As was custom when talk of marriage came up, Mikleo set off from the palace and into the forest. As prince, he was aware that it was his fate to be married off to secure a trading alliance or some such banality – he was under no such illusions that he had the option to pursue some sort of courtly romance, but the idea that he was expected to be eager, or even excited, when the topic came up? That was the ridiculous part, far more ridiculous than the concept of him plucking at a lute underneath some garden window.
He would cooperate – no more and no less – and would take every opportunity to abscond from overhearing the constant gossip of the nobles and staff about his upcoming match. And so, he was here, settling himself into a forest clearing with his notebooks and sketch paper. He might as well get some work done on his book and not waste an afternoon.
It was then that a breeze picked up, sweeping up his notes and carrying them away into the trees. Mikleo despaired, but leapt to his feet to doggedly chase down months of work. It took him the better part of an hour to track down the scattered pages, and was still missing the better half of his sketches. He expected to find them muddied in a soggy ditch, or torn to shreds by an enterprising partridge for its nest.
He did not expect to find them being admired by a young peasant boy.
The boy seemed to finally take notice of Mikleo's staring, and looked up, blinking, from the pages; with eyes green as the canopy above.
"Are these Elysialarks?" the boy asked, pointing to the avian sketches. "They're great, but the pinion feathers are just slightly off in shape, and the notes on nesting patterns…"
They had talked in the forest for hours, and Sorey could not be more in love.
He wandered back home as if in a dream, clenching and unclenching his hand – he could almost still feel Mikleo's hand in his, but he wouldn't have to wait long, no, he'd promised to come for him tomorrow eve, for Sorey's birthday, to compare more notes on flora and fauna and talk about his travels. Mikleo was a scholar and an artist, and Sorey had never met someone so gentlemanly…well, he'd never met another human period, really, but Sorey was quite certain that Mikleo was the picture of a storybook prince. He might not know the tailfeathers of an Elysialark from the butt of a sparrow, but his eyes sparkled with intelligence, and his laugh was like music, and the sheer warmth of his presence sparked within Sorey an easy familiarity. Surely it was just Mikleo's charm – Sorey was sure he'd never forget meeting someone like him before.
Sorey sighed happily as he swung open the door, eyes darting around eagerly for his grandfather.
"Gramps! I met someone in the forest, he'll be here for my birthday dinner tomorrow night; we were talking about his book, he writes books, and even draws for them, and he wants to travel all over the world to write and draw and I-"
"—will be leaving tonight for the palace," Gramps said, firmly. He rose from his armchair. Sorey's face went blank at the sight of the wings on his back. "Sorey. I'm so sorry, but we have much to discuss about your upcoming birthday."
Sorey had begged, and pleaded, and even had the wild thought that he might be able to run, run away after where Mikleo had rode back home on his white horse. Gramps simply stood there, his mouth drawn into a thin, firm line.
He had been confined to this tiny forest grove his whole life. When he tried to sneak outside the limits of where Gramps allowed him to go, he always found himself turned around, disoriented, and mysteriously on the path back home. Sorey had always chalked it up to a bad sense of direction, and the confirmation of fairy magic turning him roundabout was cold comfort.
He'd been a prisoner, lied to his whole life. And now, when he had just seen a light from the outside world, when he'd just found someone he couldn't bear never to see again…he was being ripped away, spirited off again, being sent off to marry a stranger because of some agreement his parents he never knew came to. He'd happily live his whole life in his forest birdcage if it meant he could see Mikleo again.
Sorey laid his head on the ornate desk in the palace room, his eyes staring at nothing. His favorite feather hair tie had been cast away by the royal dressers, and his long hair had been yanked into an ornate twist of braids, pinned and secured to the crown atop his head. Gramps had left him to his own devices after failing to convince Sorey of the necessity of this eighteen-year-long charade, and the stone room felt cold and empty despite its rich furnishings.
He thought of Mikleo knocking on the door to an empty cottage, and squeezed his eyes shut.
It's simply unfair.
The voice murmured in Sorey's ear, though the room was empty.
Treating you as just a pawn in this political power play. Not caring about their charge's happiness one whit.
An eerie purple mist began to gather in the room's center, and Sorey slowly drew himself up to look at it, as if in a trance.
The mist became corporeal in the form of a spinning wheel. A raven with glinting purple feathers perched upon the wooden wheel, and spread its wings, cawing sharply at the point of the spindle.
Why not throw a wrench in their plans? Sleep, young prince, sleep until this whole wretched kingdom is dust.
Mikleo had been there, at that christening. He had been so young, and could recall little but a few flashes of memory. The tiny foreign prince in his cradle, giggling and reaching for Mikleo as he peered over the side suspiciously. His mother's voice in his ear, teasing him about sneaking a peek at his future fiancé. Then the horrible stench of darkness, the terrified shouts of the nobles, and the impossibly tall figure looming over the prince's cradle; tainting the gifts of the fairies with his awful curse. The lightning strikes streaking through the air, chasing the terrible creature from the hall, but too late, too late, too late.
When he was older, he learned more of the events of that night by eavesdropping on his uncle's meetings with his advisors. A death curse on a baby, all because of a jilted party invitation. Mikleo had known fairies were petty, but as far as he was concerned, this was a new low.
He'd known that his infant fiancé had been taken into hiding. He could surmise that the ones harboring him would have to be powerful – powerful indeed to keep the dark fairy lord at bay. Mikleo considered himself a fairly intelligent lad, and well able to keep up with shrewd political movements, whether they were inter-human or inter-fairy. He was perfectly capable of putting two and two together regarding the mysterious boy in the woods, with the same sparkling eyes that had gazed at him from that cradle. Prince Soleil was alive and well; by any other name, just as bright and beautiful.
So why he hadn't anticipated being ambushed by the dark forces on his way back to Sorey's cottage…well, he could only blame himself.
It was a mystery why the dark forces hadn't killed him on the spot, but the morals of the fairies were beyond human comprehension – as if Mikleo cared to understand at this point, chained as he was to a wall in some dark dungeon. Perhaps they were keeping him as a plaything, content to sit back and watch him stew and quiver in impotent rage, anxiety, and despair.
What had they done to Sorey and his grandfather? The cottage was empty when Mikleo came by; empty save for a squad of cackling little goblins that leapt upon him before he could reach for his knife or bow. If Mikleo could just loosen his chains, he would turn his miserable wreck of a castle upside-down looking for him, if he could just—
"Sup."
Mikleo looked up, startled. The door to his cell opened, and a young-looking fairy girl strolled in, twirling her umbrella idly. She looked Mikleo up and down, and raised an unimpressed-looking eyebrow.
"A scrawny little nerd chained to a wall. This is where we have pinned our hopes."
Mikleo was too baffled to respond. An older-looking fairy woman tapped in behind her. Her red dress stood out starkly against the dark dungeon walls, and the jingle-jangle of the keyring she dangled in front of her face was a beautiful sound indeed. She smiled warmly.
"We've come to rescue you!" she trilled. "Come now, you've got a prince to save."
The young fairy girl wandered out the door as the woman unchained him. "Mind the goblin corpses on your way out."
Mikleo staggered up the stairs, taking step after painful step. The dark fairy lord made a fiercesome opponent indeed, even without the whole dragon business at the end. But an enchanted arrow to the heart had finally spelled his undoing, allowing Mikleo to make his way through the forest of thorns that surrounded the once-lively palace. All its people slept like the dead, dreaming where they stood, frozen in time.
He had made his way through the streets, slow under the weight of his wounds and exhaustion. He made his way into the palace proper, to the stairs leading to the highest tower. And here he stood, at the door leading to the room where the fairies had laid the sleeping body of the prince.
Mikleo pressed his forehead to the door, and took a moment to catch his breath. He couldn't imagine how Sorey was feeling right now - he wondered, was he dreaming of his forest cottage, dreaming of a time before Mikleo stumbled into his life? Mikleo couldn't help but feel as though he was the walking catalyst for something Sorey would never want…shackled into a marriage he never chose for himself, chained to serve a kingdom he never knew.
Perhaps it would be kinder to let him dream a better life.
Mikleo opened the door, and limped into the tiny tower room. Sorey lay on a plush bed; the stained glass window overhead casting colors onto his sleeping face. Wrapped in velvet robes and sporting a crown of braids and gold, he looked the picture of royalty – so different from the sunshine-faced forest boy that Mikleo had spent an unforgettable afternoon with.
They had talked of so many things. Mikleo told him about his travels to the oceans, and the mountains – of great canyons carved out over thousands of years by a single river's flow. He told him of great cities with massive libraries, of ancient temples and ruins, all but lost to man- and fairy-kind. Sorey drank in every word – it seemed like his heart was filled to bursting with the very thought of such amazing things out there in the world. Things that Sorey could never see, locked into an endless dreaming sleep.
A kiss would break the sleeping spell, the fairies had explained to him. It was all Sorey's adoptive grandfather, a venerable elder of the fairies, could do to soften the deadly curse the dark fairy had placed upon him. Just a simple kiss. Then, he'd explain everything to Sorey. Apologize for not immediately voicing his suspicions on Sorey's lineage when they met, acknowledge that Sorey might never forgive him. Promise him that he would refuse this whole ridiculous marriage foisted on them by their parents and allow Sorey to be free to explore the world, with or without him.
Just a simple kiss. Mikleo knelt by Sorey's bedside, and leaned in to gently press his lips to Sorey's.
After a long moment, he felt Sorey sigh in contentment against his mouth. Mikleo drew back just enough to see Sorey's eyes flutter open.
Sorey's lips curved into a smile.
"Good morning, my prince."