A/N: once again, unbelievably sorry about the delay, but school is literally eating my soul out from the inside. This course is absolute suicide. Take note, kids- don't take IB. I hope this makes up for the wait, dear readers, and thank you for reviewing. Reading your kind comments revives my dying spirits and will me to carry on~

(I'm not melodramatic at all you don't understand the hell that is school right now ugh)

onwards!


That night, Kurt falls onto his makeshift hay bed, his mind dense with thoughts. He lies on a single cotton sheet, soft from wear but does little to hide the coarse texture of the dried grass beneath it.

Not that Kurt isn't used to it, of course. This is the same bed he'd been sleeping in since he was seven.

There isn't much in the stablehand's room. A small dresser, a battered chair, and another little bale of hay for Pav. There was no reason for more furniture- after all, servants didn't tend to have very many belongings.

A dim candlelight shrouds over most things in the small side-room. Perched on a rusty old candleholder on the ratty chair next to Kurt's bed, it flickers unconvincingly in the cool night air as the only source of warmth and light. The old, worn patchwork quilt that sits on his bed is far more effective. It is the last thing his father had left him before he passed.

The cold, however, is just about the last thing on Kurt's mind right now. His mind is a askew with questions that have no fathomable answer, his feelings in complete disarray. An alien warm tinge in his gut when he thinks of molten bronze pools. The cold that settles in his stomach to assumptions of charity. The uncomfortable twist of hesitant suspicion.

What is his edge?

What could he possibly want from a peasant like me?

When the lines of consciousness are blurred, sleep finally overcomes him in the early morning hours. He will pay for it for the rest of the day, having only had such little sleep to battle so many chores with.

I am breaking so many moral codes, Blaine thinks as he finds himself on his trusty mare once again, following the path up to the Hummel Manor that was slowly becoming more and more familiar.

He gave himself two days, so as to not seem too eager, but also to keep himself in check.

It was awful what he was doing to these girls. He tried kidding himself, pretending that a decent marriage prospect really was the reason he kept returning, but to no avail. The ladies were only a guise for him to go see Kurt. He could deny it as he might but his agenda remains unchanged. It was selfish, yes, and completely immoral and mean and inconsiderate and every other shameful word in the English dictionary but he simply could not stay away.

A Prince running after a servant boy. It was unthinkable. In all the fairytales he'd been told as a child, not once had the regal Prince ever sought after a mere maid. He would always fall in love with the Princess (also, never the Prince) and live, as they say, happily ever after. It was considered poor form to even consider courting a commoner.

Blaine's 'happily ever after' was really all he was looking for. A hopeless romantic like himself would never really settle with that aching in his heart to have something so fiery, so passionate and so true as opposed to a 'suitable match'. His parents sent him off to find someone appropriate; he set out looking for love.

He shakes his head at the thought. He did not love Kurt. That would be ludicrous. He'd met him a grand total of three times, and the first two were so unorthodox they barely counted.

Well, he thinks, I suppose we met when he saved my life, so it counted for a lot.

That's the thing that binds him to Kurt. He is forever indebted to him. The Good Samaritan, the pure soul, the kind man who did all of this for a stranger. That sort of heart was rare, and Blaine was never one to squander good things when they came into his life.

It makes his own heart hurt when he thinks of someone so selfless and benevolent living under such cruel conditions. It amazes him how he's managed to stay that way.

He must be so strong.

Before he could continue his internal soliloquy, he finds himself at the base of the hill. It is sundown, and Blaine brings his mare to a slow trot before stopping. The fading light hits the hills in such a way that makes them seem like they're sinking. The last of the blue sky is dying with the light as the pinks and purples dominate the sky. The clouds overhead stretch instead of puff, also colored in warm hues as it streaks beyond the horizon. The hill slants just so, making Blaine feel like he could run his fingers through the sky.

The outskirt of Villon is truly a beautiful place.

Kurt is so tired that evening he doesn't even notice the same white mare anchored to the indoor post of the barn instead of the one outside. To be honest, it's a wonder Kurt hadn't recognized the horse as the same horse from that day in the woods at all. It's late and his hands are red, raw and cracked from doing so much laundry by hand. He's running on barely any rest and is ready to pass out on the spot. He walks in a straight line from the back door of the kitchen to the back door of the barn, bee-lining for his bed.

There is nothing but the sound of his boots on stale hay until-

"Kurt!"

Kurt jumps and makes the most undignified yelp at the sound of the voice. It's dark and unlit in the barn, so naturally, he is terrified out of his wits. He grabs at the space on the wall where he knows he left the broom and holds it as if it were his bow and arrow, defensively pointed at the direction the voice came from.

"W-who's t-t-there?" he shouts, embarrassingly high. "Sh-show yourself!"

"It's just me!" the voice returns, a little panicked. Kurt follows the sound of shuffling with his still poised broom until the figure steps into the moonlight.

Kurt lets out an exasperated sigh, somewhat relieved yet filled with dread when he finds out whom it is. He lowers the broom when he sees hands raised in surrender.

"...Hi," the figure says, awkwardly half-waving.

Kurt means to say something, but once again, his tongue refuses to co-operate.

"I'm… oh, God, what am I doing here? I'm so sorry for dropping by unannounced, Kurt, but I was at the manor today and I wanted to see you but I couldn't find you after I'd left the mansion so I waited here, I hope that's not too improper- what am I saying, of course that's not right, I'm sorry, you must think I'm mad, but I'm not, I promise, I just wanted to see how you were and I brought you some salve for your bruise, from the apothecary, and…"

Blaine spiels off for quite a remarkable time. Kurt is really unable to stop him in any way, with the whole speech defect and utter inability to form coherent words around this one bloody man.

"...and I'll just leave now, I just wanted to see how you were doing, and this is a little awkward, so-"

He fumbles with a little jar in his pocket and holds it out for Kurt.

To be honest, he knows Kurt's got his own little pot of it. He applied that very same salve to Blaine's own cuts and bruises barely two weeks ago, but that was unbeknownst to Kurt, of course. Kurt thinks he just spared a little medication for a struggling stranger. Blaine had brought it with him just so he'd have some sort of valid reason to go visit Kurt again. That, and he didn't want Kurt to think he was weird.

Kurt takes a step closer towards him, lightly treading the dried grass beneath them, allowing his face to be shrouded in moonlight like Blaine's. His eyes are hesitant, his brows furrowed in a slightly disbelieving, confused stare.

For the first time, Blaine sees how aged Kurt looks. He knows he's only a boy- no older than seventeen at best- but the creases on his face speak volumes. His eyes are tired, tormented. His hands are coarse with work and though his arms are toned, they are thin and his skin is pallid and ashen. He accepts the little jar with both hands that always seem to have a slight tremor, prompting Blaine to discreetly sigh in relief.

It's a couple heartbeats' worth of awkward standing until Kurt finally breathes in and says, in one gust, "T-thank you, y-your Highness."

Kurt dares to look, for just a second. Their eyes lock as Blaine is smiling lopsidedly at him, making him hold the pot a little tighter to his chest. "You're welcome."

If I had a copper piece for every awkward silence, Kurt thinks. He knows it's mostly his fault, being largely unable to hold up his end of the conversation with a man who has been nothing but kind and warm towards him, for no apparent reason.

"...It's late," Blaine says eventually. "and you look, you look tired. So I'll just- I'll just go-"

Kurt directs his eyes back to the ground when he mentions how tired he looks. He knows it's true, and it's embarrassing for the Prince to see him in such poor shape. However, it's a little reassuring to know that someone as put-together as Prince Blaine still got flustered time to time. It's rare to see someone like him momentarily forget his eloquence.

Blaine's hurriedly adjusting the bridle now and he's a little out of sorts, as Kurt can tell. All over the place, even. Is it possible that he might have been the cause of that?

He looks like he's about to mount his horse, but instead he abruptly turns around again, startling Kurt. "Um, but-"

Kurt's starting to feel a little more comfortable about the fact that it appears that Prince Blaine himself is starting to have a couple problems with speech himself. It's a nice change to have others stumbling over their words instead of him.

"-can I... can I, maybe, see you again? I don't know, just to check up, or something-"

Kurt finds his jaw is slack at the request, in awe of the incredulousness of it all. The goddamn Prince is asking for permission to see him? What had this world come to? Nonetheless, he finds himself nodding despite the shouting voice in his head that told him to stay away and know his place. One does not deny royalty, after all. The hand around the pot of salve felt like it was about to shatter the small container because of how hard he could feel he was gripping it right now.

He didn't expect the Prince to crack into a wide (and relieved?) smile at his response. It made something flutter deep in the pit of his gut.

With one final nod, he swings a leg over the horse's saddle and bids him goodnight. Kurt can only raise a hand in return as the Prince and his steed set off down the mansion grounds and towards the path to the town Square, far away enough from the manor to go unnoticed by its inhabitants. He watches as the galloping figure grows smaller further and further into the distance, their beings shrouded in the bare light of the full moon and stars in the open grass.

The night is silent except for the loud, audible beating in Kurt's chest.

Blaine's visits become increasingly more frequent as the days go by, which is both surprising and unsettled. Kurt still doesn't quite understand his intentions or motive and is totally wary of how bizarre it is.

The prince and heir of a powerful nation does not drop by on a servant's quarters in the middle of the night to say 'hello'. He certainly also does not make small talk and try to befriend said servant, either. It simply isn't done.

By the fourth time Blaine visits, smiling that god-awfully bright, glaring grin of his, Kurt is no longer made nervous by his presence. Rather, he's becoming quite circumspect and questioning as to what this man's angle is. While he may have remained the panicked, stuttering bumble the first couple of times, he has spent enough time with the strange man to no longer blush so fiercely at his open gaze or avert eye contact completely. Although he is still shy during their talks, he is a little less embarrassingly so. Blaine honestly seems happy enough to be spending any time with him at all, which bewilders Kurt to no end. There had to be a covert motive, surely.

Kurt is also very aware of how so very charming this man is once he stops tripping over his own words as he did during their first midnight meeting. Though conversation is usually stilted due to Kurt's reluctance to talk and often his inability to form certain words, they managed. He would chat animatedly about anything and everything as Kurt would occasionally make a short remark, a polite smile on his lips whilst he contemplates the prince's mental health. On the odd chance that Kurt is able to formulate a coherent verbal response, Blaine's eyes would light and that stupid smile would grow even larger. While his gut would twist with unfamiliar feelings every time he did this, Kurt remained distant. He'd ended his business of trusting people a long time ago, and Blaine had bad news written all over him.

Tonight, however, Kurt is feeling particularly roused. Tourneboulle had been fussing over the upcoming masquerade ball at the castle- it was to be a grand affair; nobles from all over the area were coming to this annual social. The palace would be decked out in beautiful decorations and lords and ladies from Villon and beyond would mingle and dance and generally be merry. Kurt had heard all of this from Mercedes, of course, who knew the inner workings of most things in Villon, allowing Kurt to become only incrementally less sheltered than he was before. In her aggravation and stress of the fact that prince Blaine had not asked either of her daughters to go (after all, he'd been visiting them so frequently it seemed completely warranted), she had taken out her irritation on Kurt. It ended with him being denied dinner because the hem of Clementine's gown for the ball had been slightly off-kilter. Kurt was no seamstress, but it wasn't as if it was unforgivably bad, either. The demon lady had also thought to have him run every possible ridiculous errand she could possibly think of, just because she could. Kurt's pretty sure he's hurt his back from lifting some of those garden stones today, as he soothes his sore back muscles whilst walking back to his stable quarters in the dead of night.

I've definitely pulled some muscles, he thinks, grimacing. That would make scrubbing the floors absolute torture tomorrow.

The rack would be better than facing that satanic wench.

What really set him off today was the fact that Blaine remained in the stables after bidding the ladies in the house good-afternoon, leaving them to tend to their dress adjustments. Kurt had been coincidentally bringing extra horse feed from the store room in the manor, and had only set the heavy sack down when he sees Tourneboulle exit from the kitchen's back door, screaming at him to do the dress alterations. Blaine was literally two steps away from entering her line of sight (the stable entrance was very wide and open) before Kurt jolted forward and shoved him back into the wall.

"W-what are you d-doing here in b-broad d-daylight?" Kurt had all but shouted, momentarily gaining courage to yell at the man at his outright idiocy. Blaine had seemed taken aback at his burst of incredulousness, but seriously, had this man no mind? If Tourneboulle had seen him waiting in the stables to talk to Kurt after having bid goodbye to her and her daughters hours ago, she would have skinned Kurt from head to toe. He certainly thought it wasn't beyond her to do so- once, when he was younger and had burnt dinner, she placed his hand one of the hot pans he'd just used and left him with red, angry, blistered burns on his palm for weeks.

Blaine had seemed utterly clueless as to what was going on, and that was when Kurt finally decided these meetings couldn't go on. They were far too dangerous and risky and the consequences would be infinitely worse than several backhands to the cheek, that's for sure.

Kurt told him to return late that night despite being thoroughly drained and depleted, to talk this out properly. He needed to settle these midnight meetings once and for all.