Obligatory Disclaimer: Suits is property of the USA Network &c., written by Aaron Korsh et. al.
Summary: After King Cameron Specter of Sydia killed Mike's family and captured his kingdom, Mike decides to pose as a servant-boy for Cameron's son, Harvey, to exact revenge. However, things don't fall according to plan when Mike finds himself falling a little bit in love with the prince.
A few things you should know:
(1) This AU isn't intended to be historically-accurate, despite its containing medieval-ish elements. It speaks of the fictional world of Ceylen.
(2) A word of warning: This will end with slash pairings, namely Harvey Specter/Mike Ross, and Rachel Zane/Donna Paulsen. If that offends you, this is your out.
(3) Enjoy the story!
"James!"
Mike stirred in his sleep, and covered his ears with a pillow. He could not take this noise, the constant screaming, and the screeching, and the demands and dammit, he was getting tired.
"James Zane!"
Mike opened his eyes, then, and squinted at the harsh sunlight. A lady in thick robes greeted him, and looked stern as she shook Mike's shoulder.
"Wake up, you rag. The Prince demanded your presence ages ago!" she said, in dramatic diatribe. "This is absolutely no way to start your first day, and you best know that."
"Huh – oh. Wait," Mike said, "Let me just fix my –"
The lady (Madam Agnes, as he would soon learn) scoffed and raised an eyebrow. "Wait? Fix? You will be doing none of that," she said, pulling on Mike's arm. "Now, get up, get going, or you'll be sleeping in the stables tonight."
Mike welcomed the thought, if it meant just a few more hours of sleep. He was still tired from his travels, his legs aching from the walk, and he could feel the exhaustion from his bones. His muscles screamed for brief respite, and demanded pampering – much like he was used to. But he cannot, he knew, if he were to last a few months in disguise. He sat up, and stared into space for a little while, thinking, and thinking, and thinking.
An old man screamed. "What's with the noise over there?"
"It's that new servant you were talking about last night," Madam Agnes said, "And he's doing a disappointingly poor job on the first day."
Mike scrambled to find his clothes and get dressed, while telling Madam Agnes to leave the room. Once Mike shed his clothes, he realized why, exactly, the old lady had worn thick garments: it was cold, and was it really summer? And so Mike donned his shirt, a mantle, and his trousers. He brought with him a hat, for good measure, since he cannot be too sure of the weather in these parts. Mike looked at the mirror and surveyed his appearance. This would appease them, he thought, and pull yourself together, Michael, you want this to be successful, don't you?
Someone rapped on the door in quick succession, impatiently demanding entry to the room. It must be an exasperated Madam Agnes, Mike concluded.
"I'm on my way, Madam Agnes, I –"
Mike opened the door to find the Crown Prince himself standing on the other side.
"Your Highness –" Mike said, thinking of an explanation, or an excuse, or maybe both.
"Save it," the prince said, cold and unfeeling. It was an odd thing to hear, something this cold, for all he knew of royalty was warmth. Mike remembered home as he looked upon the prince, the latter's robes not much different from Mike's own, in a different kingdom. Mike did wear such clothes, once upon a time.
"I don't have time for your nonsense," the prince said, "Snap out of your reverie, and I would like you to go to the stables, because we'll be riding out. Now."
"Aye, Your Highness," Mike said, running out of the room.
Once he was outside, he had discovered that the Kingdom of Sydia was as cold as his sister's tales had told him. He had slowed his run to a mere jog, moving as swift as he can so that he may arrive at the stables (which was, he hoped, as warm as the keep). He was greeted with a young stablehand, already waiting with several horses: one was a stallion, grand as it stood, with silk-black coat, and Mike thought that this has got to belong to the Prince. Beside it stood another stallion, similarly grandiose, which possessed a white coat that could only be grown from the stables of the Kingdom of Ross.
Suddenly, this horse seemed familiar.
Mike approached the horse, pulled by a certain curiosity (and his curiosity did always trump his common sense) and pet its crest. Its coat was as smooth as he remembered it, and the name finally caught up with Michael: "Nicholas," he whispered.
Mike knew, even before then, that a war's winner takes the spoils. He just found it difficult to believe that his own horse stood before him, alive and well and now a horse of Sydia than of Ross. It pained him. It pained his pride. This horse reminded him of everything he lost, and –
"So you found the horses," the prince said.
Mike snapped out of his thoughts. "Yes, Your Grace," he replied.
"None of that. I hate using titles in my household," the prince said. "Call me Harvey or Sir but none of the Your Highness bullshit."
Mike stared at the prince for a moment, surprised at both his lack of care for courtesies and his vulgarity. It was a welcome surprise, but a surprise nonetheless. He slowly nodded, seeing the prince's (or Harvey, as the man preferred) eyebrows raised in expectation. Prince Harvey sighed exasperatedly.
"Did you leave your head in your bed, lad?"
"I hope not, Sir," Mike said, hoping to cheer the chilly mood.
"What's your name, anyway?" Prince Harvey asked.
"James, Sir," Mike replied. "James Zane."
It may still take a while for Mike to adapt his second name as his first, but it was necessary for his own safety. Nothing is what it seems in Sydia, Michael, his grandmother told him one chilly night before he set out for the capital. The wounds of war were fresh, and Mike was strategizing – plotting revenge, more like – when his grandmother cautioned him. Don't act impulsively, Michael, she said, because your escape and this refuge will have been in vain.
His grandmother, Rebecca Zane, lived in a quaint estate in the outskirts of the capital Specter, still within the Sydian territory. She lived there even after her daughter married James Ross, Mike's father, because the pansies grow here. If it concerned anyone in House Specter to know, the royal family of Ross was, in part, Sydian. Mike still did not understand the motive for war, or why his own father had not worked harder to negotiate with the Specters. But, as his grandmother said, there's no telling with King Cameron Specter on the throne. Impulsive, that one, she said, so be careful, Michael.
Mike still remembered the defeat of House Ross, and his subsequent escape. He remembered being lectured about maps beforehand, taught self-defense and terrain awareness, told repeatedly by his mother to keep running and to never look back. He remembered the heat of the fires from the walls, the iron stench of blood filling his senses, the moans of the people, his people, and even at such an age as fifteen, Michael's heart bled for these people he was told to love.
He was not alone in his escape, of course. With him came his father's ward, Rachel Zane, whom he has considered his sister, as well as Trevor Evans, a criminal turned serving-boy turned Knight, and Jenny, Rachel's servant-girl. It took them several nights to arrive at grandmother's home, and when they had arrived, Rebecca had given them enough food and clothing to last them a few moons.
A voice interrupted his thoughts. "We still don't have a name for her."
Mike replied, "No name for a stallion as this, Sir?"
"No name. My father and uncle got him from the war. A fine one, isn't he?"
Mike nodded.
"This will be your horse. He's taken a liking to you, and I'd like to think you can handle it. You can handle it, can you not?"
Mike nodded, dumbfounded. Were all servants treated this way in this kingdom? A noble stallion for a lowlife? Mike knew that it would take a while for him to get used to the customs of Sydia, but he would manage. He can do this. He can do this.
"That settles it," said Prince Harvey. "Decide on a name for later. We're going hunting."