Rituals & Regrets

 It was supposed to be the happiest day of his life.

 Or at least, that was what Prince Harlowe Eadwig Graemes Everlye IIII had envisioned his entire life. A glorious day of celebration, feasting, and most importantly, love. It was what he had been promised. But instead today, with it’s perfect cloudless blue skies and blossoming trees, he was cursed to walk down the aisle towards a woman he hardly knew, for a land he had never visited, and for a throne he no longer wanted. 

 Prince Harlowe thought all of this as he slipped out of his chambers, down the hall, and into his father’s study. Here the palace was quiet no matter the hour, and dust gathered with no maids to clean it. The royal family themselves were the only ones permitted entry, and his father would never stoop so low as to lift a feather duster like a servant. Before, Harlowe would have cleaned it, carefully wiping each book and shelf with a cloth before sitting down to his studies. He had always been more bothered by the dust than the rest of his family, except his mother, but she rarely entered the study. 

 Now though, despite the tickle in his nose, there was no time for that. Harlowe slid the ladder as quickly and as quietly down the row of shelves as he could, stopping near the end of the row and clambering up it to retrieve a large, leather bound book from it’s place near the top. 

 It wasn’t Frieda’s fault, he told himself. She was just as trapped as he was. She would have done the same if she could. But, of course, women couldn’t do magic. In a way, he was doing this for both of them. Harlowe, unable to reason with himself any further, opened the book and began the casting. 

 At first, nothing happened, and he was certain that he had made some mistake; forgotten a component or fumbled a hand gesture. And then, as he exhaled a disappointed sigh, his breath billowed before him.

 “It worked!” Harlowe exclaimed in an excited whisper, more frosty breath pluming before him as he did. An anxious grin spread across his face and he rushed to the window, staring out at the snow covered grounds stretching before him. “It really worked.”

 But as he watched, a new kind of soft white began to emerge; a single flower pushed out through the snow and spread it’s petals from the top of one of the hawthorn trees lining the courtyard. He didn’t have much time.

 Harlowe rushed out into the corridor, careening down the halls and towards the stables. He had no way of knowing how far back he had gone. What if Vincent wasn’t even working at the castle yet?

 Dodging guards and servants, he hurried through back halls and empty foyers, avoiding the most populated areas of the castle as best he could until, finally, he stood before the doors of the stable. It was cold, and Harlowe wished he had planned for the change in season and brought a jacket. But there wasn’t time for that now, already the snow at his feet was melting. Feet splashing in little mounds of slush on the cobbles, he pushed the great big doors of the stable open and stepped inside.

 It was far warmer in the building than outside of it, all the body heat of the horses and the insulation of the hay mingling together to thaw him as he walked down the row of stalls. He could smell the earthy scent of hay and horse manure, familiar and comforting. Leaving little wet footprints in his wake, Harlowe continued into the stable to stop before Wish’s stall. He reached up and pet her velvety nose, scratched under her mane, and stroked her forehead. Wish let out a quiet whinny, nuzzling against his hand. 

 “Have you been well? I know it’s been some time since we rode. We will again soon, I promise.” Harlowe said quietly, continuing to stroke the starburst in the center of her forehead. Glancing around, he searched for an apple to give his horse, and that was when he saw him. 

 Vincent was sitting on a bale of hay at the back of the barn, before Clover’s stall, letting his horse gently nibble oats out of his open palm. He was wearing the leather greaves and cuirass of the guard, but his sword had been set aside; sheathed and leaned against the hay bale he was seated upon.

 Harlowe swallowed, his objective seeming foolish and childish now that it lay so close within reach. But he had come this far. He had cast the spell, lords above! He was in too deep to go back now. 

 Quietly clearing his throat, Harlowe scratched Wish’s head one last time and stepped towards Vincent. “Vincent?”

 The guard jumped, standing to attention. “My liege, I am sorry, I had not heard you enter. Please-”

 “It’s just me, Vince.” Harlowe said, and his friend relaxed.

 “Still, I am sorry. I should have heard your arrival.” Vincent paused, glancing out the window at the quickly melting snow. “I fear it’s too cold to take the horses out, if that was your intention, sir.”

 “That is not why I came. I-” Harlowe paused, for once, at a loss for words. “I wanted to tell you something.”

 “Yes, my liege?”

 Harlowe’s knees felt weak, his heartbeat too fast, like the thing was trying to burst through his chest. He could barely breathe, and for a moment, feared he would faint. 

 “Sire?” Vincent said, worriedly, beginning to take a step forward. 

 “I love you.” Harlowe said, voice so quiet it was hardly audible. And then, again, stronger; “I love you, Vincent Ray. I always have.”

 “I love you too, my liege-”

 “Not in the way a warrior loves his prince, or even in the way a friend loves a friend.” Harlowe said, feeling somehow weaker than he ever had and yet stronger at the same time. “I love you.”

 Vincent paused, eyes widening. Then, his gaze dropped to the stable floor. “I- I do not know what to say, sir.”

 “You do not have to say anything. Except, perhaps, my name. We have been friends long enough for that, yes?”

 “Harlowe-”

 “It is alright.” the prince said, and he meant it. “I did not tell you it so that you would say it back, I know you do not share my feelings. I merely said it so it had been said. Good luck with your application, Vince.”

 “Sir?”

“To the cavalier legion. I put in a good word for you, with Sir. Hollinse.”

 “How did you…” he paused. “Thank you.”

 “You mentioned it a couple months ago. I know applications start in the spring.” Harlowe said, giving his friend a sad smile. And I know that, perhaps thanks to my recommendation, perhaps due to your skill, you will get in. And that you will be great. One of the greatest we’ve had. You deserve to be more than a palace guard. You deserve better than you got. And I deserved to get to say goodbye.

 “I didn’t think you’d remember.” Vincent said, eyes so grateful it made Harlowe hurt even more.

 “Of course I remembered.” He said. “In case we don’t see each other before then, I wanted to say…” What do I say? That there will be a battle, and that you will not return home? That grief will destroy your mother, and that she will be fired from the castle kitchens? That to ensure your siblings don’t go hungry, I will try and sneak out to bring them food from the larder, but that my father will catch me and throw the food away instead? That you will leave, and I will never get to say goodbye? That in sixteen months, you will be gone and I will be marrying the daughter of the kingdom that slaughtered you? For peace? For prosperity? For a thousand other promises we both know will not be kept? “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

 “It is still weeks until the tryouts, I am sure we’ll go riding again before then.”

 “Yes. Of course.” Harlowe said. “Ignore me, I am being sentimental.”

 A bird chirped outside, and then another, until the robin’s song of spring echoed through the blossoming hawthorn trees lining the courtyard outside. Harlowe, panicked, turned to the window only to see the sun beginning to peek through the winter clouds. 

 “I must go. I promised my father I would do something.” He said, turning to leave, but Vincent reached out and caught his arm.

Harlowe glanced back, cheeks turning red. He had never done that before. 

 “Sir-” Vincent began, then; “Harlowe. If you ever need me, I’m here.”

 “Thank you, Vince.”

 Vincent released his arm, and Harlowe hurried out into the courtyard. There was no trace of snow as he rushed across the courtyard, instead, soft hawthorn flowers drifted lazily from the trees. Into the castle and up the stairs he ran, past confused servants who called his name as he rushed by and guards who called after him. He ignored them all. Up more stairs, through more halls, until finally he could slam the door of his father’s study closed behind him. 

 For a moment he stayed there, back pressed against it, and gasped for breath. But the moment was short lived, and as the sun fully parted the clouds, he lunged across the room and closed the book. 

 At first, it seemed like nothing had happened, and Harlowe slumped into his father’s chair to catch his breath. But then a knock sounded. Once. Twice. Three times. Not sure what else to do, Harlowe raggedly called for the person to enter.

 “I cannot, sir.” came a familiar voice. “I am not permitted inside by the king himself’s rule.”

 Harlowe flew to his feet and threw the door open to find Vincent, dressed not in the leather greaves and cuirass of the guard, but in the shining plate of a palace knight. 

 “Vincent? What are you doing here?”

“It’s your wedding day, sir. The ceremony is set to begin at any moment. I figured you would rather it be me to come and fetch you, than one of the others.” he added with a sad, knowing smile.

 “I- I thought you wanted to become a cavalier?”

“You’re still on about this?” Vincent asked as the pair of them began walking towards Harlowe’s chambers. “I thought he had settled it long ago. As much as I appreciate your recommendation, sire, this is my home. My family is here. My friends.”

 “Your friends.”

 “Yes, Harlowe.” Vincent said, holding the door open for the prince as he stepped into his rooms. “Tomorrow, how about a ride? We can talk.”

 “That- that would be wonderful.” Harlowe said, still unable to believe that Vinent was here; alive and well. They would go on a ride tomorrow, and they would talk. Actually talk, like he couldn’t with anyone else. 

 “I’ll make sure Wish is ready for you when you come down, then.” Vincent said with a smile. “Before supper?”

 “That would be perfect.”

 “I’ll be waiting.”

 And then the door closed, and Harlowe was left alone in his rooms. But the solitude didn’t last long, as mere moments later, the doors flew open again to admit a number of maids, all bustling around to get him ready for the day. The happiest day of his life.

 Soon he was standing at the top of the courtyard, watching as Frieda walked towards him arm in arm with the man who had taken everything from him in another life. And then she was standing before him, and the cleric was speaking, and she was nodding and smiling and her eyes said no while her voice said “I do”.

 And then it was his turn, but he didn’t look at the priest as he made his decision, he looked instead to his father, and he stared him in the eyes, and he said;

 “No.”