Written for Shipping Week at the Caesar's Palace forum. Prompt: Pets.
WC: 666
Phichit had been discovered on the streets of the slums when he was just twelve years old. He'd been juggling apples, tripping, making funny faces, telling jokes, doing magic tricks… his usual routine. A mostly empty hat lay to the side of his act. Every now and then, a kind stranger would leave a coin or two in it.
The only abnormal thing about the day Phichit was discovered was that a rich woman had stopped her carriage and simply watched him for what felt like ages. And then, when Phichit had paused, she had gotten out of the carriage, revealing herself as Queen Lilia.
"Your Majesty," Phichit murmured, dropping to his knees to grovel. She had a reputation for cruelty.
"Rise," she commanded. "Would you like to be employed by the palace?"
Phichit had wept; finally his family would have enough for food. He might even have a mattress and linen sheets. Of course he had accepted the offer.
Since then, Phichit had obeyed the crown down to every letter, given up parts of himself to be the perfect court jester. He had spent most of his time at court serving the crown in whatever way they saw fit, and sometimes that would mean accompanying Prince Christophe as his pet of sorts. Being the second son of an ailing father, Prince Christophe was a lonely boy, and he relied on Phichit to raise his spirits.
When Prince Christophe was found conspiring against his elder brother to succeed the throne, he had been banished from the kingdom.
Phichit went with him.
"Phichit," Prince Christophe grunted atop his horse. "I require a place to rest for the night. Know you of any lodgings?"
Phichit shook his head. "We have left the city, my home, and I know not of those who dwell here. However, I do see a light in the distance, my lord."
"We shall ride forth," Prince Christophe responded definitively.
As they neared the light, it became clear that what they had hoped would be an inn was actually a small cottage. The odor of animals surrounded them, and Prince Christophe wrinkled his nose in the way that only royalty can.
Phichit hopped off of his donkey and made his way to the door. It was worth a try.
Almost immediately after Phichit knocked on the door, he was met with a bow aimed straight at his chest.
"Whoa!"
In the doorway stood a lean young man with raven hair and angry eyes, his chest and arms pulled taught like the string in his hands. He was clad in simple shepherd's clothing, but Phichit noted the knife in his boot. "Who are you?" he demanded.
"Um," Phichit stammered. "I'm the royal court jester, here with Prince Christophe seeking a roof for the night."
The other man's eyes narrowed in suspicion, still ready to attack. "Prince? Cow shit. No royalty comes by these parts."
"Easy there," Prince Cristophe said easily, sauntering up to the doorway casually. He flashed his royal seal. "I should have you killed for threatening my jester."
Convinced, the shepherd let the bow down to his side. "I will do my best to aid the royal family," he said, though not with much conviction or earnestness. He stepped aside, and Phichit and Prince Christophe strode in.
"Love the decor," Phichit commented brightly, still shaking from the encounter.
"We require food," Prince Christophe announced, turning around the room. "Phichit, I'll take the bed. You and the commoner on the floor."
"My name is Yuuri."
"Pardon?" Prince Christophe turned around sharply.
Yuuri stared back unflinchingly before setting down two bowls of gruel on the table. "I said nothing, your highness."
Secretly, Phichit was impressed with his impudence. Perhaps Yuuri had known about Prince Christophe's exile and about his power being greatly decreased. Perhaps Yuuri was not used to being treated like a pet one could banish to the floor. Or perhaps Yuuri was just stupidly dignified for a shepherd. Either way, Phichit was in love.