. Aware of the people's gazes that followed him, Arthur halted within a few steps from Francis, who was currently standing alone, yet too busy winking to some lady to notice the Prince. Arthur forced on a smile and cleared his throat, which was when the Frenchman deigned to notice his fiancé.
“Arthur,” he greeted, his blue eyes shining with mirth the celebration had awakened in him.
“Hi,” the Englishman responded, stepping a bit closer. Damn, he so hated it when people were staring at him when he needed it the least... when he was unsure about himself!
Fortunately Francis apparently somehow sensed Arthur nervousness, for he extended his arm for him. “May I get this dance?” he asked politely, smiling slightly. But his smile wasn't the same it had been with the ladies before.
“You may,” Arthur said a bit coolly and accepted the hand.
In the swirls of the dance no one could hear what they were talking about, so Arthur took the advantage of it. “You should at least pretend,” he hissed through his teeth as soon as they took the first steps.
“What do you mean?” the Frenchman had the nerve to ask while guiding them into a twirl.
“Them,” Arthur jerked his head towards random ladies, the motion small enough to stay unnoticed by others. “You smile to them with shining eyes but when it comes to me, your face just falls.”
Francis laughed heartily. “Oh,” he said, stretching the sound. “Is that jealousy I hear~?”
“Bollocks!” Arthur all but spat, appalled by such a ridiculous statement. “But if you haven't realised it yet we are engaged and supposed to like one another, so it's anything but fucking appropriate of you to flirt with everyone else!”
“Oh, don't take it seriously - no one does!”
“I bloody well take it seriously, the rest of my life depends on our plan being successful and this doesn't look like progression to me!”
Arthur's tone was angrier than it should have perhaps been, but he couldn't help it; Francis just was such a prick. The Frenchman's eyes darkened at his fiancé's outburst and when he spoke, shimmering frost covered his words.
“You speak like you despised me with every fibre of your being,” he hissed, still managing to maintain a smile for the public. Fortunately many other couples had entered the dance floor too, so less and less interest was shed upon the Prince and his supposed beloved one. “You don't have to love me, not even particularly like me as I certainly do not like you, but still I find it rather offending how you speak of me - like I was nothing more than scum. Before accusing me of anything do take a look at yourself first and perhaps you'll see just why there's no 'progression'!”
Arthur gritted his teeth but then mirrored the shallow smile on Francis' lips. “I guess we have to work really hard then,” he said poisonously, “as it seems that we cannot even pretend to like each other until we actually do.”
“If our success truly depends on that, prepare to spend the rest of your miserable life with me,” Francis snorted and spun them around for the last time with the music dying down. The two bowed to one another and smiled, and despite their bitter argument just a moment ago they stayed side by side not to arise suspicions. Arthur was already regretting his words in spite of his anger - he had been supposed to earn a kiss but instead he had got the Frenchman only mad at him. This will be hard, he though, this will be so hard...
He spotted Antonio across the hall and their eyes locked for a moment. It was the seriousness in the Spaniard's eyes that made Arthur's heart sink in frozen worry.
xXx
“Well, how did it go?” Gilbert asked enthusiastically as soon as Arthur stomped angrily to the stables; stablemen didn't attend celebrations of the nobility, instead the Prussian had managed to persuade Romano into accompanying him to the commoners' party elsewhere. “Did he kiss you?”
“Kiss me?” Arthur's eyes were flaming with rage and disappointment. “He was bloody flirting with every single woman in the whole castle and you talk about him kissing me!”
Antonio, who had followed soon after the Prince, shook his head. “This will be hard, amigo,” he said to Gilbert. “It seems that in this case, Francis will never even consider kissing Arthur were it up to him.”
“Fine,” Gilbert said after a short, thoughtful silence, as if accepting a challenge. ”Luckily it's not up to him - it's up to us now! Franny will get what he bargained for - our awesome kick-ass plans will definetely get him not only kiss you Arthur but also beg to have the permission to kiss you! Come here, Toni! We've got some plots to do.”
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