ARTHUR
THE CLASH OF STEEL RAN OUT IN THE EMPTY TRAINING GROUNDS. However, Arthur barely registered the sound. Sweat dripped from his brow while he struck against the practice dummy; each one carrying the weight of his frustration. He swung again and again, trying to chase away the thoughts that haunted him. Where Cesealia's voice echoed in his mind.
"At least he knows what he wants."
He growled under his breath while tightening the grip on his sword. She was right, and that infuriated him more than anything. He had spent manyyears running from what he wanted, convincing himself that duty and honor came first. But now, the truth was impossible to ignore. He rolled his neck, then got in stance once more before lunging, then stopped mid-swing, dropping the sword to the ground in frustration. His chest heaved. He would be the Prince of hypocrites to tell Eric to stay away from his sister while he had spent years pining for his. But—
To hell with it.
One minute, his boots echoed through the stables, the next they thudded against wooden planks, while making his way toward the port he knew so well. Ships swayed gently in the harbor, their masts silhouetted against the evening sky as the sun dipped below the horizon and casting the water in shades of orange and gold, and though the sun was near gone, there remained something far more impossible not to look at; there she was, standing on the deck, barking orders at the crew while the last of the hue caught the gold threaded through her hair.
The bane of his Existence.
Cesealia spotted him immediately, her expression shifting from surprise to annoyance. "What is it now, Your Highness?" she called, her tone sharp upon her descent to meet him.
But before she could say more, Arthur stepped forward, closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. Without a word, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her, his lips capturing hers with the force of everything he had been holding back for years.
She froze for a moment, her hands instinctively bracing against his chest. But as the shock faded, something inside her broke free. Her hands slid up to his shoulders, and she kissed him back with equal fervor, her fingers gripping the fabric of his tunic as if afraid he might vanish.
When they finally pulled apart, their breaths mingled as they tried to steady themselves.
"Arthur," she rasped, "You do not wish to do this—"
"The hell I don't, C." He did not give her a chance to protest, to argue, or to retreat. "We have wasted enough time pretending this was not meant to happen at some point."
"Because it is reckless," she murmured against his wet lips, though her hands betrayed her words while they tangled in his hair.
"Yeah," his voice a soft rumble. "I am well aware of the odds."
"There are no odds…" She said quietly.
His brow furrowed.
She hesitated, then met his gaze. "I cannot bear children."
Arthur stilled. "How do you know?"
Cesealia drew in a slow breath, steadying herself. "After you left, I was working at the brothel."
Arthur's eyes narrowed, his jaw tense. She looked away, but he gently caught her face, guiding her gaze back. "I am listening."
"I caught a lord's eye," she continued, voice quiet but firm. "And, because of the consequences of our actions, we became engaged. I lost the baby before the wedding. And then… he left."
"My deepest condolences…" Arthur said softly.
"He was only going to marry me for my womb and discard me anyway," Cesealia continued, her tone almost detached. "Or worse, I no doubt would have been doomed to play the role of the wife of an adulterer. A pretty portrait to hide his affairs."
"Does Eric know?" He pressed.
After a reluctant sigh, "Eric killed him." She said softly.
Arthur blinked. "What?"
Cesealia turned toward him fully now, eyes pleading. "Please, do not punish him. It was not him, not really." She paused to catch a breath, "I was furious and angry, and he—you know, there is nothing he would not do."
Arthur knew what that was like all too well, the kind of pain that drove a man past reason. "What was his name?" He asked gently, as if he did not already know, as if it was not the reason they stopped being brothers. He needed to be sure.
"Leave it, it is not as if it matters now." She said, shaking her head, brushing a hand down her lifted skirt. "If blame must fall, let it be on me. No one else, although I must confess, sometimes I think the punishment for my crime of never being able to bear fruit,"
A life for a life.
"That is not true," Arthur said.
"But it is." She murmured, "After that, every relationship I had… was hopeless. Nothing ever came of it, and now at my age… those doors have closed indefinitely." She passed. "In any case, I have decided not to marry. I will take care of my brother and my grandmother. That will be enough for me."
"Are you sure?"
She nodded, stepping into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "I am no saint, Arthur," she cut in, turning to him with a steady gaze. "Nor am I the Princess in your history books. I have made peace with that. I will be okay."
Arthur's eyes searched hers. "What are you saying?"
Cesealia turned to him, no pretense left in her. Just the truth. Just need. "I am saying, forget everything, forget the past, forget… that night, be with me, tonight, maybe even tomorrow night… until we can no longer."
Arthur stared at her, stunned by the courage it took to speak those words. Most of all, beneath the longing, dread gnawed at him. That this, like before, might still end as quickly as it started. His lips parted, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "What are we?" he asked, barely above a whisper.
"… Fun?" She smiled faintly.
Fun. He swallowed. Of course, she saw herself as a woman with nothing to lose, nor to gain. She would not know that this was more than just a night of fun to him. That she was to be his first, but he did not say it. He just nodded, slowly, "Okay." What was one more secret, he thought.
She tried to speak, "And also I have contraceptives if—"
Her voice caught when Arthur kissed her again, this time slower. Her back pressed against the edge of the crate. The produce slid onto the floor, forgotten. Her fingers traced the edge of his jaw, her touch both tender and desperate. He leaned into her, his hands gripping her waist as if anchoring himself to her. For the first time in years, the distance between them was gone.
Inhaled and exhaled.
Arthur was going to have to call upon the great kings for this one.
ARTIZEA
Anger and frustration.
That is exactly what Artizea felt while seeking refuge in her chambers, where the smell of paint and the soft light of her studio always brought her a measure of peace. She set up a blank canvas, her hands shook uncontribly upon dipping a brush into deep yellow paint. Her strokes were wild, unrestrained, a reflection of the chaos within her. She painted without thought, the image forming itself, a meadow against a stormy sky.
Leaning back to study her work. The brush slipped from her fingers, and she let out a long sigh, her thoughts heavy with the weight of her earlier argument with her father. She closed her eyes, the silence of her chambers a small comfort, until a familiar sound broke it.
A soft chirp.
Artizea's eyes opened, and there it was again. A small sparrow perched on the windowsill, tilting its tiny head as though studying her. A faint smile tugged at her lips, "Back again, I see…" she murmured, setting down her palette and walking toward it. The sparrow chirped once more, hopping closer. She leaned against the windowsill, "You know," she said, her tone teasing but tinged with exhaustion, "If you are spying on me for someone, tell them to come find me themselves."
The sparrow tilted its head again, its dark eyes gleaming. Then hopped to a side, ignoring her quip, pecking at the crumbs with enthusiasm.
She reached out, her fingers brushing the soft feathers of its head, chirping again in response, fluttering its wings briefly before settling again.
She shook her head, a soft chuckle escaping her lips. " You need a name," she said, setting her brush down."I cannot keep calling you 'bird.' Let me think…" She studied the little creature for a moment. It was small but bold, darting from one spot to another with the kind of energy that defied its tiny size. "Flip," she attempted.
The bird sagged with a look of 'Seriously?"
She chuckled, "Fin—hey, that's it. Fin." She decided, finally, the name rolling off her tongue with ease. "That suits you."
The sparrow chirped as if in agreement, hopping back to her easel and perching on the edge once more. Artizea picked up her brush, returning to her painting with a faint smile. "Alright, Fin," she said. "You can stay. But no more bread or I shall paint you into this scene, and you will have to sit still forever." Fin flapped its wings briefly, settling as it watched her work. Hopping closer to the unfinished painting. Its head tilted, almost as if it were studying the image of itself. "Yeah," she whispered. "I do not know what to make of it either."
Fin chirped again before taking off, its wings carrying it out into the open sky.
Artizea watched the bird go, her heart felt a little lighter. She picked up her brush once more, her strokes slower, more deliberate this time. The storm inside her had not passed, but the sparrow's visit reminded her that even amidst the chaos, there was always a chance to soar, while the echoes of her father's words still rang in her ears as she fled. The weight of his threat tightened around her chest. Her mind raced, trying to piece together how he could have found out, while her gaze drifted to the harbor below, where ships bobbed gently in the water, their masts swaying in the breeze. She sighed while brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, ready to return to her painting, until movement caught her eye.
Arthur.
He was just stepping off his horse, his tunic slightly disheveled, but his posture radiated an unusual lightness. And then it hit her. The only person who knew about her and Eric, the only one, was Arthur. Her jaw tightened as the realization burned through her. Without another thought, she turned and strode out of her chambers, her steps purposeful while making her way to Arthur's quarters.
ARTHUR
Arthur barely had time to unlace his boots before the door to his chambers swung open with a loud thud. He looked up just in time to see Artizea standing in the doorway, her arms folded.
Danger pose.
"Dearest Big Sister, To what do I owe this honor?" he asked cautiously, straightening.
"How could you!" Artizea spat.
He turned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "How could I what?"
"You told Father!" Artizea accused.
"What are you talking about?"
"How else could he know? Elaine would never say anything, and Eugene does not care enough to hint at it. So it had to be you!"
Arthur's expression hardened. "Bullshit," he snapped, "I did not say a word. I gave Father the poker face worth the entire knightguard to stop him from seeing the truth in our lie, a lie that should have never existed in the first place, which brings us back to reality. What the actual— fuck—were you thinking, Artizea?" he shouted
"That I could trust you, Arthur!" she shot back.
Arthur set his sword and coat down with a deliberate calmness that only made her angrier. He stepped toward her, his voice low but firm. "I swear to you, on mother's roses, I said nothing. As foolish as what you did was, you are my sister. You must know that my loyalty to you is impenetrable." His words momentarily silenced her, but her anger did not dissipate. "You know this."
She turned away, her hands trembling. "Then how does he know? How could he—" She cut herself off, her voice cracking.
Arthur sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Father does not need someone to tell him what he already suspects. And let's face it, you have been distracted and reckless lately. He has a way of piecing things together."
She turned back to him, her face etched with frustration and hurt. "You are blaming me for this?"
"No." He said softly, his tone shifting to something gentler. "I am saying that there are consequences for your actions, Tizea. As much as I will always stand by you, I cannot shield you from those."
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away. She hated how right he sounded, how reasonable his words were when all she wished to do was scream at someone, anyone. "So I face Father's wrath alone?"
Arthur stepped closer, his voice steady. "You will never be alone." He paused. "Father did not kill Eric. That, in itself, was an act of mercy. You should consider what that means before you let this spiral any further."
She shook her head, the sting of his words cutting deeper than she cared to admit. "You do not understand," she whispered, her voice breaking.
But he did, just moments ago, intact.
"Arthur," Cesealia moaned.
Arthur winced internally, hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite. He hesitantly rested a hand on her shoulder, lips thin. "I do not need to understand. I just need you to know that no matter what happens, I am here."
Artizea crossed her arms again, still not entirely convinced. "What were you doing out by the ports just now?"
Arthur hesitated for a fraction of a second, barely perceptible but enough for her to catch. "Can't a Prince have a hobby? " he said with a grin.
"You look surprisingly rested for someone who spends his free time strolling around the harbor." Her eyes narrowed, and she stepped closer.
He leaned back slightly. "Are you accusing me of something now?"
She stared at him for a long moment, her suspicion flaring, but something about his relaxed demeanor made her pause. Finally, she sighed, shaking her head. "Fine. Keep your secrets…"
"I intend to." Arthur quipped, fighting back a grin.
Artizea turned her heel. She reached the door but stopped dead in her tracks to look back at him with the same glare he had given her hours earlier.
His grin softened, and he gave her a small salute. "I am sorry about what I said at breakfast."
She rolled her eyes, "Yeah, me too." She raised two fingers to her eyes, then jabbed them back at Arthur—I am watching you. Then closed the door behind her as she left.
As soon as the coast was clear, He exhaled, leaning against the edge of his desk. Artizea was not as scary as their Father, but she could give him a run for his money. His mind drifted back to the docks, to Cesealia's laughter and the feel of her hair between his fingers. A pang of guilt tugged at him, but he quickly brushed it aside.
"Can't a Prince have a hobby?" he muttered to himself with a smirk.
Arthur stirred awake to the setting sun streaming through the modest window of Cesealia's room. For a moment, he felt weightless, warmth cocooning him.
Then he realized why—She was curled up against him, her dark curls spilling over his bare chest, her breathing slow and peaceful. His heart skipped a beat, a rush of affection and panic flooding him simultaneously. He tried to process the situation until the door creaked open. He turned his head sharply, only to see Rosetta standing there with a basket of freshly baked tarts. Her sharp eyes quickly took in the scene, a mischievous smile curling her lips.
"My, my," she said, her voice light but laden with implication. "Back so soon, Your Highness?"
Arthur bolted upright, immediately realizing how utterly naked he was beneath the blanket. "This is not what it looks like!" he stammered, his voice cracking slightly.
Cesealia stirred at the commotion, blinking sleepily before realizing what was happening. Her face turned scarlet, and she quickly pulled the blanket up to cover herself. "Grandmother!" she hissed, mortified.
Rosetta, unbothered, held out the basket of cookies toward Arthur as if nothing were amiss. "Cookie?" she asked with a grin.
"—uh, no thank you," Arthur managed, his face burning while he scrambled to find his clothes. He dressed hastily and made his way toward the front door, his mind racing with a mix of embarrassment and dread. At least this cannot get any worse, he thought to himself.
He was wrong.
The door opened before he had a chance to escape. Standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, was Eric. He tilted his head slightly, his sharp hazel eyes narrowing, taking in Arthur's disheveled appearance. The two locked eyes, the weight of the moment settling heavily between them. And a long overdue conversation.
Eric broke the silence first, "So let me get this straight, 'Stay away from my sister' translates to 'sleep with mine' in your royal language?"
Arthur flinched, his lips thinning, but quickly recovered, "That is not fair," he said, his voice low. "Your sister is not a Crown Princess."
Eric raised an eyebrow, his expression incredulous. "Oh, I see, so you are saying if your sister were not the Crown Princess, this would be fine in your codex of double standards ?"
"Yes—" Arthur stuttered. "No."
"No?"
"No."
"Interesting."
The two men stared at each other, the weight of their shared history and current grievances hanging heavily between them.
"Because your sister, the last time I checked, is the Crown Princess, and if you did not catch the drift, I am sleeping with her."
"Fuck. My.Life."
For a moment, it seemed like the tension might snap. Then, out of nowhere, Eric let out a bark of laughter.
Arthur blinked, "What is so funny?" he asked, his tone cautious.
He shook his head, chuckling. "Just the absurdity of it all."
Arthur's lips twitched, and before he knew it, he was laughing too. The sound was cathartic, breaking through the wall of tension that had built between them. "Yeah, it is ridiculous," he admitted, running a hand through his hair.
As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting the water in hues of gold and orange, Eric glanced at Arthur, his tone turning serious. "Look, about Cesealia…"
"I know. She told me." Arthur scratched the back of his neck, "That man… the one whose head you brought me that day." Arthur's eyes darkened. "Why did you not just… tell me?"
Eric let out a slow breath and met his gaze. "As I said before, you tend to be impulsive… and leave little room for understanding."
There was no bite to the words. Just the truth.
Arthur's jaw clenched, shame washing through him like a wave. "I am sorry," he said, quieter now. "I should have—"
"Your apology will do no good." Eric interrupted gently.
Arthur's head snapped up.
Eric's gaze softened, "Even if you asked back then, I would have never told you." He paused. "Because it was not my story to tell."
Silence fell between them like a blade balanced on its edge.
Arthur nodded slowly, his pride stripped bare. "You will protect her. My sister?"
Eric gave a quiet, sardonic smile. "Vow for Vow."
Arthur took a moment to gather his inner peace before saying, "Just don't hurt her, alright? She's tough, but she's also… You know, my sister."
Eric nodded solemnly. "Right back at you.." he paused, "Hey, Arthur?"
"Yeah?"
" If someone has to bleed, let it be me."
There was a long pause before Arthur extended his hand. "Truce?"
Eric studied it for a moment, then nodded when he gripped it firmly. "Truce."
As the memory faded, Arthur shook his head and then burst into a fit of laughter again. Some people call it a funny bone. A more fitting phrase would be The King's Children….