Okay. Let's not talk about the fact I haven't continued this for what, four months? And when I do continue, it's a chapter with no action... I'm really, really sorry.

For a few years Arthur let himself believe that he would be able to forget about Francis, and the love between the two of them. He let himself believe that it was only a phase, a teenager thing, and that as soon as he would get more mature and would understand more of the world, he would be able to forget. Each day as he told himself that, he knew he was lying to himself, but still, he kept trying on focusing on that thought.

Every day seemed to go so slowly. It was so difficult to concentrate on doing anything when his thoughts were constantly wandering back to the Frenchman. Even though they had been apart from each other for five years, the love was sill as strong as it had been ever since the two of them had fallen for one another.

The love was the only positive feeling that lived inside the Prince's heart those days. He was too tired to give a genuine smile, no matter how much his mother tried to cheer him up. He was only able to fake his happiness when it was needed; at formal dinners, balls and such events. He had lost his desire to live, and if only he hadn't promised himself that he was going to search for Francis when the long years apart would finally be over, he would have taken his life without a moment of hesitation.

"What a handsome young man you have become, my son! And to think that I almost lost hope on you that time!" the king chuckled. After Francis had been taken away from the palace, so had been almost every other male servant. Arthur wasn't allowed to see any other males than his family, and some other important kings, princes, dukes and such from other countries. It seemed that the king thought that he would fall in love with anyone who just happened to represent the male gender.

"Even though your studies are going perfectly, there is still something to complain about." Of course, Arthur was not surprised about that. He had never been like his brothers were; following every single order their father gave them, doing every single thing like they were supposed to be done.

"And what might that be, Father?" he asked, even though he already had an idea.

"You are already twenty years old, Arthur. You should be married already. If you won't find a princess for yourself soon, it might be that I have to choose for you."

Sitting on her own throne besides the king, Arthur's mother shook her head. Of course, she didn't have any rights to control the king's decision, but as long as the older male wasn't going to notice, she could show her support to the young prince.

"Give me five more years, Father, I beg you. I'm not the heir to throne so it shouldn't matter. All my brothers are already married, so there will be a lot of new princes and princesses to carry on the royal genes. Let me take my time", he said, and even though he loathed his father with every fiber of his body, he bowed his head in an attempt to show respect. And apparently, it worked.

"Very well, five years. But if you haven't found any suitable princess until then, get ready to get married as soon as possible."

Even though Arthur knew that he wasn't going to let the arranged marriage happen, he nodded his head, and after given the permission, he left the throne room and headed outside the palace.

He did it all the time; headed outside just to walk around in the garden. He knew it was stupid, to come to the place where the memories were always most alive, but he couldn't help it. Even though it hurt so much to have only the memory of Francis with him, he wanted to keep it alive. He wanted to be able to remember the feel of Francis' touch, the sound of his voice and the scent of him. In ten years, one can change a lot, and he would hate himself forever if he would not be able to recognize his beloved one.

Letting himself think about how it had felt to be in Francis' arms, he wandered along the paths of the garden, until he arrived to the fountain that was in the middle. With a sigh, he looked at his own reflection, wondering if Francis would recognize him anymore. He probably would, there was only a few things that had changed. There was not happiness in the once so shining green eyes. They looked dull, like there was no life left in Arthur. He was a bit taller now, though he was quite sure he didn't still reach Francis' height. Teenager years had brought him a bit broader shoulders, but he could not be called muscular, or toned. Having never done any manual labor, and spending almost all of his time in his room reading, he couldn't be really proud of his built. Francis had always told him that he was beautiful. He couldn't help but wonder if that had changed.

And so, years dragged on, and on. Each day was as painful as the one before, each week was harder to live. Francis was in his thoughts, in his dreams, in his heart, in his mind. There was no way to get rid of the thought of the Frenchman, there was no way to ease the pain and fade away the love. Honestly, he didn't even want any of those things; all he wanted was to have Francis back.

And when the ninth year came, he started to count days. Each and every day, he drew a line on the wall. He was ruining a very expensive wallpaper with each mark, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Each of those small lines brought him closer to Francis, and each of those lines made the spark of hope inside him grow bigger.

But with hope, came also the fear. What if he didn't find Francis anywhere? What if the Frenchman had died wherever he was working? What if he didn't love Arthur anymore? For god's sake, Francis was thirty years now, Arthur was probably way too immature for him.

Everytime those thoughts tried to get into his brain, Arthur did all he could to push them away. Francis had sworn to him that he would never stop loving him, and he had so many times told Arthur that he was the most important person in his whole life. There was no way that the love that was still so strong in the Briton's heart could be totally dead in Francis' heart. He wanted to believe that, and so he did. He didn't let himself think about the fact that Francis might have forgotten him. Well, maybe not forgotten, given the fact that he was the reason Francis was out there somewhere, working harder than anyone should.

And then it hit him. There was no way Francis was ever going to forgive him for what he had done. He had ruined Francis' life forever. It was a commonly known fact that once you get yourself in jail, there is no way back to a normal life. Former prisoners are turned away wherever they go, they are not trusted. They are not loved.

Each and every day the feeling got stronger and stronger, and he started to be more and more terrified when he noticed that there were only twenty more days left. Twenty days, and he would desperately start to look for the man that had once loved him. The man that now probably hated him. The man that had no single reason to love him anymore.

He hadn't cried in ages, the years having dried him off his tears already, but now, he couldn't stop it. He openly cried and sobbed through the whole evening, and almost all of the night, until he fell asleep.

It was like his mind knew what was true and what was not even though the Englishman was being so harsh on himself, since in his dreams, he was in Francis' arms, feeling loved and feeling cared for.

In the morning, he didn't even know what to believe anymore.