A week later, Prince Blaine of Gaveston finds himself hopping off of his horse at the gates of the last noble home on his tour of Villon. Decked out in a royal tunic and a pair of light breeches, he stuffs his slightly ruined, heavy khaki robe into his saddle pack and heads towards the house. The bruise from the blunt force of the bludgeon still resides on his brow, almost mockingly matching the color of his aubergine shirt.
So far, he'd found several suitable candidates sprinkled over various kingdoms, but was still searching in the hopes of finding a match that lit a spark. Sure, the other ladies he'd found were lovely, but he had yet to feel that electricity with anyone. It was his last ditch effort, and since Villon was his last stop, he felt the need to give it just one last try.
According to his list, this is the house of Hummel, but is now occupied by his second wife, Lady Tourneboulle. The notes stated that the eligible suitors of this family were sisters by the name of Clementine and Beatrice, both the same age as Blaine himself.
This is it, he tells himself. If he didn't feel that chemistry with either Clementine or Beatrice, he'd have to settle down with one of the women he'd deemed suitable without ever finding true love. After all, that was why his parents, the King and Queen of the mighty kingdom of Gaveston, sent him off on this tour to begin with. Blaine will be of age soon and they both knew that behind every successful man, there is a successful woman, so Blaine needed to find a wife as soon as possible. Their kingdom yielded no one that piqued his interest, so he'd been searching for that special woman in other kingdoms far and wide.
His tour was halted for a short while, because he'd gotten lost and was injured on his way to Villon. He'd been robbed and stabbed by bandits, left to die in the middle of the forest (now he knows he rode straight into thug land) and would have bled to death had it not been for a mysterious savior who chased the thugs away and patched Blaine up. It had taken Blaine a while to get to the castle on the far side of Villon, but once he did, he explained his situation to the reigning King and Queen of Villon and just like that, the entire royal staff were bent on making sure he healed as quickly as possible and replaced all of his stolen belongings twice over. Before long, Blaine was back on his feet (or back on his horse, whichever you prefer) and back on his search for Ms. Right.
It's past midday when Blaine walks up the long path leading up to the manor perched right on top of the hill by the forest that borders the two kingdoms.
"...and you had better not step one toe out of line or I swear to God, if you mess this up, there will be hell to pay," seethes Lady Tourneboulle from the kitchen threshold. Kurt nods silently as she turns on her heel and stalks away, no doubt to prepare her daughters for the arrival of Prince Blaine of Gaveston.
She'd just thrown a plate of eggs at him this morning, screaming that they were undercooked and what was Kurt, an invalid?
Kurt sighs as he turns back to preparing tea for her and her guest. She was obviously agitated about this visit. For a woman of her age, she was still rather built and taller than Kurt, and was in every sense intimidating. Kurt could easily take her, though, if not for his father's stupid, stupid wasted last wish.
"Take care of the family, son."
He knows he meant his stepmother and his two stepsisters. And he supposes he kind of is, by being their servant. Every time the woman screams at him or smacks him or throws something at him, he always has to repress the part of him that wants to fight back. The sheer fear of her instilled into him since childhood also plays a factor, but while he is older and wiser, he still cannot help but be afraid. So he complies.
He peers outside the window of the basement kitchen, having spotted something out of the ordinary. Outside of the barn, on the outdoor posts, there was a new horse tied up and feeding on the oats from the trough. This must be Prince Blaine's horse, he figures.
He's here.
The Prince is here.
Upstairs, Lady Tourneboulle is busy in the graces of the charming young Prince Blaine, introducing him to her flawless daughters. She's formulated everything down to the last bobby pin- her girls are virtually irresistible.
"It's lovely to meet you, ladies," Prince Blaine smiles, swiftly kissing their hands and bowing.
Lady Tourneboulle could practically feel Beatrice swooning.
"The pleasure is all ours, your Highness," Beatrice beams, before Clementine cuts in. "It's an honour for us to be graced by your presence, especially here, in our humble abode."
"It's a beautiful home." Blaine says, glancing around.
"Thank you," Lady Tourneboulle says, ushering them all to sit down in the lounge. "Come, we'll talk in the parlour."
During the chat, Clementine is the very embodiment of grace. Her blonde locks are arranged in neat, shoulder length curls that bounce lightly whenever she tips her head back to laugh delicately at something Prince Blaine had said. Her pale, sage green day gown matches the soft green of her eyes, and she impresses Blaine with her fluidity in conversation and her soft-spoken sensitivity. Her posture is, of course, perfect, thanks to years of strenuous ballet study. Her femininity is charming in every way.
Beatrice is sat next to her with her legs folded in the same way. She is very starkly different to her sister, but no less desirable. She is just as beautiful as her fraternal twin, with her fiery ruby-coloured hair that frames her thin face and bright blue eyes that catch the attention of every man in the room. Of course, the only man in her sights today is Prince Blaine, who seems to enjoy her humour, wit and vast knowledge on many subjects, such as music. The Prince seems to perk up a little at his discovery that she is learned on the piano and as been playing for many years. Beatrice is only about to suggest they do a piano duet when her mother suggests that it's about time to bring out the tea.
The two sisters give a pointed look at their mother, which is returned with a subtle smile. They are doing fantastically. They are both the epitome of the educated, classy, noblewomen that Princes are sure to fall for. If things keep going as well as they have been, one of her daughters will certainly end up marrying into royalty by the end of this meeting. This set up is practically infallible- Prince Blaine will definitely be enraptured by one of her daughters, if not both. They are perfect in every sense.
"KURT! TEA!" screeches Lady Tourneboulle, making Blaine jump in his seat a little.
Within minutes, a servant boy pushes the heavy wooden doors of the parlor open with his back, precariously balancing two laden tea trays in either arm. He manages to make the walk from the door to the coffee table with a practiced ease and sets both trays down on the table, proceeding to set out the sweets and pour the tea.
Blaine notices that the boy's hands are shaking as he tips the elegant china teapots into their cups, and wonders what it is that makes him tremble so. He lifts his eyes for only a second to look at the boy's face, and the twist of familiarity he feels in his gut hits him as soon as his eyes land on his face. Blaine remembers his face indubitably, the boyish charm, the soul-chilling eyes, but he can't tell from where. It feels like the answer is just out of his fingers' reach. However, as this is vague recollection is happening, fate had decided that now would be the unfortunate time that Kurt's shaking hands would make him slip and spill steaming hot tea all over the esteemed guest of honor.
The boy's eyes widen as he realises what he's done and he hurriedly sets the pot back down and flushing an immediate, bright red. Kurt tries to say sorry, he truly means to- the word was right there on the tip of his tongue, but his damned stutter stopped anything from coming out of his mouth, leaving Kurt making desperate, strange little 's' sounds in front of Prince Blaine himself. He's fumbling with napkins but before he knows it, there's a sharp, painful blow across his cheek and he's sent flying backwards, sprawled on the floor.
Blaine's eyes widen in shocked, appalled at her violent backhanding a servant for such a small mistake. "Oh heavens, no, really, I'm fine, but is he-"
"I'm dreadfully sorry," Tourneboulle grovels, completely ignoring Blaine's concern for the servant boy who's on his back, clutching his throbbing cheek. His eyes are focused intently on the floor. "good service is so hard to come by nowadays, all we got was this insolent little-"
"Madam, really, it is quite alright," Blaine says, wiping some excess tea off of his darkened purple tunic. A glimmer catches his eye and he notices that the hand she hit the servant with had several gemstone rings on it. "That was hardly necessary."
But Tourneboulle is barely listening to him now. "Clementine, Beatrice- why don't you go find something clean for the Prince to change into, while I deal with… with this."
The girls get up in unison and they each tuck an arm under one of Blaine's, walking him efficiently out of the parlor to find him new clothes. Even as the heavy doors close, Blaine can hear the hysterical shouts of Lady Tourneboulle, who is now hurling grating abuse at the stricken servant boy. He winces as he hears the sound of a hand impacting skin, but they eventually get far away enough for the sounds of the parlour to die out.
Once re-dressed in unsoiled clothes, Blaine returns with the girls back into the parlour to be met with only Madam Tourneboulle. The servant boy is gone.
Although her daughters were nothing but polite and charming, the show of violence from their mother unsettled Blaine and it didn't sit quite right with him. It made him feel like there was a bubbling pit waiting to erupt behind this façade of a perfect family. There was something strange about this family, something unexposed, and it made him a little warier when they re-engaged into conversation.
After some neutral, mildly pleasant chit-chat, Blaine stands up and excuses himself to check on his horse as the ride here had been tiring for her. Tourneboulle forces herself to smile courteously and tell him of course, your highness, go ahead when really, she's wondering how on earth a four-legged mammal could possibly be more worthy of his attention than her beautiful daughters. Inside, she panics a little, and once Blaine leaves the parlour to go to tend to his horse, she re-strategizes with her daughters. Their perfect performance this evening must not have been enough after all.
Blaine, however, has an agenda of his own. He'd seen the small quarters by the barn when he was tying his mare to the feeding post, which he now assumes is the place where the servant boy lives. The feeling of familiarity he felt when he got a mere glance of the servant's face flared with curiosity within him. That, and he is sincerely concerned for the boy. Those rings looked hard-edged and unforgiving, and Lady Tourneboulle hadn't exactly pulled her punch, either. He couldn't help but feel a little at fault for his unwarranted punishment. The boy had looked like he wanted to say something at the parlour, but seemed to have great difficulty making any real words form. Perhaps he was something of a mute?
The stroll to the stables at the bottom of the hill was short, and he is quickly re-acquainted with his horse. He strokes the mare's nose affectionately, knowing full well that she was fine the entire ride here.
Before long, he realises he is being watched. He turns to the wide open entrance of the stable barn and sees a scruffy little pup sitting in the doorway, its big brown eyes staring fixedly at Blaine. He cocks his head in his scrutiny.
Blaine decides then that the puppy is the cutest thing he's ever seen. He reaches into his saddle pack on the side of his horse and retrieves a handful of dried beef, to which he holds out to the little sandy-grey dog.
"Hey there, little fella." he coos, gesturing at the treat in his hand.
The dog seems to contemplate his offer for a minute, before giving in and running towards him as fast as his little legs would carry him. He eats bravely out of Blaine's hand, and he laughs when his tongue tickles his fingers. After giving the pup the treat, the pup decides that Blaine is a decent playmate, and begins to run in between his legs and nip at his boots, barking at him in encouragement.
"Hey, now- oi, ouch! No bites!" Blaine giggles as he turns the puppy on its back and tickles its tummy.
"P-Pav, where'd you go?"
Blaine stills his hands on the puppy as he hears the clear, high voice call out from inside the barn. The puppy, however, begins to struggle in his hands and tries to get back on its feet and off its back.
"Pav-"
Blaine sees the owner of the voice come out of the barn, and as he suspected, it is indeed the voice of the servant boy. So he isn't a mute. For a moment, he is able to really see him. The sea-foam eyes, the pointed nose, the chestnut hair that is slightly askew, the pink, full lips- they ring a bell so loudly in Blaine's head it reverberates in his ears. For a minute, he is stuck in frustrating, unidentifiable recognition, staring in an uncomfortably scrutinizing manner as he tries to figure it out.
Until finally, finally, it hits him.
"...You," he chokes, putting two and two together and gaping at the equally frozen boy in front of him.
Kurt's mind is racing at a million miles an hour as his fingers dig into the side of the barn wall in the need to grip onto anything to stop him from falling over.
He had followed Pav after he'd disappeared only to find him playing with Prince Blaine.
The very Prince he had spilt tea all over not an hour ago.
The very Prince who he'd been humiliated in front of by Lady Tourneboulle.
He stands rigidly in the barn's entrance, unmoving. The balls of his feet instinctively shift Kurt's weight, ready to pick themselves off the floor, but he resists. Blaine's eyes meet his and then it's all he can do to not run away. Blaine is so handsome it makes Kurt's heart ache, but right now, there's something similar to awe in his wide eyes. As if he's just made a discovery.
"I… I was just wondering… if you were alright," Blaine says, looking like he's struggling to keep his voice steady. "She hit you hard."
Kurt moves his mouth, poised to say yes, but his lips tremble and his tongue stiffens as his body betrays him once again. His jaw quivers as he tries his very hardest to sound the word, but nothing, nothing comes out.
Blaine cocks his head in confusion at him, which brings his embarrassment to a boil. His face is on fire, he can feel it, and the pricking of shamed tears to his eyes make him snap. Before any tears can spill, he turns and makes a run for it, giving in to his instinct to escape.
The puppy's out of Blaine's hands before he knows it, chasing after his troubled-looking master. Blaine runs after him, perplexed by the boy's botched attempts at talking. He knows it's the same kid- it has to be. His features are so distinct. They're exquisite.
When he turns the corner of the barn door, the boy and the dog are nowhere to be seen.
A/N: I'm so elated that this story's getting a good response. I can only hope it stays that way, ahah.
Your reviews and readership make this writing all the more worthwhile, thank you.
And also, if any readers are in the path of hurricane Irene tonight, I hope you're staying safe! Tough it out, kiddies, and good luck.
