Thankfully for Kurt, his next visit to his best friend Mercedes is only two days after the incident with the Prince. He is literally bursting at the seams with feelings and he needs an outlet desperately. Even Pav could only listen for so long before he started chasing his own tail.

"Cedes!" bellows Kurt, his pitch hysterically high, as soon as he swings through the wooden half-doors of the bakery. His burlap sack gets strewn carelessly against wall as he begins to pace the bakery, wondering where to start.

"Alright, alright, here's your tea." She says, sitting on a tall wooden stool in the corner of the shop. She's set another tankard of steaming black tea on the little desk, gesturing to Kurt. He stops his pacing to sit himself heavily on the stool opposite her. "Go ahead."

"Where to b-begin, jesus. You rem...member how you t-told me about that P-prince coming t-to the kingdom a week ago?"

Mercedes nods.

"He came… t-to the manor. T-two days ago."

"See! I told you he'd go to yours. How was it?"

Kurt's grip visibly tenses on his steaming mug of tea. "A-awful."

He spiels into a vivid recount of the Prince's visit, from the spilt tea to the one-sided talk at the barn.

"I sloshed the entire p-pot onto him, I might as well have doused him in it. He probably thinks I'm an invalid- w-why are you looking at me like that?"

Mercedes' face is a cross between concerned and intrigued. She's been studying the boy's flushed, pink cheeks and wide eyes as he's been talking. "You stutter a lot less when you start to rant."

"Yes, well, that's b-because I'm t-talking to you. Focus, 'Cedes, bigger matters at hand right now!" he says, rolling his eyes at her astute observation. Of course he doesn't stutter as much around her. He's comfortable around her, there's no need to fear. Prince Blaine, on the other hand…

"Right, yes, sorry. Anyway. So you spilt the tea," she urges on, sipping her own.

By the time he gets to the barn story and explains the cause of the bruise below his eye, he has to cradle his face in exasperation. While Mercedes is concerned about the bruise, she is no longer as concerned as she used to be. Sadly, these bruises have become the norm. That's life with Tourneboulle for you.

"..and after I s-saw him, the f-first thing he says t-to me is "...You.". L-like I was on his hit-list or s-something. And th-then he asked if I was al-alright… b-but, swive*, this bloody stutter made me look like a cl-clay-brained f-f-"

The stammer's getting to him again, even though he'd been doing so well despite being so worked up. Perhaps there was a tipping point. He clunks the mug back down onto the desk and bites his lip from crying out in frustration. It doesn't work, as the high whine of anger that comes from the back of his throat escapes anyway. He stares intently at the wooden swirls of the surface before taking a deep breath, willing himself to just spit it out.

"fool."

Of course he's angry. Kurt never used to feel that the stutter and shyness was much of a hindrance because he never really interacted with anyone. TIt had never really impaired him until he needed it the most- when bloody royalty visit the house that used to be his home. It is unfair that this fear-induced impediment should stop him from doing so many things.

Mercedes doesn't say anything, but places her warm hand over his. She strokes her thumb over his hand in a way that is always comforting to Kurt. She waits for his breathing to even before saying anything else.

"At least you'll never have to see him again." she says.

"I hope s-so."


"P… Prince Blaine!" Madam Tourneboulle squeals, her eyes wide as saucers when she opens the grand wooden doors of their manor to reveal the short Prince standing on the other side. "We… we weren't expecting you!"

"I'm terribly sorry for dropping in on you uninvited like this, Madam, but I… was close by, and thought to visit Lady Clementine and Lady Beatrice. If that's alright with you, of course," he says, in a cordial and respectful tone. There's really no way she can deny him much, but as royalty, he likes to maintain his air of grace and politeness. Besides, he needed her to like him as much as possible. "I found it so difficult to stay away." he adds, for good measure. It seems to work like a charm, and Madam Tourneboulle visibly softens at his words.

"Of course, your Highness!" she nods, gesturing her outstretched arm to usher him into the house. She curtseys slightly as he steps inside, being the ever-gracious host. "I'm afraid we won't be able to serve tea of any sort just yet, my lord. The servant's out at the market for groceries. Has your horse been..?"

Blaine tries to cover the falter in his smile. "Oh no, I don't want to be of much trouble. I've already tied the horse to the post myself, it's fine." he says, waving it off.

"I'll just go get the girls," Madam says, her hands clasped and her grin wide. "Please, make yourself at home."

She leaves him in the parlour, scurrying away as fast as her pinched toes would take her.

Blaine lets out a sigh once he is alone, running his palm through unruly curls. He raises a hand to check his sleeved arm, where there is a bound bandage underneath his clothes. It would be best if the questions about the wound were kept to a minimum, so he kept it discreet. It was healing and he could ride, but the bulk of the bandage was hard to ignore.

He had returned to the Hummel Manor in the pretense that he had taken to the two stepdaughters of the late Lord Burt Hummel. They were beautiful, they were elegant, they were bloody enchanting… but neither of the two was the one for him. He knows it in his gut and he can't help but feel guilty that he is, in essence, leading them on. It's hardly becoming of a gentleman to string these poor ladies along, but how else is he supposed to investigate the mysterious servant boy whom he's fairly sure was the one who saved his life?

"Prince Blaine!" trills a flustered looking, but very pleased Beatrice. It's a wonder how she didn't trip on her way down the stairs, with the pace that she's going. Her make up has been hastily put on, but a few minutes spared in front of the vanity is a few minutes extra that she gets to spend with the Prince of Gaveston… without Clementine. "How wonderful of you to come visit again!"

Blaine puts on the most delighted face he can muster when he sees her walking down the large hall towards the sitting room, her shoes making a resounding clack clack clack noise on the marble floor.

"Lady Beatrice," he smiles, "I simply had to see you again."


If Lady Beatrice and Lady Clementine had been enthusiastic before, they were mercilessly so now. When Clementine had come downstairs to see Beatrice had gotten a head start, her charm was off the charts. Beatrice, obviously sensing her sister's competitive streak, matched up to her and became more talkative and touchy than ever. Anything Blaine said prompted her to touch his arm, grip his hand- her hand was dangerously close to his ass at some point. It seemed that any notion of subtlety had been thrown out the window.

Blaine, being the big boy that he is, put on his brave face and withstood their unrestrained flirtations with as much valour as he could. It was exhausting, of course, but he managed to keep up with the dueling sisters admirably. In between words, he'd been watching the path that lead to the grounds, hoping to see a figure coming home from the markets. After the millionth unyielding glance out the window, he decided that the servant boy wasn't going to make a show any time soon and decided that he'd had enough courting for today.

"My ladies," he cuts in (at a probably inconvenient point of Beatrice's sentence), "I'm sorry, but as much as I would love to spend more time in your lovely graces, I do think it is time for me to go."

"B-but Prince Blaine!" Beatrice sputters, indignant. "I still haven't told you about that dazzling time I-"

"Beatrice, sister, I think it wise we let his Lord go," Clementine cuts in, calm and feigning respect. She folds her hands in her lap before standing and taking a step towards Blaine. "While it is such a shame to see you go-" she bats her eyelashes at him demurely- "We will simply wait in eagerness for your return."

She's really laying it on thick, Blaine thinks.

"As will I," Blaine says, thankful for her butting in. He takes her dainty hand and presses a chaste kiss to the back of it. "Really, I've had a wonderful time."

He doesn't miss the look of scorn from Beatrice to Clementine when he gets up to leave. Just to settle the score, he takes her hand and kisses it too. There, now you're even.

"Leaving so soon, your Highness?" asks Madam Tourneboulle, who had popped up out of seemingly nowhere. He starts a little at her voice, but smiles nonetheless.

"Thank you for having me, Madam. It has been most pleasant to have the company of your delightful daughters, but I'm afraid I should be returning soon."

Several cordial formalities later, Blaine is finally able to escape the manor and trudge his way back to his mare, who he'd tied to the outdoor post outside the stables upon arrival. His heart feels heavy. After all, he hadn't fulfilled his purpose of coming here in the first place.


He'd seen the mare tied to the post by the feed, the same way she'd been when he first came here.

Just his luck, hey?

After taking all the groceries up to the kitchen, he thought it wise to stay in the depths of the barn after the incident a week ago. The last thing Tourneboulle would need is for him to further taint the façade of a family she'd set up for the Prince to fall for.

It was quite a while before Kurt heard the telltale sound of a rustling horse come from outside the stables.

He's a thin barn wall away, Kurt thinks.

Timidly, his feet take him towards the wide entrance. Directly outside would be the Prince, most likely checking his horse before he rides. He's noticed that the man is quite gentle with his animals.

His heart is beating out of his chest with the mere thought of what he is contemplating of doing. Only hours ago had he spilled his utter humiliation in front of this man, wishing hard that he'd never have to face him again.

But he'd never apologized, and that simply wouldn't do. One doesn't pour hot tea over a royal and walk away without saying sorry.

So with a deep breath, he bites his tongue and turns the corner of the wall. He is immediately met with the sight of the Prince (as dreamy as ever) whose back is facing him, readjusting the saddle on his horse's back. Kurt's light steps are noiseless as he takes a few tentative steps towards the man.

Deep breaths, Kurt. Relax, and take deep breaths.

"I-I'm s-sorry for spilling t-tea on you, y-your Highness."

Blaine jumps about a foot in the air at the sudden voice and may have had to swallow an embarrassing noise of surprise in the back of his throat. When he turns around, he sees the blushing boy, the perpetrator, staring at the ground with his hands clutched tightly behind his back. Immediately, he relaxes, his hands steady on his horse, exhaling heavily.

"You surprised me," he laughs. The boy shifts his glance slightly on the ground, but otherwise stays still and silent.

"So you can speak after all!" Blaine says, cheerfully. Kurt blushes an even fiercer shade of red; whatever smattering of confidence he had is now gone. He knows he's only teasing, but it just makes him more ashamed of his impediment.

Blaine is met with silence on both accounts, but he isn't one to give up so quickly. He'd just been presented with a golden opportunity. Like hell he was going to let him get away this time.

He takes a hesitant step towards the boy, who upon closer inspection looks to be around his age. He also takes note of the stark purple welt on his cheek. His eyes go tender as he remembers the beating that Lady Tourneboulle had given him a week ago. The bruises are still there a week from then- god knows how bad it must have been initially.

"Oh dear," he says, softly. "that's quite a bruise."

He raises a hand to stroke his cheek instinctively, but drops it as soon as the boy flinches. His eyes search his withdrawn posture, his averted eyes, the thin line of his mouth, the flare of his cheeks. The way this boy carries himself looks nothing like the man who had chased away a band of thieves, patched up his life-threatening ailments and generously left him enough food to not go hungry that night.

Yet, here he stands, the very same.

"I'm Blaine," he pushes, holding out the hand he'd dropped while taking another confident step towards him.

The boy eyes his hand incredulously, unmoving. In Kurt's mind, thoughts are reeling as he registers that the damn Prince is introducing himself as if he and Kurt were equals. Blue-blooded royalty in every sense, hand outstretched in such an establishing gesture of acquaintance. As if he didn't know that Kurt was the mansion's servant. A prisoner. As if he was bothering to get to know him.

"You shake it," he teases, grinning widely. Kurt forces himself to at least stare at the ground in Blaine's general direction before slowly putting his quivering hand in his and shaking it once briskly before letting go. "I'm K-" he starts, "K-" his head ducks further, feeling the burn rise on his face- "Kurt."

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, Kurt." Blaine says, sounding honest. Kurt doesn't quite buy into it, but offers a small, unsure smile and a nod before daring to meet his eyes for only the most fleeting of moments.

And of course, they are beautiful.


Blaine leaves later that day, after being fairly unsuccessful at finding out anything of real substance about the enigmatic boy that is Kurt.

Kurt, he thinks, as he canters leisurely on a wide dirt road. His name is Kurt.

After officially introducing himself earlier that day (every gentleman ought to present himself to anyone new he meets, of course), he could not get him out of his mind. Everything was so strange, so contradictory. The stunted conversation they had after they shook hands was awkward at best. Blaine tried his very hardest to get Kurt to talk, but he was almost completely silent the whole time. He would nod and shake his head time to time, maybe a blush here and there, and met Blaine's eyes for a total of three times the entire conversation. Blaine found himself talking desperately to keep filling the silence, but his efforts only went so far. At times, Kurt would open his mouth as if to say something, but his jaw would twitch and he'd close his mouth again. Every time this happened, Blaine's stomach would dip in anticipation, wanting to hear that sweet voice again, to familiarize himself with it, only to be disappointed moments later. The few words Kurt did say were far and few between. He spoke timidly and softly, shyly averting his gaze. Blaine thought it endearing initially, charmed by this boy's delicate mannerisms. As adorable as he was, it didn't change Blaine's innate need to get to know this man, and his lack of talking was clearly an obstacle.

When Kurt started to glance back and forth between him and the mansion, he began to notice his anxiety. His eyebrows became ever-so-slightly skewed in worry, and his attention continually averted to the looming structure upon the hill.

Blaine was confused at first, and maybe a little hurt, but he soon understood. Tourneboulle would probably massacre him if he didn't get back to work, not to mention slacking off to talk to the Prince. Blaine had no misconceptions about his status and knew very well that ignoring the nobles to talk to their servants was unheard of. He shunned himself internally for possibly putting Kurt in more danger by talking to him and quickly excused himself. He could see Kurt's relief at not having to ask him to leave himself and wondered if he really was that unapproachable. As far as people go, Blaine reckons he's quite friendly. He frowns as he trots along, wondering what could have possibly caused Kurt to be so distant when he'd gone out on a limb to befriend him.

Befriending him, Blaine agrees. that's what this is.

When Blaine decides he likes someone, he will stop at nothing get to know them. And since this man had so selflessly saved him from mortal peril, he decides that he likes this man very, very much.


*- 'swive' is the old english equivalent to 'fuck'.

also, you have full permission to shoot me for taking this long to update. I am (as always) sorry, but life's picked up so there's not much I can really do about it.

I hope I haven't turned off too many readers yet, this story's got big plans!