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flavourlessfiction · 6 days ago

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A Wilted Orchid (18566 words)

He wasn’t foolish about the nature of romantic pursuits. He’d watched how the sons and daughters of Lords would court one another. But when he entered into a tryst with a nobleman's son, the Crown Prince of Bristol didn't think their being caught would end in tragedy or his need to be sent to the Kingdom of Gotham for the sake of his own protection. @jaytimweek 2025 Day 1 - Purple

You can read the whole fic under the cut or on Ao3

As the sun kissed the horizon, a soft groan escaped the mess of bedsheets, followed by a hushed whisper begging for silence. A scene that had become all too common in recent months, hidden away in the eastern wing of the summer palace.

Tim had tried to fight it, the lingering attraction, avoiding the gaze across the ballroom or the burning in the back of his head as he sat in his pew in the chapel.

They’d caught one another in the chapel more nights than not in the days leading up to Tim approaching the other.

It hadn’t started with anything more than a conversation, followed by a late-night walk of the grounds, where they managed to slip his guard. Antoine hadn’t kissed him until they were tucked between a set of hedges, the nobleman’s son’s pursuit suddenly becoming clear to him.

He wasn’t foolish about the nature of romantic pursuits. He’d watched how the sons and daughters of Lords would court one another.

Before that moment, he’d thought he’d be stuck as an observer. His father might have encouraged him to sow his oats before his inevitable arranged marriage, but it hadn’t interested Tim. Few women had ever piqued his interest, and he’d never entertained the thought of skulking about in brothels to find something more to his taste.

He’d punished himself for that night far more than he should have, only to give in to temptation and invite Antoine into his chambers, drinking half a bottle of wine to ease his nerves days later.

The wine had helped him give in, and they’d managed to fall into a pattern. It wasn’t becoming to show blatant favour to one noble, especially one whose father wasn’t on the Privy Council, so they moved in secret, barely acknowledging one another until they found each other in his chambers night after night.

Tim needed less wine to steady his nerves with each tryst, and he felt less inclined to shoo the man away moments later. By the month's end, he’d gone as far as to let Antoine stay in his bed, with the curtains opened just enough to allow sunlight to stream onto the bed as the sun rose.

Allowing the other enough time to sneak out before the servants would come to rouse him from his slumber.

At least that was how it was supposed to go. However, Antoine had coaxed him awake with a few kisses, which had turned into touching and led them to their current position with his legs wrapped around his lover’s waist, trying to contain the moans that threatened to escape him.

If it wasn’t acceptable to do, it would feel this good, that’s what he told himself each time any lingering regretful feelings threatened to disrupt his peace.

After all, God had to give him some small mercies, despite what the nobles seemed convinced of, being a prince wasn’t easy, and ruling over his kingdom one day wouldn’t be, either. He saw how it wore on his mother, and she had a far stronger stomach than he did.

She wasn’t one to give in to such vices, at least she hadn’t in his memory.

Maybe that was why she never missed the creak of an old oak door. Antoine didn’t miss it, however, pulling out and jumping away from him before the intruder could say a word. Tim was quick to pull the sheet around his exposed body, eyes wide as he looked between his lover and the knight who seemed to be looking at anything but him.

He couldn’t say he blamed him. If Tim had his way, the ground would open up and swallow all three of them now. Better that than lying in stunned silence and humiliation. “Forgive me, I didn’t think I’d be intruding.”

“By entering the prince’s chambers without permission,” Antoine shot back as he dressed himself.

Keeping the blanket wrapped around his body, Tim pushed himself to the edge of the bed. If a knight had been sent to his chambers instead of a servant, then something had to be wrong. “You were sent here for a reason. Is it my mother?” He asked, glancing over at a now-dressed Antoine.

The other’s expression said more than he needed it to, and he wasn’t about to order him to stick around if he had to witness the disgust in his eyes night after night. “Your… The Queen asked for your presence in her meetings this morning and asked for you to be escorted there.”

She thought he needed an escort and sent a knight. Tim bit the inside of his cheek. She’d probably even told him that she didn’t care if he was asleep; his education was more urgent than sleep. “Understood, allow me to dress myself, and then I’ll go to her.”

Tim moved to stand only for pain to shoot through his hip and to sink back down onto the bed; no wonder his mother thought he needed an escort; he must have commented on how stiff it felt last night, and she’d determined he must be on the verge of another flare-up. Why couldn’t he have noticed it when Antoine initiated this morning?

Who was he kidding? He knew but had tried to ignore the notion that it might be a third bad day in as many weeks to chase a few minutes of pleasure. “Antoine, can you-”

Before he could finish the question, his cane was thrown onto the bed beside him. It wasn’t quite what he was asking for, but it was better than nothing, although he didn’t know what good it would do if the pain got any more intense. “I’ll take my leave, I expect this will be handled,” Antoine grunted.

All Tim could do was nod in response. The knight did need to be handled. He’d caught them in a compromising position, and no matter the loyalty he’d sworn to the crown, people loved to talk in the taverns they frequented.

The other man moved to the fireplace, taking the key from the mantle and unlocking the passage door beside it.

He needed to get moving, even if it was slow, if he could just bring himself to get up and push through the pain, attending his mother’s meetings wrapped in a bedsheet hardly portrayed a princely image. “Do you need assistance?” The knight offered, earning a frown from Tim. Was it really so obvious that he couldn’t even bring himself to try?

“I can do it, my mother didn’t need me urgently, did she?”

“No, you have some time, her request did include you breaking fast together.”

Tim sighed, shaking his head. His mother must have had some sort of agenda to summon him in the early morning while suspecting his hip pain had returned. She must have some information that she didn’t want sprung on him in a public setting. There wasn’t any other logical explanation.

Not one that would need him to have a guard escorting him. Tim leant down on the cane as he pushed himself to stand, a small hiss escaping him as he managed to stand, one hand firmly gripping the sheet around his body, and the second on the cane. “What do I need to do to ensure you don’t speak of what you saw?” He asked, his cane clicking on the floor with each step he took.

It was less costly to ask than to make an offer. Tim had been told as much by his father on more than one occasion, and a knight could only want for so much, and if paying for a few nights in brothels was enough to keep him quiet.

Well, that was better than making threats of accusations of treason. “My silence doesn’t need to be bought, Your Highness,” the knight chuckled.

That wasn’t the answer he wanted, if he was going to be in debt to the other, or worse, having to trust his word that he’d not share that he’d seen the prince in an entanglement with a nobleman’s son. From his observations, people were fickle and their promises could change with the wind.

An oath to the crown didn’t make a person immune to sharing gossip, or to considering his activities information that could compromise the crown’s legitimacy. That kind of honour was far more difficult to manipulate.

Tim grimaced as he reached the chair where his clothing had been laid out the night before. Putting them on without assistance would be a challenge, but he had no intention of asking for assistance or worse, summoning a servant to have another person see the state he was in.

“Think of compensation for your silence as an assurance for me that you’ll be willing to keep your word.” Tim offered a weak attempt at best to convince the other that he needed to accept something in order to guarantee they had an understanding.

If Antoine chose to come back to him, he’d be able to convince the other that it was taken care of. “I don’t want for anything, and had your companion not been so quick to move away from you, I wouldn’t have known about your… proclivities.” The knight was careful with his words, more careful than some of the other knights he’d encountered.

Others would have said exactly what they thought and would have immediately accepted the offer of compensation, too. Tim turned his head to look at the other, to really study the man, he certainly wasn’t a knight he was familiar with, not from his personal guards, nor his parents.

No, this was someone who must have recently ascended to the royal guard. “What's your name, sir?”

“Sir Jason Todd, your Highness.”

Todd, it wasn’t a familiar name, at least not from any of the highborn families; however, he couldn’t say he’d gone too far into detail about some of the lesser noble families in the south, and despite his dark hair, his bright eyes and olive complexion fit the features of the southern families that had joined them at the Summer Palace.

Still, he needed something to ensure the other would be loyal to him; by extension of being loyal to the crown, he was supposed to be loyal to him, but the queen’s word would always take precedence. Tim let out a pained grunt as he pulled on his slacks, constantly keeping a grip on the back of the chair.

It was going to be a long day if he didn’t get some sort of relief for his hip. “Your mother advised to offer a wheeled-chair if you were in pain.” Damn her! Of course, she’d seen the signs of a flare-up before he’d identified them; she’d probably even sent the dawn wake-up to trick him into submission.

At least he had her number there. “That chair will take flight out of the western tower before I sit in it by choice,” he grumbled, pulling his tunic over his head.

What was she doing telling a knight he’d never had an introduction to that he had to use the chair on occasion? It was humiliating enough that he still required his cane regularly.

They’d just have to take their time and take the private passages instead of facing any early risers that might want to catch a glimpse of the young prince on his way to meet the Queen. “We’ll go through there, I know the route to take to reach my mother’s private study,” Tim said, pointing towards the opening Antoine had left through.

“Of course, your highness, whenever you are ready to take your leave, I’ll follow.”

********************

This, Sir Jason, was going to be a problem; it had only been a little over a dozen hours since his interruption, and the other had been watching him like a hawk. However, he hadn’t been afforded a moment of privacy to make an offer to the knight.

He could give him riches, or even convince his mother that he should award his family better lands and titles. If he’d had the chance to investigate, he could have found the origins of the Todd family’s title and figured out the right elevation for his silence.

A Comté would be accepted by any lower noble without hesitation, and what sort of knight would bring shame to their family’s legacy by rejecting such a gracious title? If he cared about his honour, he would accept it.

Tim took a sip of the sweet liquor as he lounged on the daybed, his fingers curling around the goblet as he tried to devise an alternative. His mother would ask too many questions if he attempted to elevate the knight without cause; she’d know he was caught up in some sort of trouble and jump to extreme conclusions.

No, a Comté without reasonable cause would end with Sir Jason in a cell and the knight sharing what he’d seen, or the correct conclusions he’d jumped to. There had to be something better.

God, he needed Antoine, someone that he could bounce ideas off of, but if the other was going to show his face, he would have shown his face long before Tim had reached for the bottle of mead he’d stored in his bookcase.

Three goblets worth later, and the pain in his hip had subsided, although he wasn’t sure he would be able to get his legs under him to make his way to his bed from the daybed he lounged on.

“There’s always killing him,” Tim laughed to himself, tipping the goblet to his lips. It was a drastic measure that would take several extreme steps.

He couldn’t do that; the thought alone owed an apology to God, to actually kill a man who had committed no crime.

He couldn’t do it.

Couldn’t arrange it.

He’d have to rely on Sir Jason’s promised loyalty to a certain extent. Have to hope it didn’t extend beyond tavern gossip.

The crown could handle gossip, it couldn’t handle a confirmed witness to his sins. “There’s only one way out.” Tim grimaced as he sat up on the daybed, clumsily reaching for the half-filled bottle, his eyes only moving beyond as his fingers wrapped around its neck.

He should have heard the heavy oak doors close as the cloaked figure entered, but he’d been too lost in his thoughts. Attention focused on one problem rather than considering another. “I’m glad you understand my position,” the figure growled.

The voice was familiar, although he could have sworn he was used to hearing a softer tone, with a more gentle face attached to it. “Antoine?” He murmured, forcing himself to squint so the figure could come into focus, releasing the goblet, which bounced from the daybed onto the ground, shattering instantly.

There was no mistaking it, the shadows of the fire dancing across his lover’s face, the hardened expression like nothing he’d seen before.

The expression, only outdone by the curved dagger tightly grasped in the nobleman’s hand. The Prince swallowed. There was no mistaking the blade or the intention behind it, the details of the ornate hilt hidden behind the man’s fingers.

His bottom lip trembled as he reached down to grab his cane, ignoring how stiff his hip felt as he managed to rise to his feet. “Guards…” Tim mumbled to himself, struggling to find his voice as he took clumsy backwards steps, the glass crunching as he stepped on it with his bare feet, angling himself towards the centre of his bed chambers.

He had no chance at outrunning the other, and barely stood a chance if he tried to. Help would have to come, he’d just need to hold Antoine off. “Guards!” He shouted, leaning heavily on the cane to stop himself from swaying.

Antoine stalked around him, a sadistic smirk spreading across his face. “You sent your guards away, remember?” He taunted.

He’d sent them away, but there’d always been an expectation that they would return to their posts within a few hours after he retired. If he was lucky, they’d be returning soon.

But not soon enough. “Help! Guards!” He screamed, even if there weren’t guards posted directly outside his chamber, someone might hear him, be it a servant in the passages or any guards posted in the grounds. They were three stories below, but he could have sworn there were guards stationed below his rooms.

“Did you think I’d trust you to protect me?” Antoine snarled as he closed the distance between them by a few feet.

“Of… of course I did,” he whispered. It would take time, but he wouldn’t have betrayed the other’s trust, not only for his own survival’s sake but Antoine’s too. Sir Jason might not have thought his silence could be bought, but a private conversation would have given Tim better clarity about what he needed to do.

Tim stumbled back as Antoine took another step towards him, attempting to swipe at the other with his cane, only to fall backwards. “You can’t even protect yourself, lame little prince who should have been put down with his horse.”

“Guards! Anyone, please!” The Prince’s voice cracked as Antoine loomed over him, the expertly honed blade poised to strike at any time.

Who was he kidding? No one was coming to save him.

His mother would be left without an heir, all because he’d indulged in the comforts of another man.

Tim swallowed the bile that burned his throat, attempting to steel his nerves. If he was going to die, then it had to be with honour.

God would have mercy on him if he left the mortal plane with dignity.

He’d cheated death as a child; his parents’ prayers had saved him as his broken body fought off infections. His left side never healed correctly, and the misalignment in his hips had been a problem for the past twelve years.

God would have mercy on him as he’d served his people faithfully and without passing judgment.

His death would bring an end to his pain, the only true relief that liquor or herbal medicines could never match, but he knew it would bring a wave of pain to his family… to his people. But a succession crisis wouldn’t be his cross to bear.

God would punish him if he recognised his selfish nature.

Tim tipped his head up as the cool blade pressed against the underside of his chin. He’d never seen Antoine smile like that. Had the other’s smiles ever made their way up to his eyes? They’d certainly never looked to be in such a frenzy before.

Tim parted his lips, determined to whisper a final prayer before the other finished him. Antoine might find himself capable of murder, but he wouldn’t deny the prince his faith. “Our Kingdom will be better off once you’re de-” Antoine growled, but was cut off by a flash of silver, warm liquid splashing across Tim’s face and chest as the nobleman slumped forward.

Tim’s stomach lurched as blood pooled on the stone floor. “No… no, no, no, he can’t be…” Tim forced himself to swallow as bile filled his mouth, turning the warm body over.

The cut to Antoine’s neck was deep, but he could… No! He would save the other; what had he read in the physicians' texts? Blood loss could be stopped with pressure.

He just needed to… his hands would have to do, if only they would stop shaking. The blood seeped between Tim’s fingers as he pressed his hands to Antoine’s neck, refusing to look at his saviour.

Antoine would live; he had to. The blood would not spill this fast if his heart wasn’t still beating; it didn’t matter that his eyes hadn’t closed since the moment the blade had crossed his neck. “Your Highness, he’s-”

“I can save him,” Tim rasped, choking back a sob. Antoine couldn’t die, if God had mercy to save him, then surely he could save a foolish boy who’d made a mistake.

He had to. “He tried to- you’ll need a physician,” His saviour sighed.

A physician, yes, that was exactly what he needed; they’d be able to repair the wound, and Antoine would live. No one would be any wiser to the indiscretion.

They could all pretend that Antoine had been hurt when an assassin came after him. Better he be hailed as a valiant hero than die.

Feet shuffled around him, three, no four by his estimate, standing over him but providing no assistance to help save Antoine.

They wanted Antoine dead, they were satisfied their souls would be saved despite the blood on their hands. “Who is it?”

One of the figures crouched beside him, Tim’s eyes shifted from his hands pressing against Antoine’s neck to the unrecognisable face. It wasn’t human, the iron-coated monster didn’t even look at him, his attention was on Antoine.

Staring like a starved predator desperate for its next meal. “Shit, it’s the Dufaux heir.” The monster grunted as Tim angled himself to protect Antoine from the creature's bite.

He was surrounded by a pack of rabid animals who knew no masters; they’d given up on God and would stop at nothing to satiate their desires. “What is he trying to do?” The monster to his right asked.

“The prince said he wanted to save the boy.” His saviour’s voice was softer than the other creatures, even if he didn’t pose any less menacing of a figure. He might have prevented Antoine’s crime, but he’d been the one to commit one of the greatest sins.

God might even consider his role in Antoine’s injury that of an accomplice. He’d have to beg for forgiveness from the lord, and wouldn’t sleep until he was shown a sign of his forgiveness.

“Someone needs to alert the Queen.” The creatures continued to talk over his head, each one offering their opinion.

The one kneeling at his side rose as he cleared his throat. “Has anyone woken the royal physician, or fetched a priest?”

Tim’s eyes returned to Antoine, his expression slack, but there was still light in his eyes. Tim had to convince himself of that, held onto that glint in his left eye that he’d seen many times, despite the blood flow slowing.

“You’re right, her Majesty will have a conniption if she sees this.” The monster to his right was the loudest of the group, speaking with more authority than the others; he posed the biggest threat to saving Antoine. “We need to move him.”

If he could just speak to his saviour without the others standing over him, he might understand the value of the other’s soul.

His saviour hadn’t tried to separate them, yet the commanding monster had determined he needed to be moved. They didn’t care if he was condemned alongside them so long as they got their pound of flesh. “The blade, Sir.” The voice of the monster that had once crouched beside him uttered.

“That’s a… the blade is a khanjar, Sir, and the crest on the hilt belongs to the royal al Ghul family.”

“You’re certain?” The commanding creature’s voice was coupled with shuffling behind him, wood scraping against stone.

He could see it now, the iron-clad creatures dragging him to the execution block for his sin. Only demons would know the depth of his depravity, a depravity that had harmed another. A deep, sickening kind that only ended with a head rolling from the block and into a basket.

It was the fate he deserved; they could use his flesh to save Antoine, and they’d both meet acceptable outcomes to a tragic affair. “Move the Prince, the Queen will understand if he fights.”

He was lifted from the ground before he had time to react, a firm arm wrapped around his waist as he thrashed. “No, no! Unhand me! I need to save him. You’ll kill him if you don’t…”

He fell silent as he was dropped into the chair, eyes searching for Antoine’s fallen form, only to be encircled by the creatures again. “He’s dead, Your Highness. We have sent for a physician to inspect your wounds.”

Any attempts to stand, to escape the circle, were met with heavy claws clamping down on his shoulders.

A physician would see him, a name for another demon, to make an assessment of his depravity. A trial of his humours, they’d see the abundance of black bile and know he was lost. Not worthy of conversion and far less worthy of life.

“Where is he? Timothy!” The iron bodies parted as a figure in white approached him, her blonde hair draped over her shoulder in a loose braid. The angel cupped his cheeks, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “My sweet boy, it’s okay, he can’t-”

The angel fell silent as one of the creatures cleared its throat. “Your Majesty, we cannot guarantee the halls are secure.”

“I’m well aware of what you can’t guarantee. How did this happen? He’s always to have a guard, yet an assassin entered his chambers.” The Angel’s voice was far more cutting when addressing the creatures than when her attention had been on him.

“He is -er, we believe the assass-”

“You believe? You’re the captain of the guard, you should know all of the goings on in this castle.” She had a cruelty to her, or at least a degree of contempt for the surrounding creatures. He could feel all four of them shrink as she spoke.

“There was no guard, Your Majesty, when I entered; he was standing over the Crown Prince with a knife pointed to his neck. I acted with urgency…” his saviour stated, his voice strained. The Angel’s presence must have been overwhelming if it impeded the creatures’ speech. “I can’t be sure, but I entered through the passage by the fireplace. I would estimate the b-the assassin entered through the main entrance. But only the Crown Prince could confirm such a theory.”

“And why were you in the passageway?” The Angel’s hand found its way into his own, his bloodied hands staining the hem of the flowing sleeves.

She’d reached out to him, blessed him with her kiss and then her touch. He didn’t deserve to be honoured. He’d had a hand in too grievous a sin to be singled out and was now contaminating her. “I was attempting to assess if it was secure; had the Crown Prince not taken me through it before he broke fast with you, I would not have known it provided a direct path to his highness’s bedchambers.”

The passage… he’d only taken one person through the passage, the new knight who’d caught his tryst with Antoine.

Antoine…

Antoine was dead. He’d been- his saviour had been the new knight, Sir Jason, he’d said his name was.

“Well, I owe you a great debt, as does this Kingdom.”

The debt had already been paid; in saving one life, the knight had ended another. The angel implied his life held a greater value than Antoine's, when Antoine had determined they’d all be better off if he- “Maman…” He whimpered, the hand holding his tightening its grip as he let out a sob.

********************

By Tim’s estimation, he hadn’t slept in three days. When the royal physician arrived, he’d picked the shards of glass from his feet before wrapping them in bandages, determining that he would need to keep off them.

Not that he could have damaged them further by walking around the castle. As the alcohol left his system, it became clear his fall backwards had done more damage than he’d considered, bringing him discomfort whether he was sitting or lying in bed.

The tea that had been brought to him to help him sleep had done nothing, on the first night as he’d sipped it, he’d emptied the contents of his stomach in front of everyone, his mother whispering reassurances that the servants would clean up the mess as he’d sobbed into her night gown. They’d moved him to smaller apartments, only offering one entrance that was manned by guards at all hours.

They hadn’t given him a moment's peace, and as the sun went down, he found himself struggling to distinguish between the iron-coated demons that had ripped him from Antoine and the guards that served to protect him.

When the sun rose, he reminded himself that there was no distinction between the two, but as night came, it was wiped from his mind until the angel would come and allow him to rest his head on her bosom, petting his hair as he wept silently.

Only his father had dared to ask what happened, fed up after sitting in silence for an hour and insisting they needed answers if they were to understand how the night’s events unfolded. Tim had stared through the other, trying to find the words to reassure his father it had all been a misunderstanding.

However, none came out, and after a short while, his father had stormed out, refusing to visit him again in the following days.

Tim didn’t blame him, between the confused visions at night and the agonising pain during the day, it was a wonder his mother bore it, and each night as she left him to get her own rest, she whispered a prayer as her lips pressed against his forehead.

Sir Jason was the only person who attempted to converse with him, seemingly promoted to his personal guard for his heroism. He didn’t seem to expect a response or any apologies, and had insisted he not thank him when Tim had attempted to in a moment of clarity.

“You should try getting some sleep with the afternoon sun, Your Highness.” The knight suggested, after the servants had collected his barely touched lunch. “If not for your own sake, then for her majesty’s. Roulet said she was beside herself as she left you.”

The knight was right; what mattered was his mother’s peace. A peace that had been interrupted by the consequences of his indulgence. He could only imagine the discussions his parents were having when she joined his father each night, the Prince Consort likely demanding an end to all of this foolishness.

“I want…” What did he want? To leave these apartments, which suffocated him. To have the ability to stand and take a few steps unaided. To not fear that he’d relive Antoine’s foiled assassination attempt any time he shut his eyes for more than a few minutes. He wanted to relive a happier time. “The chapel, can you take me?”

The chapel would be safe, away from the people of the royal court, and the priest would only provide him counsel if he asked. It was an escape of sorts, one that would offer comfort even if he was restricted to a cold, wooden pew. “You will have to take your chair, the physician said you should stay off your-”

“I know. I don’t have any pride left to care.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but Sir Jason seemed to have heard him, stepping over to the bed he’d hardly considered moving from all morning.

Tim grimaced as he shifted himself to the edge of the bed, his leg catching in the mess of blankets. If it took a good deal of pain to get himself out of this room, then so be it. Sir Jason wasn’t going to allow him to walk, and he wasn’t sure he could, but despite the lack of sleep, it was the clearest his mind had felt since Antoine’s dagger had tipped his chin to the heavens.

Pain shot up his body as Sir Jason lifted him, the minimal support the soft bed offered him gone as the knight took slow, careful steps towards the chair. The slow pace almost made it unbearable, each deliberate step sending another shot of pain through him.

He knew the knight was trying to be careful with him, it seemed even the newest of soldiers were aware of his fragility. The Knight’s care at least seemed to be out of more than just pity. Although he suspected it wasn’t just out of a sense of duty.

The true reasoning he couldn’t place.

“Let me get you a blanket,” Sir Jason said, mostly to himself as he placed Tim in the chair. The prince pushing himself up on the armrests to scoot further back in the chair. His expression must have given his discomfort away, the Knight letting out a soft sigh as he draped the blanket over Tim’s lap. “Perhaps you should see the physician for some relief instead.”

“And be told to rest in bed?” Tim said, forcing out a laugh. He couldn’t keep doing this; the visions at night were already overwhelming, but to be caged during the day as well, it was hurting rather than helping.

Wouldn’t help him separate the evil at the corners of his vision from the reality in front of him. “I see your point, but-”

“The teas and tonics aren’t working; if I could sleep, I would have by now,” Tim snapped, cutting the other off. He couldn’t listen to the other telling him it was for the best to follow the physician's orders. The orders of a man who seemed more interested in taking his leave than understanding the source of pain.

Sir Jason couldn’t understand; he’d grown up to become a knight, and he didn’t deal with the agonising days when breathing felt like a chore or the good days when one false step sent him tumbling down.

Since Antoine died, it had only been bad days, and it seemed impossible that the nights would improve despite the bruise on his hip slowly healing. “Every time it gets dark, I smell his blood,” the prince confessed, the soft-spoken statement hanging in silence for a few moments before the chair creaked as Jason gripped the handles.

Neither one spoke as Jason steered him through the palace halls, very few onlookers getting the chance to spare a glance at him. Only one noblewoman dared to ogle him before whispering behind her fan to her companion.

Tim’s played with the blanket draped over his lap, toying with the frayed edge. The old woollen blanket had been left at the summer palace many years ago, one he’d kept on his bed every night, no matter the weather.

Except one year, he’d left it, been bundled into the carriage with his Governess, and by the time they’d reached the winter castle, he’d forgotten about it. The prince had only cried for it once that winter, amidst a tantrum that had been unresolvable until he wore himself out.

Tim found it odd how it had found its way back to him. Plucked from a pile of blankets to help him make his way to the chapel, to provide him privacy, or at least that was the intention. There was no way the knight could have known he’d find comfort in it. The feeling between his fingers soothed his nerves as they entered the chapel.

Tim held his breath as Jason pushed the doors open, waiting for some sign of God’s rejection as he was slowly pushed down the aisle.

“The priest?” Jason asked once he set Tim down in the front pew.

Tim shook his head, he hadn’t come here to sort through his thoughts with a priest. He’d come for breathing space, to not be stuck in a bed while also avoiding others. To not allow anyone to see how broken he was.

Even if it wasn’t obvious just by looks alone.

His eyes wandered down to the blanket again, taking a corner in each hand and stretching it out. As a child, it had always seemed so big, covering his small body and wrapping around him twice over; now, it barely stretched across his wingspan—the vibrant maroon from years ago a distant memory.

Tim flipped the blanket over his head, bringing his arms together to wrap it around himself. He couldn’t help breathing in as he pulled the blanket towards his face. Despite the colour fading, it still held the scent of the rosemary and lavender oil spilled on it over a decade ago.

The scent of oil had clung to everything it had touched for years, used as a pain relief at night for the first few years after he’d hurt his hip, lulling him into a slumber with ease even when he was particularly moody and fighting every suggestion his Governess dared to put forth to him.

********************

“I can’t trust he’ll be safe here anymore.” The urgent sound of his mother’s voice pulled Tim from his slumber, blinking slowly as he got his bearings.

He couldn’t be sure how he ended up curled up on his side on the pew, but it was a small blessing that Jason hadn’t taken it upon himself to move him. If the guard had proven himself to be one thing, it was respectful of his wishes.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I should have sent a servant, it was thoughtless to not alert you after he requested-”

“You’re blameless, boy, and he seems to be resting. From what I’ve been told, that has been a challenge.” His father’s frank tone was far clearer than his mother’s. If he’d needed a reason to stay on his side pretending to rest, the Prince Consort’s presence was the perfect one, he didn’t need his father to berate him for his silence a second time, no matter how unbecoming sleeping in the chapel might seem. “Has he said anything about what happened before you dealt with the attacker?”

“No, Your Highness. He doesn’t discuss the events of that night with me.” That wasn’t entirely true, but Tim couldn’t help appreciating Sir Jason’s silence; he hadn’t said anything to the other directly, but the knight had caught him talking to himself a few times.

Mostly at night, when the shadows by the fire morphed into creatures determined to make him watch the events unfold over and over again.

“That’s enough of that, Jack. There will come a time when he is ready.” Tim doubted his mother was right, he’d never found himself up to talking about his fall. The incident had been purged from his mind, having more sense at 8 than 20 to forget what had happened to him, no matter who plagued him with questions.

In an odd sense, it had unburdened him, freed him from the interests of the nobles, even if it kept him isolated. “He is to be King one day, Janet. The sooner he speaks on it, the sooner we will be able to put this mess behind us.”

Of course, his father wished for him to forget, but Jack had always been consistent in that regard. Lingering on uncomfortable memories was for dreamers who believed they could solve the world without action in his eyes. Anything to ignore his own indiscretions and force others to move on from them.

Tim pulled the blanket close to his face, inhaling the rosemary and lavender scent. There was no forgetting either event, not truly; his body certainly remembered the accident, and his mind seemed determined to force him to relive Antoine’s death. “If I may, Your Majesty, you could send the Crown Prince away from court, if safety is an ongoing concern. It would give him time to convalesce away from what happened.”

The knight knew how to say the right things to pull at his mother’s heartstrings. The Queen wasn’t one to let go of her only heir willingly unless a situation called for it; she’d been determined to keep him under her wing from the moment he was born. At points, it felt oppressive, preventing him from expressing an opinion that wasn’t hers, but just as often it had been a comfort he’d indulged in.

So long as his mother was alive and well, he’d be safe from the scorn of the nobles. “This is an opportune moment for Timothy to spend time in Gotham. Strengthen the alliance before the wedding,” his father grunted, sounding more impressed with himself than the knight as he tried to find a logical reason to have Tim sent away.

“It may also pose a risk,” his mother said softly, her tone suggesting she was searching for a reason to outright reject the notion that he leave her side. “You saw the blade, do you think it was a coincidence?”

There it was, the Queen’s reason she could latch onto to keep him at her side. He’d heard of it while sitting in on one of her meetings. Gotham had been far less stable than Bristol for decades, and the children of the King hadn’t helped that stability.

At least not until the birth of the new heir, solidifying Queen Tahlia’s foothold in Gotham and reaffirming the alliance between the house Al Ghul and the house Wayne.

“It’s been said, Gotham’s Queen is loyal to her family, however, I believe the boy was not acting on the orders of an enemy.” The knight spoke slowly, seemingly searching for the next word once he finished the last. He was careful with his words, just as he had been when he’d caught Tim in Antoine’s embrace.

“You’re careful with your words, it’s so unlike other knights your age. As though you’re hiding information.” His father’s stern voice cut through the brief silence, speaking as though he were capable of hearing his son’s thoughts.

“That isn’t to say there is no risk, I simply believe the boy acted of his own accord. There would have been many weapons collected as trophies in the war following Gotham and Bristol breaking their chains. It was my understanding that the Dufaux family had been instrumental in that war.”

Tim swallowed. The knight had a way with words, but had given away too much information. His certainty that Antoine acted on his own accord was suspicious in itself, without having the time to investigate him. Sir Jason had only left him for a few hours a day, and that seemed to be to get some sleep, more so than to further investigate what had happened.

His father would undoubtedly pick apart the knight’s phrasing about the war, a hard-fought independence barely 100 years prior. A war that their allies seemed to have forgotten when Gotham’s king married the Al Ghul heir.

The intention seemed clear to all of Bristol; only one kingdom valued their independence, and Gotham had willingly put the chain back around its neck. The marriage had almost been enough for his parents to break the engagement with Gotham’s princess.

“What was your name again, boy?” His father grunted.

“Jack, leave us, now.” His mother’s voice was stern, followed by the sound of his father’s retreat, not protesting his wife’s command, but if the bang of the chapel doors closing was any indication, his mother would hear about it later. Likely followed by an unending monologue about how they were putting too much trust in a stranger.

Tim didn’t exactly disagree. Sir Jason was a stranger. A nobleman’s son was one thing, but they’d given him a command that many loyal knights who’d served them for decades had never been offered.

If it weren’t for Antoine’s death, there’d be no making sense of it. “I hear the idle gossip of the guards and servants. They think we can’t hear them, just as we act like they don’t hear us. The prince isn’t a fanatic.”

A fanatic? That’s what they were saying about him? If those responsible for the talk could see him now, he was sure they’d be horrified. Only small children and the elderly might get away with sleeping through mass or falling asleep during their prayers.

Even the hungry looking for sanctuary in a church wouldn’t allow themselves to sleep in the pews. “I don’t consider the prince to be fanatical in his beliefs, and much of the talk about him would be dismissed if they paid more attention to his highness’s actions.”

Tim knew there’d been plenty of rumours about him since his accident, he’d gone from a calm mild mild-mannered child who was always at his mother’s side, sitting in on meetings, to being out of everyone’s sight for the better part of two years.

The only reports leaving his chambers were those of tantrums, which hadn’t fit the image of the prince they’d once known. Even Antoine had been cautious when approaching him, unable to hide his surprise when Tim spoke with ease. “Why do you think he wanted to come here, instead of the gardens?”

“Peace of mind?” The knight answered it like a question, showing none of the certainty that he had when stating he thought Antoine had acted alone.

“I can only hope.”

Tim sighed. He’d had enough; it was no use letting his mother talk to the knight about him while he was awake. “Maman?” He murmured as he pushed himself to sit up, keeping one hand on the blanket to keep it around him. Before he had the chance to turn his head towards his mother and Jason, she’d moved to his side, tear stains running rivers down her powder makeup. “Why were you crying?”

“You don’t need to worry, I’m just happy you’re doing better,” She whispered, as she pressed a kiss to his forehead, her hand cupping his cheek. It wasn’t the most elegant of lies, but he understood why she did it. It was easier to pretend they were happy tears rather than out of a fear that something had happened to him. “I’ll come visit you this evening, my sweet. Thank you again, sir.”

The knight offered a bow in response to her thanks, the Queen departing without so much as another word, leaving Tim to stare at the lone person left in the chapel as he rose again. “She’s worried about you not recovering.”

She was worried about more than that, Tim had heard as much. “They think something else will happen.”

“They do, but you and I both know that won’t be the case. All I did was offer my advice to help ease their concerns.” Concerns that were completely unfounded, but he had no ability to disprove without putting his life at risk.

He wouldn’t even dare call Antoine a friend to their faces lest they suspect he’d been sent to infiltrate the prince’s inner circle.

Not that there was a circle to begin with. “And your advice is to send me to Gotham?”

“How long- I wouldn’t be so bold as to share my opinion on where you go, but I do believe it takes longer to heal when you can still be confronted by the tragedy.” He didn’t speak right for a knight, even the best educated didn’t have the same way with words that Sir Jason had.

Without the armour, one might confuse him for a scholar, or perhaps a privy council member. He was too sure of himself, even when he was trying to mask his thoughts as a wild guess.

The worst part was Tim found himself agreeing with the other.

********************

It took two weeks to arrange, but the suggestion in the chapel had determined his fate the moment the Kingdom of Gotham was brought up.

The weeks arranging the journey gave Tim’s body time to heal, even if his mind still struggled to separate his memories from what was unfolding in front of him. The blanket had continued to give him comfort, the mix of rosemary and lavender offering more security than Sir Jason ever could.

It had been the one thing he’d insisted on taking with him, keeping it on his person as the trunks were packed. If he were to sit in a carriage day after day, then he’d much rather keep it in his grasp. It was the only reason he’d been able to sleep in the weeks since Antoine’s death, another thing he’d failed to thank his guard for.

Something he found himself apologising to God for in his prayers each night.

“You won’t be riding?” Sir Jason asked as they slowly moved down the hall, the prince’s cane clicking on the stone floors.

Tim grimaced, shaking his head slowly. “I can’t.” Had no one explained to the knight that he couldn’t ride, it seemed so obvious that he’d barely be able to hold himself up on a horse for an extended period. Especially on the days his hip gave him trouble.

“It wouldn’t take long to teach you, Your Highness.” For all his intelligence, the knight couldn’t connect the dots, or worse, was fishing for the story as to why his injuries prevented him from riding. “A carriage would take more time than spending a day or two teaching you how to ride.”

A day or two, it would be funny if it weren’t so foolish. Even without the hip, if the other thought he had no experience, surely it wasn’t possible for him to be sufficient at handling a horse for a weeks-long journey in a handful of days.

Perhaps he needed to clear the air or clarify the extent of his injury. “No, I-” Tim stopped himself as they stepped outside, reconsidering in the moment what he might say. “We have to take the carriage, it’s safer.”

Just as it was safer for him to have six guards instead of four, and for them to not take paths that travelled through forest land.

Many decisions had been made to ensure his safety, even though it was set to extend the length of the journey by several days. Tim turned his head back to look at Jason, the other’s lips pressed into a thin line as he seemingly tried to come up with the words to say. “You can speak your mind,” Tim offered, curious to hear why Jason seemed so interested in his being able to ride.

“This journey seems unnecessarily long. Nevertheless, if at any point you need us to stop, let the driver know.” His tone was clipped, less at ease than he’d spoken to him in the weeks since Antoine’s death.

Tim knew he had to write it off as stress; it had been Sir Jason’s idea for him to be sent away, but the other had been tasked with certain arrangements, promoted to a captain in an instant, just because his mother trusted him and him alone with Tim’s wellbeing. It was enough to pity the man.

********************

The first two days of travel had gone smoother than Tim thought possible, except for Sir Jason; the other guards seemed content with the slow pace, one often riding ahead to ensure the paths were clear or to make arrangements for their next stop.

The first night, they’d filled up a small inn in a tiny village, the three rooms on offer barely able to house the men, despite Tim’s insistence that more than Jason could stay in the same room as him.

The offer had been quickly rebuffed, two of the guards claiming they’d spend the night sleeping at their table after they’d had their fill of ale.

Their second night offered a larger inn with a tavern built into the side of it, the loud chatter offering the party more anonymity than Tim was accustomed to. He slowly pushed the dregs of the stew he’d been provided in his bowl, eyes wandering the full tavern.

It was odd to be surrounded by commoners, who so loudly talked about their issues that the nobles would do their best to conceal, one man gruffly telling his companion the lambs he was raising had started behaving like his daughter’s pet goat, ramming their heads into any human they came across.

“You done?” Sir Jason asked, turning the prince’s attention away from the table he’d been watching, nodding slowly as the barmaid scooped up his bowl. “Would you like to retire to your room, Your Highness?”

“We can stay here, you should be allowed to enjoy yourself while you mind me,” Tim said, it was just as much for Jason’s benefit as his own. If he could spend a few hours watching the people of the village, existing as a nobody for the first time in his life.

They stood out due to their clothes, the iron armour worn in the castle traded for leathers, while Tim had disregarded his finery, the party looking more like a group of nobles rather than the Crown prince and his guards.

“Mind you? Like a Governess?” Tim laughed at the question, nodding slowly, without the obvious signifiers of their positions, it quickly became easier to talk to the knight, the remaining guards, he still found himself struggling, the wary looks whenever he spoke, as though if they spoke candidly, he’d demand they cut off a finger. “Taverns are different here, the drinking is the same, but none of the dancing or music.”

Tim tipped his head to the side, he hadn’t considered the lack of music odd. The tavern was just as loud as any ballroom, from the chatter of the townsfolk to the sound of glasses clinking together. “There’s plenty of dancing at balls, it’s the only time I’ve seen much of it. I wouldn’t have thought your village was different from other parts of the Kingdom.”

He regretted the second part of the statement as soon as it left his mouth, the knight looking taken aback. “Ah- my father liked me to interact with common folk, perhaps that’s the distinction.”

The prince let out a laugh, managing to cover his confusion at the statement. By his estimation, they were surrounded by commoners, but perhaps the cultural differences in other parts of the Kingdom were more stark than he thought. “If your father could see you now, would he be proud?”

The knight's face brightened at the question, shifting on the bench. “Immensely so, he wishes for me to act with honour, but most of all, he wants me to do something with myself that fulfils me.”

“And if you had decided to spend your days as a farmhand, he’d still be happy?”

Sir Jason snorted into his cup, placing it down before he’d managed to drink from it. “He would be confused. I’ve never shown a talent for growing grapes.”

So he came from a grape growing region, which meant his initial suspicion that the knight had come from the south of Bristol had been wrong; it was far more likely he was from the northeast, near the upper shared border with Gotham. “So you decided you were best suited with a sword?”

“I wouldn’t say that, just seemed wasteful not to utilise my training.” Sir Jason chuckled, his head snapping around at the sound of a table crashing to the floor, two men on their feet prepared to exchange blows. “Excuse me, Your Highness.” He murmured, rising to separate the men.

********************

God, his hip ached; the hours in the carriage seemed to be doing just as much harm as walking the journey had. The confined space did not allow him to stretch out. Tim drew the blanket around him up to his nose, inhaling the lavender and rosemary scent deeply.

It didn’t ease the ache, but at least it released some of the tension in his body. It had been five days, and they seemed to be making no progress. The villages and inns already started looking the same, and the journey wasn’t close to being half over.

Tim shifted towards the carriage door as it slowed to a stop, glancing out at the landscape, the sea of gold stretching out to the horizon. They were in Bristol’s breadbowl, which meant they’d taken a second detour to avoid The Pike, thick forestland they could use to cross directly into Gotham’s territory, however, the threat of the party being raided was deemed too great a risk.

The carriage door swung open moments after it came to a stop. Tim grimaced as he tried to stand, leaning forward to look out the carriage. “Excuse me, Sir.” He said softly, attempting to get the coachman’s attention, only for Sir Jason to appear at the door. “Could you help me up?”

The knight nodded, offering his arm for Tim to cling onto, slowly guiding him down. Tim allowed himself to lean into Jason, the other practically carrying him as he stepped out onto the ground. “Perhaps we should take more time to rest tomorrow,” he murmured as he stepped back from Tim.

More stops meant further delays, no matter what, he’d still be spending the same amount of time in the carriage. It was better that they reached the day’s destination earlier, then he’d have more time to work through his pain. “The sooner this journey is over, the better.”

“A few stops won’t extend us beyond a few hours, and if you need to stretch your legs throughout the day, you won’t hear any complaints.” The knight said, stretching into the carriage to take out his cane.

Tim nodded as he accepted the cane, one hand keeping the blanket around him while the other rested on his aide. “No one will complain because no one thinks they can,” he murmured.

“I think we both know that isn’t true. If you’re not wanting to take any longer, what if we-”

“I’m not riding.” Tim interrupted, two of the stable workers handling the horses looking towards them.

It was foolish to suggest, even if Tim hadn’t made it clear at the start of the travels, it was obvious Tim couldn’t handle riding for several hours. “It is not that, seating you on a horse would not help with your pain. We could reduce the size of the party, we would be more agile even with the carriage.”

Tim pursed his lips. It wasn’t an unreasonable suggestion; if they had fewer people, they’d draw less attention, and Jason seemed to think it would take less time. “How long until we reach the border?”

“At this rate? A week, and from there it will take another three days to reach the palace.”

Ten days, double the amount of time they’d already spent travelling, which meant if they returned to the summer palace, his mother would have more than enough time to send them back with a scolding letter addressed to him for disregarding his safety. But if it cut the journey down significantly, it might be worth it. “And if we had a smaller party?”

The knight sighed, nodding his head as he seemingly counted out the remaining stages of the journey. “We could save a day, however, that is dependent on circumstances.”

A day wasn’t worth it, not with the risks associated or his mother’s anger when she got hold of him. If they stayed with the current size, it wouldn’t increase the burden on each of his guards. “We should stay with the current party size.”

********************

He couldn’t be sure who said it, a half-joking comment from one of the knights that the journey had gone too smoothly and they were going to run into nothing but trouble crossing into the Gotham border.

A comment they’d all laughed at in the moment, only for the party to be staring at a downpour they could scarcely see 10 feet in front of them. Tim frowned as he leant against the banister, watching his guards stare out the window. “We can’t go on horseback in this weather, let alone the carriage,” Corbin sighed, shaking his head, a few of the others grunting in agreement.

“Are there any estimations on how long this will take to pass?”

“Late this evening, but the later it stops, the longer it will take to dry, we might not be on the road again until well past noon tomorrow,” Jason said, fidgeting with his leather cuffs. The other looked irritated. Tim had already thought his own mood had soured as the summer storm rolled in, but Jason was more like a caged animal, his eyes not lingering on anything for more than a few seconds.

He’d passed no judgment as the other paced across the room as the storm rolled in an hour before dawn, the knight’s mood getting worse with every clap of thunder. “So we’re stuck here. Better a grand house than a tavern.” Roulet snickered, tapping Corbin’s chest with the back of his hand, earning a playful slap to the arm in response.

Tim couldn’t find himself agreeing, whilst the grand house and the lord’s family offered similar comforts to the palace, he struggled with their manners. At least at the taverns and inns, no one was playing games with him. If they wanted to pick a fight, they’d do it, rather than trading back-handed compliments.

He didn’t feel like he had to hide any time he felt like reaching for his cane in a tavern; enough of the men in there reached a point of drunkenness that they used the walls and tables to stay upright.

It had been entertaining, each new place in the past nine days had brought him a new set of characters to observe, while the night before he’d been subjected to a party with all the nobles in the area, families throwing their daughters at him while Tim tried to politely decline their requests to dance.

The master of the house, the Lord Le Borgne, went so far as to attempt to scold him at one point, only to back down when Tim silently looked him up and down. The intent had been to figure out who was addressing him, the creatures at the edges of his vision threatening to drive him over the edge.

He’d managed to keep his composure, only confiding in Jason that he was still having trouble seeing things that weren’t there at night, the other quietly reassuring him that he understood it wasn’t resolving itself just by being away from the Bristol court. “I’m going to the stables, speak with Roulet if you-”

“Can I come with you?” Tim asked, cutting Jason off. The knight’s tired expression shifting ever so slightly to an amused one, nodding his head in the direction of the side exit.

The only issue reaching the stables was the rain, the coat Tim had grabbed in the entryway barely shielding him from the rain, the knight pulled him along by his forearm until they were inside.

Jason released his arm, sauntering over to his horse, clicking his tongue at the mare until she approached, bumping her nose against Jason’s shoulder, earning a laugh from the knight. Tim hung back, leaning against one of the stalls, leaning away when he caught the horse's attention.

The knight didn’t miss the action, his eyes burning into Tim, making the prince want to flee around a corner so that he was hidden from the other. “Are you… Do you not ride because you’re scared of horses?”

Tim shook his head, taking a half step away from the stall as the horse brushed against him. “No, it’s not the horse.”

“You’re scared of me?”

Tim hadn’t expected that; he’d thought he’d made it clear that he appreciated the role the other had been forced into since Antoine’s death, that they were able to confide in one another. “No, I- You’re quite charming, it’s more a reminder of pain.”

Jason was beyond charming when he wanted to be, and Tim had caught himself staring at the other on more than one occasion as Jason rode alongside the carriage. At least in the taverns, he could distract himself by watching the strangers around them, rather than waiting for moments when he might catch Jason smiling. “You can ask another knight to be your guard, I won’t be offended.”

“I don’t trust them,” Tim sighed. He wasn’t explaining himself properly; speaking about two things at once would only confuse the both of them. “The pain is the horses. I’m not holding you responsible for any pain.”

“Can you explain?”

It felt impossible that the other didn’t know; everyone seemed to know parts of the story. Lady Le Borgne had made her knowledge of his unfortunate accident clear to everyone the night before. “I almost died falling from a horse,” Tim sighed, stepping over to Jason, keeping just enough of a distance between himself and the mare so that she couldn’t brush against him.

There were only so many ways he could put it without the other pitying him.

He didn’t need Jason’s pity, he needed the other to see that he wasn’t a total weakling. “I was eight when it happened, I was allowed to go on my first hunt and my horse… I don’t remember the day all that well, but what I have been told my horse broke its leg and I was thrown from it.”

The start and end of his attempts at hunting, an endeavour he didn’t even remember being all that interested in in the first place. He remembered wanting to spend more time with his father and enjoying riding the pony he’d had previously, but he didn’t remember why his parents had allowed him to go on the hunt. “And that’s why your hip-”

“Yes, I broke my hip and leg on the landing. It took me a month to wake up, and my hip didn’t heal correctly. Everyone thought there was something wrong with me beyond the injuries when I woke up because I struggled to talk for months, and when they tried to teach me to walk again, I’d cry. I know that for a time, I had a lot of tantrums.”

It was surprisingly easy to talk about with Jason, after years of trying to avoid acknowledging what had happened. Now he had a far worse event to try and suppress, one that was his own making. “You were just a boy, having a fall like that would bring lifelong pain to most adults,” Jason whispered, a gentle hand coming down on his shoulder, the small squeeze offering additional comfort. “You know there isn’t anything wrong with you.”

Tim bit his lip. He couldn’t agree with that statement, he couldn’t blame the accident for what was wrong with him, but he couldn’t pretend that the church and the court wouldn’t declare that all the punishments he’d received were penance for his nature.

The only remaining person who knew was Jason, and he’d struck down the other. “You know what he was to me, you don’t find that to be wrong?” He asked, meeting the knight’s gaze, searching for the same hint of disgust he’d seen in Antoine’s eyes that morning Jason had caught them together.

“No, I don’t,” Jason said softly, squeezing his shoulder a second time. “Truthfully, I think it’s quite natural.”

********************

The rain had eased shortly after tea, the grounds still soaked with rain from the summer storm, and the near black clouds still hanging low, threatening to spill and delay their escape from the Le Borgne estate further.

Tim couldn’t get out of there soon enough, retreating from the unsettling nobles and hiding himself away at the first chance he could. Anything to avoid their ire.

Each word that passed from the lord or lady’s lips spat more venom than a rattlesnake, infecting his mind until Tim forced himself to set his cup down and take his leave. If they had been interested in raising their station in his or his mother’s lifetime, they’d failed, the intention behind each turn of phrase seemingly to convince him that they could see just how incapable he was.

That his mother’s time would soon come, and he’d need the support of a family like theirs. As they’d never degrade themselves to be associated with anyone common.

The prince hadn’t said a word as he left, the lord and lady whispering to themselves as he stepped out, lingering in the hall for a few moments as he tried to figure out where he could squirrel himself away.

The rooms that had been set aside for him were out of the question; at some point, they’d send a servant, or one of their children, for him. They’d as good as promised it, and a different sitting room wasn’t any better.

Tim chewed his lip, staring at the side door Jason had led him through earlier. No one would think to look for him on the grounds, and he’d been able to move about unaided for a few days now, but if the rain started again, he’d be caught, and the Le Borgne’s would be able to delight in whatever fever he contracted.

Still.

It was better than allowing any member of that family to corner him.

All it took was a few steps outside to reconsider his decision, the dark clouds even more menacing than they’d looked from the window. The prince sighed, half turning back towards the house before his eyes landed on the stables.

No one would think to look for him there.

He slipped through the stable doors silently, staring into a few of the stalls, each horse just as disinterested in him as the last.

Just as he liked it.

Tim let out a small sigh, using the wall of the stalls to slowly slide to the ground, resting his forearms on his knees. He just needed to get through the night, one more night with this rotten family, and he’d never have to think about them again.

He certainly wouldn’t send for them when he returned to court.

The sun kissed the horizon when the stables’ doors opened again. Tim turned his head, expecting to see one of the stablehands under the Le Borgne’s employ, his sour expression shifting to a small smile as Jason stepped through. “I didn’t think I’d find you here, I’m sorry if my words caused offence earlier, Your Highness.” The other said, wearing a half smile as he approached.

Offence? He could hardly see how his reaction to Jason’s comments earlier was that of offence. Tim had awkwardly tried to move the conversation onto something else, anything to shift his mind away from the weight of Jason’s hand on his shoulder.

The knight had been so nice to him when he wasn’t required to be. “It wasn’t you, it was-” Tim nodded his head in the direction of the house, they might have tried to come up with creative ways to call him crippled and undeserving of his title but he couldn’t allow himself to speak ill of them, at least directly. “And no one’s here, you can call me Tim.”

Jason let out a laugh, offering a hand to pull him up, which was swiftly knocked away. “Our hosts are rather uncouth, it’s no surprise they have complaints that they aren’t invited to court.”

It was an apt description for them, their lack of grace came out in a variety of ways over the course of the past two days. “They hold such horrible thoughts about me, and yet they’ve directed their daughter to seduce me. Supposedly, she’ll be joining me in my rooms following dinner.”

It hadn’t even been an offer, more a direction that she’d be joining him, with all parties knowing the implication. It had been Tim’s final straw, thankfully not allowing himself to dignify the suggestion with a response.

They could do what they wanted, he wouldn’t be found in his rooms for more than a few minutes before they set off for the border. “People will do anything for power they don’t have, Tim.” Jason sighed, shaking his head, looking far less amused than he had when he’d entered.

Although his initial reaction was likely a mask for worry that he had disappeared. It had to have been an hour or two since anyone had last seen him, and if they had discreetly begun a search to find Tim, then it explained the look of concern that the knight was attempting to mask.

“Worry not, with the weather clearing early, we’ll be able to leave a few hours after dawn.” Jason offered his hand again, the unspoken message that they were to return to the house loud and clear.

Tim swatted it away again, turning his head away from the other.

It wasn’t becoming of a prince to act like this, he knew as much, but he couldn’t will himself to push away his distaste for their hosts. “You don’t wish to go back in.”

Tim shook his head, not if they were going to continue their torment or come good on their threat. “I’d rather sleep in the stables than have someone-”

“Stay here, I’ll fix this.” Jason interrupted, his voice soft, but his expression had shifted to the same stern expression he’d worn when directing the other guards to break up a brawl at a tavern half a week ago.

The other didn’t offer any further explanation before leaving his side, leaving him to the sound of the horses sleeping in their respective stalls.

There was nothing Jason could do to fix things; the Le Borgnes would always be who they were, and they would hardly stand for a knight dressing them down. They hadn’t even allowed the guards to eat at the same table as them, seemingly deeming them unworthy.

Despite Bodin and Roulet both having uncles on his mother’s privy council. They were all second or third sons of noble houses who possessed just as much wealth, they were young men who wished to carve a path for themselves.

Bodin had been the most forthright with his reasoning, spinning a tale about his Grandfather’s glory over dinner one night and his decision to follow in his footsteps following his death. The relatively sincere story had ultimately been cut off by the antics of the other guards, with Corbin drunkenly sobbing into his cup after a woman rejected him.

They’d all proven themselves to be wild in their youth, despite being far more honourable than he was. Only Jason had seemed to stick out amongst them, trying his best to entertain their jokes but more often than expected having a blank look across his face when they amused themselves with stories of their youth.

Tim had reasoned it was due to the other not growing up around the court, or at least not around family members who spent large parts of their year away from their grand estates, with the royal court.

No more than a few minutes passed before Jason returned, looking far more at ease than he had moments before. “There’s an inn about a half mile down the road. Do you think you can walk that far?”

An inn, one that would offer privacy despite the noise, an escape from their horrendous hosts. Tim took the hand offered this time to pull himself up. A half mile wasn’t a tall order by any means, at least in his current state, but as it got darker, there were bound to be risks.

Risks that the knight seemed confident he could handle, otherwise, he wouldn’t suggest making their way on foot. “I’ll manage,” Tim said, releasing the hand after a little longer than he should have. “Where you calling off the search?”

“No, well yes, Corbin and Roulet snuck into the inn rather than stomaching the ball. I was enquiring with Corbin how far away it is. He didn’t recommend sleeping in the stables either.”

Tim snorted. That explained why they looked worse for wear in the morning, and the exchange about it being better to stay in the house than the inn. They’d likely spent half the day sleeping off the night before.

Making it off the grounds had been relatively simple, neither one speaking until they were on the main road. Tim kept his mouth shut in case he said something that implied he was doubting the decision to leave.

Making it to an inn on foot was far superior to sitting through another meal with the lord and lady Le Borgne, let alone whatever they had planned for him once they’d finished their meal.

“The rest of the party will meet us at the inn with the horses in the morning, we should be able to cross the border into Gotham before we stop again.” Only one day until they were out of Bristol, only to return when his mother sent for him.

One day until he fell under the protection of Gotham’s King.

Who could deem his guards to be a threat and send them away once they reached the palace.

At worst, he only had four more days with his guards.

If what he’d heard was true, Gotham’s King wouldn’t be so cruel as to send them away, but he couldn’t be sure. The man had been considered rather eccentric at times and air-headed at others. “Not long until I meet the illustrious King Bruce,” Tim said, smirking as he stepped into a puddle, the dirty water splashing forward.

“You’ve never met him?”

“I have never left Bristol,” Tim said with a shrug, trying to remember if Gotham’s King had travelled to Bristol in his lifetime. “I believe the only time he came, and not one of his many proxies, was right before my fall. I have no memory of meeting him during that time, however.”

He knew he’d been sheltered from the world, not only following his injury but prior to it. Kept away from many scandals of court, his mother only selectively divulged information she thought to be relevant.

He’d been nearing his eighteenth birthday when his mother first told him he’d been a sickly baby, coming weeks earlier than any physician had expected. The story only told after a particularly painful week where Tim had voiced his wish that he’d been allowed to die after the fall.

The Queen tearfully telling him he’d fought to stay alive since birth, and she wouldn’t permit him to give up. It hadn’t done anything to fix his pain or resolve his feelings, but he’d avoided voicing such thoughts from that moment on. “That’s interesting, and you’re betrothed to his daughter?”

“Princess Cassandra, we’ve written to each other a few winters back, she seems… It’s hard to tell a lot about a person from their writings, but she seems to have a sensible disposition.” They’d barely exchanged a dozen letters between them, largely descriptions of their respective countries and the beauties they’d seen.

Tim had found it hard to discern anything about her in the process, offering no real attachment to her homeland or showing any interests. Even her descriptions of the landscapes had been without passion, simply stating what she saw.

Something only someone with a sensible nature would share, or one that was attempting to portray themselves as such. “You don’t think you can know someone without meeting them?” Jason asked, now sounding more interested in the conversation.

All of his guards had proven themselves to be gossips, sharing what they could discern from the villages they’d passed through, and what they’d overheard in taverns. Creating their own nightly scandal sheet to go through with great amusement, an endeavour Jason had all too willingly indulged in so long as it remained frivolous.

“It’s easier to hide parts of your character in the written form, I assume that’s why many women seem to publish their works under a male name.”

Jason let out a laugh, tipping his head to the cloudy night sky as he thought. “I wouldn’t say women do that to hide their character, perhaps some do, but they may not wish for their thoughtful works to be disregarded as silly love stories. Do you believe you hid things you could have shared in your letters to the princess?”

Of course, he had; he’d made no effort to mention his injury or the unvarying faces of Bristol’s court. He hadn’t spun stories about a great adventure he wished to have; everything had been truthful, even as he concealed what he suspected she’d find shameful.

“Yes, it hasn’t all been intentional but it’s challenging to work into a letter about-” It had only taken a second, his foot landing a little too heavily in a puddle, the mud squelching beneath him and when he went to pick it up his body went forward while his foot stayed in it’s place.

Sending him face-first into the mud, his arms not reacting in time to stop his whole body from being covered in mud. “Are you hurt?” Jason asked as he pushed himself up on his elbows.

Tim couldn’t help laughing. How ridiculous he must look, the Crown Prince of Bristol falling into a puddle in the dark of night. “No, I’m…” Tim’s laughter fell silent as he glanced around, the edge of his vision shifting.

No, this couldn’t be happening.

He couldn’t let his cheery mood be spoiled by creatures that weren’t there.

They weren’t… “I ah, c-can you get me…” He didn’t even have to finish the request before an arm was hooked around his midsection, his savi- Jason plucking him out of the mud and setting him down on more stable ground.

Tim blinked, once, twice, a third time as he tried stretching out his side, no pain, just his mind betraying him. “Can you still walk?”

The prince pursed his lips. he was certainly capable of walking, but if this was to get any worse, he’d need his… he’d need Jason to turn them back around. “Mhm, how much further?”

“Not much, hold my arm for support.” He didn’t need to hold onto the other to make it the remaining distance, but Tim didn’t reject the offer, gripping the other’s forearm as he tried to shake off the creeping feeling that he was bound to lose himself at any moment.

He just needed to focus on other things, the growing light in the distance, how wet his clothes were, the foul taste in his mouth from water splashing up into it as he hit the ground.

He must have looked foolish, getting his foot stuck and falling.

Almost as though the ground had opened, a hand wrapping around his foot and- Tim let out a soft hiss to silence the thought. It couldn’t finish if he didn’t allow it, and if he could make it to the light not fifty feet away, he’d be able to bear the humiliation of his state. “Almost there,” Jason whispered, patting his hand.

The hand lingered over the top of Tim’s for a moment too long, just as the hand on his shoulder had sat there for too long in the stables earlier.

Only withdrawn as they neared the inn, Tim retracted his own as he spotted two men standing by the entrance, faces hidden by the shadows. “You first,” Tim murmured, cringing as he wiped some of the mud off his face.

Jason nodded, stepping into the inn, the bustling chatter that had followed them into every inn and tavern on the journey just as lively as ever. “Are you boys alright?” A woman said, beckoning them over, a child on one hip as she flipped through the ledger in front of her.

“Ma’am, are there any beds left for the evening?” Jason asked, stepping over to the table, the woman stood by, Tim lingering behind in an attempt to hide the filth he was coated in.

“You’re friend looks like he could use more than a bed.”

Jason turned back towards him at the statement, giving him the once-over before laughing. “You’re right, he’ll need to bathe too.”

The innkeeper seemed to be just as amused by the statement, the child on her hip giggling along with Jason. “Have you got money?”

“I do, and we’ll have company to break fast in the morning, so there will be additional payment as penance for the mess he’s already caused,” Jason said, withdrawing the coin purse from his waistband and offering a few pieces of silver to her.

“Second floor, third door on the right. You’ll have to heat your own water, and don’t let him sit on anything until he’s clean.” She said, dropping the coins into the front of her apron. “We heard the Lord Le Borgne was hosting a royal party, you two coming from there?”

There was no doubt who the source of that rumour was; Corbin and Roulet had likely told anyone who would listen how miserable they found the ball to be, possibly going as far as to brag about the journey.

“More or less, thank you, ma’am.” Jason chuckled, nodding for him to head to the stairs, the pair bursting into a fit of laughter once they reached the stairs.

Tim allowed himself to use the banister to help him up to the second level, Jason two steps behind, no doubt waiting for him to trip a second time. The prince was making a deliberate effort to pick his feet up higher than necessary.

Third door on the right, he told himself as they reached the landing, keeping his eyes forward as he stepped down the corridor, the floorboards creaking under their feet. If he were any more unlucky, one of the boards would break and he’d fall through the ceiling.

His governess had once whispered that bad luck comes in threes; the storm certainly counted as one, and he’d warrant his falling in the mud was a second. Two oddly benign but unlucky events, which meant the third could only be something punishingly absurd.

Tim stopped at the door, his hand trembling ever so slightly as he reached for the handle. There was nothing to fear, it was just an ordinary room. The few pieces of silver Jason handed over, offering them not only a bed and fireplace but a writing desk in the limited space they had on offer.

It was by no means the nicest room they’d stayed in, but it offered enough comforts that they’d be able to recover while waiting for the others to join in the morning. “You don’t look like you’re all there,” Jason murmured as he brushed past the prince, picking up the kettle that hung by the fireplace. Testing the weight before hanging it over the fire.

“I’m cold,” Tim confessed, picking at his still-wet trousers.

The other smiled, lowering his gaze as he shook his head. “We’ll be able to do something about that, but you may want to remove a layer or two, give them time to dry before morning.”

Given the circumstances of how he met Jason, Tim knew it was irrational to feel bashful at the suggestion he remove his clothes in front of the knight. He had to get cleaned up, and the only way to do so would include undressing himself at some point, but between the lingering touches and the affection he felt towards the other, he couldn’t help the shame that crept up on him.

Maybe that was why he turned away from the other, unbuttoning his jacket. “Where will you sleep?” He asked, previous inns had provided a cot, or they’d been sure to order rooms with multiple beds. But without the foresight, they were stuck with the singular bed, and he was sure Jason would reject the idea of them sharing.

If he hadn’t known about his interest in men, he’d have few qualms about sharing the bed, beyond it being undignified for a prince. But despite Jason’s claim, he thought his preference was natural. Tim suspected it was only said in an attempt to comfort him, rather than a genuine feeling.

“I can sleep seated, well, I can sleep just about anywhere, but on a chair by the door will be best.”

He was right, it made the most sense, giving him a clear view of the small window whilst also forcing anyone that might enter to get past the knight before they could reach the prince. It was the safest option for Tim’s sake, even if he found himself feeling wounded by the suggestion.

He didn’t even know how he was going to be able to sleep, from the creatures threatening him at the corners of his vision to the lack of the comforts his belongings offered. It made more sense for Jason to take the bed. “You should take the bed, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.” He sighed, placing the jacket on the table before making work of his shirt, letting out a yelp as Jason grabbed his arm.

“Are you seeing… shadows again?” The other whispered, pulling him towards the fire, seemingly unaffected by the flush that had spread across Tim’s cheeks and neck in an instant.

The prince swallowed, tempted to deny anything was amiss. The other had assumed his hesitation getting up had been due to him hurting himself, and had let him take his arm because he’d made it look like it was hard to walk. Yet he was asking about the monsters that crept up on him at night. “I-I was, but I believe they’ve stopped now.”

They had to have, he’d managed to squash the thoughts that came with the creatures, and nothing lingered at the edge of his vision.

Nothing he could acknowledge, at least.

“You’ll get past it, or find peace with it at least.” Jason sighed, turning towards the fire.

What peace was there to find? It was his selfish nature that had gotten Antoine killed; if he’d made one of a dozen different choices, the other would be alive. He might be a stranger, but he wouldn’t be in a pauper’s grave while his father sat in a cell.

If he’d just said something to convince his mother that the Lord Dufaux had no part in the assassination attempt, then he would have one thing off his conscience.

“He wouldn’t have died if I’d told him to leave that morning, or if I’d rebuffed him the first time. How do you move past that?” Tim asked, rubbing his neck. If any reasonable person knew the truth, they’d blame him.

They’d also have him put to death for his sins, but they’d say he alone was responsible.

That he’d driven Antoine to take such an extreme course of action.

“Find someone else to love?” Tim frowned at the suggestion, his expression a mixture of disgust and confusion. “Or someone else to share your company with.” He hadn’t loved Antoine.

He knew that much.

It was an interest in the other, a desire for companionship, but it hadn’t been love.

Hell, he held more affection in his heart for-

Tim shook his head slowly, shedding his shirt. “I don’t wish to frequent brothels for my satisfaction,” he sighed, turning to face Jason, the other still staring into the fire. “If I were to be with another, I would- I still require friendship, and trust.”

Tim’s eyes followed Jason as he picked up a cloth and reached into the fireplace, gripping the kettle’s handle around the fabric and carrying it towards the end table containing a basin and cloths. “Do you think you could ever trust another after what he tried to do?” The knight kept his back turned to him as he spoke, the tension across his shoulders evident to even Tim.

He didn’t need it spelled out to him, even if the half-hearted idea burning out just as quickly as it presented itself to him didn’t sting. Jason knew how to talk, knew how to convince others of an opinion whilst hiding his true intent.

“In time,” the prince mumbled, turning to the fire. Listening as Jason poured the contents of the kettle into the basin.

His father’s philosophy of forcing oneself to move on had sounded right for half a second, because it was Jason he’d allowed himself to consider moving on with. Because Jason had stated he was open-minded when the silence that hung between them proved he wasn’t.

“It’s -ah, not as hot as you might like, but you should be clean,” Jason said softly, returning to his side, the kettle returning to its original hook with a thunk as the metal collided with the brick of the fireplace. “I’ll order us some meals while you bathe.”

Tim nodded slowly, listening to the other’s footsteps followed by the door closing before he let out a shaky breath.

He really was a fool.

There’d been no true show of interest from the other, and he’d made an offer to the other, indirect as it might be, Jason understood him, would have known what he’d tried to say while keeping his guard up.

When he spoke on one matter, the other always seemed to understand.

Tim stepped over to the basin, dipping his hand into the warm water. It wasn’t the bath he needed, but it would have to do.

The prince worked slowly, dragging the wet cloth across his skin before dunking it in the water again, making sure to catch every speck of mud that had soaked through his clothes and onto his torso, taking a second to clean off his face.

Jason returned as he was picking mud out of his hair, strands caught between the folds of the cloth. “There’s a nightshirt on the bed; the innkeeper was quite concerned you might try to sleep in your muddied clothes,” Jason said, his voice just as stilted as Tim expected it to be.

He’d ruined it, any friendship that had developed ruined by his indirect attempt to tell the other he’d be interested in him.

They’d both allowed a door to be opened, and Tim had foolishly tried to run through it without considering Jason’s true intent.

Taking the remaining dry cloth, Tim wiped himself down, turning to the knight. He certainly looked uncomfortable, even if Jason wouldn’t ever tell him if it was true, holding three bowls, two likely containing whatever stew the inn served, and the third a few rolls of bread.

He couldn’t say he had the appetite for a meal, but the other would likely question him if he refused.

Tim made it halfway through the bowl of stew before he set it aside, picking the nightshirt up off the bed and pulling it over his head. He’d managed to keep his mouth shut through the meal, but the more he went over the exchange, the harder it became.

“You shouldn’t have lied.” He eventually said as he removed his trousers, draping them over the desk chair.

“Pardon?” Jason asked as Tim moved over to the fire.

The prince chewed at his bottom lip, watching as the flames clinging to twigs and offcuts licked at the charged log. “You said you didn’t think my inclinations were wrong, but earlier, your… reaction told me something different. You should have been honest.”

Jason’s bowl clattered to the desk, the remaining stew must have spilled out, judging by the string of curses the knight mumbled. “I didn’t lie or react. It is a natural inclination, doctrine can be wrong.”

Did the other not think the tension in his body had been visible? He’d seen it plain as day. “But it still disturbs you,” He sighed.

“No, I…” Tim bit his lip as Jason caught himself, of course, the other couldn’t deny it, not when he was being asked directly. “I have indulged in similar comforts.”

Tim turned, his mouth hanging open as he looked at Jason. If that had been true, then- “What happened?”

“He married, and I considered joining the priesthood.” He’d tried to run away, a reaction that didn’t fit the character of the man who stood in front of him.

Although the blush across Jason’s cheeks hardly fit his character, either. “Did your father stop you?”

“No, he understood,” Jason said, clearing his throat as he stepped over to the fire. “He had long thought I might become a scholar, the priesthood seemed like a logical leap.”

“But you became a knight.” A good knight at that, but it hardly fit with scholarly ambitions.

“And if I hadn’t, I would have continued to pine after a man who is very devoted to his wife.”

He wanted that, even if it wasn’t love, to feel devoted to another; it made far more sense to him than an intense but destructive love that so many seemed to write about. “I hope to be like that when I marry the Princess,” he confessed, turning back to the fire.

If he could devote himself to his future Queen, then he’d be able to be happy. He’d fulfil expectations and not have to look over his shoulder that someone might know what he was doing behind closed doors.

The infractions of his youth would become a distant memory, left to be forgotten. “You spoke highly of her, in your own way. You may find yourselves to be kindred spirits.”

Tim frowned. He hadn’t said much of anything about Gotham’s princess beyond that he assumed she was sensible. It was a compliment in a sense, but there were many maidens who would take sensible as derision, that it was their only redeeming quality.

He spared a glance at the knight, Jason’s jaw twitching as he seemed to wait for a response. “You wish to say more?”

The other nodded, letting out a sigh before he spoke. “A marriage between Royal Families is rarely a love match, it is always an alliance. Most look the other way once duty is fulfilled.”

Once duty was fulfilled, an heir and possibly a spare, God willing. How many Kings had taken a lover that went ignored by the court? Hell, if the stories were to be believed, Gotham’s King had a few famous affairs long before he ever married.

However, such affairs always subjected the wife of a King to scandal and questions about what she might be failing to do to satisfy her husband. “It’s not honourable,” Tim whispered.

“That depends on who you’re honouring.”

The statement caught the prince off guard, turning to face Jason, his mouth hanging open as he tried to come up with a response.

It couldn’t be honouring God, Tim knew that much, and it certainly wouldn’t honour his bride or his family. It was simply indulgence, without a shred of honour attached to it.

But Jason had said it so confidently, as though he believed it in the depths of his soul, that he could honour someone by indulging in attraction.

The knight’s lips were pressed against his own so suddenly that Tim felt himself tense, his hands flying up as if he could push the other away, only to grip the soft leather as he kissed the other back, a pleased hum escaping the prince.

It had been what he’d wanted earlier, what he’d tried to broach with Jason before, and yet it caught him off guard. The larger man pulling him closer, only to push him away in the next breath.

“Sorry,” Jason whispered, taking a backwards step, looking every bit as flushed as Tim felt.

How long had he been… Tim took a half step toward the other. It couldn’t have been an impulsive decision; everything Jason did seemed thought out, and yet the other seemed to shrink as he approached. “You’re fine, it was nice.”

Tim hoped he didn’t sound like he was pleading; the other had opened the door back up with the kiss, but he didn’t know if forcing it wide in an unfamiliar inn was the correct move.

The prince licked his lips, catching the look in Jason’s eyes as he watched the small movements.

There was no mistaking that look.

As unfamiliar with affairs of the heart as he might have been, he wasn’t so naive as to not recognise that kind of hunger when he saw it. “We can again if it would-”

Jason’s lips were on his before he could get the entire offer out, a firm hand resting on his jaw as the other kissed him, the other arm snaking around the prince’s back, practically keeping him upright.

Tim responded in turn, hooking his arm around the other’s neck, pulling Jason down to him, while his other hand gripped the knight’s arm, their bodies pressed together with ease.

It was unlike any kiss he’d had before, Jason’s intent clear even if he could feel the other was holding himself back, waiting for any sign that he was permitted to go further.

All it took was a soft hum for the knight to move, the thumb resting on his cheek sliding down to his chin, the firm pressure forcing his mouth open as Jason licked into it. Their tongue rubbing against one another.

The prince’s cock twitched under his nightshirt at the sensation, his hips jutting forward to press against Jason’s leg, chasing any little bit of friction. The action seemed enough for Jason to lift him off his feet, his thighs slotting on either side of the other’s hips, pushing the nightshirt up to his mid-thigh.

The kiss was only broken as Jason laid him down on the bed, a firm hand pressed against his chest to keep him down. Tim opened his eyes, looking up at the other. “I need you to be certain before we go any further,” Jason whispered, slowly withdrawing the hand on his chest. Tim nodded quickly. “No, think about it.”

Tim opened his mouth to retort he was certain. Why wouldn’t he be sure? He was the first one to attempt to suggest that they could be something more. If he offered to just continue as they were, he was sure Jason would oblige him.

He was asking if he wanted more.

To consider…

Tim swallowed, pushing himself up on his elbows. He wanted Jason, wanted him more than he’d ever wanted another, but he didn’t want a return to the paranoia, to the risk-taking that had ended in disaster.

Getting caught here would be far worse than in the palace.

But he wanted Jason.

He wanted the person who’d protected him from himself at every turn and was still trying to do so now.

“Yes,” Tim whispered. “I want you, I’m sure.”

His face fell as Jason stepped away from the bed. Had he not convinced the other of his certainty? Maybe it had just been a game to Jason, to see how desperate he was for affection.

To test the limits of his trust. It wasn’t hard to understand that Jason might think he was too damaged to be desirable. Indulging a kiss was one thing, but more…

It exposed a part of both of them that he likely wished to keep concealed.

The chair by the desk scraped against the floor, stopping sharply to his right, bumping against the wall. No, the door, the spot Jason had declared his resting place earlier.

So that was it? Jason could so easily dismiss the hunger Tim had caught in his eyes, even if it left him wanting more. “Enough of that,” Jason whispered, as the bed dipped, the firm hand returning to his chin, his eyes meeting Jason’s. “Just needed to make sure no one could get in without us knowing.”

Jason forcibly turned the prince’s head towards the door, the chair not only propped against it, but the back wedged under the handle. Tim smiled, the other understood him too well, anticipated his concerns and addressed them without needing to be told.

It made it so much easier to surrender his mind to his body’s desires.

********************

The bed was empty when Tim woke, his palm stretching across the fabric searching for the lingering warmth, smiling to himself when he found it.

He hadn’t intended for the night before to go that way when he’d hidden himself in the stables, waiting for the house to fall silent, but the prince couldn’t help feeling pleased with himself for indulging in a whim.

It had been so different, the guilt in the pit of his stomach that he was doing something wrong disappearing with each touch, allowing him to give in without hesitation. For the first time in weeks, he’d been able to sleep through the night.

He shot upright as the door opened, feeling his face flush as Jason entered. “You’re up? How do you feel?” The knight asked, offering him a hand.

“I missed sleeping like that, without one thing or another waking me up,” he said, letting himself be pulled up and out of the bed, tipping his head up to look at the knight. “Where did you go?”

“Just checking the halls, most people seem to have cleared out, which means the roads might have dried up.” So they would be able to reach the border before nightfall. Only a few more days until he’d be under the protection of Gotham’s King at least temporarily.

His mother would send for him to return before winter came; he was sure of it, but it would take longer than three weeks to reach the winter palace when she did. “Have the others arrived yet?” Tim asked, glancing down at the hand Jason was still holding.

Had he been doing this the whole time, or was it just because of the night before? “I am not sure, but we shouldn’t be responsible for further delays.”

“What do you-” He was cut off by a kiss pressed to the corner of his lips, for just long enough to leave him wanting more. “Again?”

They didn’t have the time, he knew as much, but it was so easy to give in to temptation, to ignore the voice that begged him not to make the same mistakes. “No, we’ll end up in bed all day if we allow that, and we already lost a day to rain.” Jason’s words said one thing, but their bodies said another. As the knight continued to pepper kisses across his face, an arm snaked around his back. “We should head down to break our fast in time for when the others join us.”

Jason was right, even if Tim didn’t want him to be. If they were caught together, it would give others reason to suspect what had truly happened with Antoine, especially with Jason’s insistence that he’d worked alone.

He couldn’t have predicted the feelings that seemed to have developed between them, couldn’t have known they’d end up in a similar position. “We can’t have too much excitement,” Tim finally agreed, stepping out of Jason’s reach, the other’s smile only growing as he shook his head.

“Dress yourself, then we’ll go down.” Tim rolled his eyes, padding across the room to his still dirty clothes hanging over the chair Jason initially proposed he’d sleep on. The mud had dried at least, even if it had left a strong stench. He’d need to find a way to change in the carriage, he couldn’t go on like this all day.

Five minutes later, the pair stood by the entrance as Tim picked at a dried chunk of mud on his trousers, trying and failing to hide his smirk as it flaked off, falling onto the wooden floor. “Your party arrived not long ago, Sirs. They seemed rather anxious to get a move on.” The innkeeper said as he approached, Corbin following a half step behind, the knight’s disinterested expression morphing into an amused grin when his eyes landed on the Prince.

Of course, his guards would get a laugh out of it, they’d likely all be disappointed to have missed his trip and fall. It would have dominated the dinner conversation until they reached the Gotham palace if more than Jason had seen it.

Hell, he was sure, Roulet would have started a contest between the six of them to re-enact it just as he had started many contests, forcing the others to imitate lords of the court they all seemed to despise.

“We’ve been travelling for too long, they’d like for the journey to be over,” Jason said, as Corbin cracked, covering his mouth with the back of his hand, the few tired patrons’ eyes turning towards them at the sudden fit of laughter.

“Well, we can sell you bread, cheeses, perhaps even some preserves might tempt you.”

“If it would please you to sell us some.” Jason held out the leather coin purse as he spoke, her eyes following each sway of the heavy sack.

It contained more than enough to feed every room in the inn for the next week and beyond, but with their journey starting to near its end, they could afford to indulge in a sweeter form of sustenance, rather than just the brown bread the guards seemed to eat throughout the day.

Anything the innkeeper had to say was cut off by one of the patrons approaching, roughly bumping into Tim, knocking the prince into the wall. “Bastard Prince, you don’t belong here.” The man grunted.

Jason’s jaw tightened at the statement, his attention still on the innkeeper. “What did you say?” Corbin snapped as Tim straightened himself. Fuck, he was going to be paying for that later.

“You heard me, that bastard belongs with his whore mother in the ground in Gotham.” Tim blinked. He’d caught wind of multiple rumours his mother had attempted to shield him from over the years, but the notion that he was a bastard with a Gothamite mother was a new one.

Anyone who could see him stand at his mother’s side would know they were mother and son, he would sooner have believed his father’s claim to parentage was in dispute. “Do you have any idea wh-”

“I’m not talking to the two of you.” The man grunted, turning to face them and nodding in Jason’s direction. “I’m talking to him, and the bastard knows it, just look at him.”

Tim’s eyes flickered from the man to Jason, his cold expression unwavering as he stared the man down.

No.

It couldn’t be true.

If it were true, then he’d…

Gotham’s king had three sons, two illegitimate but recognised sons, and one trueborn male heir, a long-awaited heir, as the daughter had been betrothed to the only heir of Bristol.

Two bastards, the younger just months older than his legitimate sister.

A loyal but dispensable child who could help compromise Bristol’s independence, who’d been given every bit of information to compromise its prince.

A son who could choose whatever path he pleased because he, above all else, had his father’s approval.

A wolf in sheep's clothing, who’d acted as a saviour but was far more sinister than any of the iron-clad monsters, who’d tricked an angel into trusting him.

If it were true, he was trapped. Jason knew far too much, and if he fought against crossing into Gotham at this late stage, he’d raise suspicion.

But it couldn’t be.

Such a plot was far too sinister for a Kingdom that had already agreed to an alliance.

“Jason?” He whispered, looking to the other for any sort of denial, a shred of amusement that might suggest the man was losing his mind.

Anything to dismiss the accusation.

Except no such sign came, instead, he handed the coin purse over to the innkeeper, not even looking in his direction as the stilted response came out. “We should set off, come, Your Highness.”

#jaytim #tim drake #jason todd #jaytimweek2025 #jaytim week #Confession this concept actually originated from a roleplay starter I used to have for a whole other fandom

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