#implied Prince Edwin/Servant Charles

[snippet-z]

Reposting this here to have it in one place. I also corrected (most of) the spelling errors if you even care

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Prompt: Royalty/Nobility AU

"You shouldn't be here," is what greets him when he comes to a measured halt in front of the iron bars. The sentiment remains incorporeal in the darkness of the cell, the moonless, cloudy night providing not a glimpse of light by sheer luck, or maybe divine intervention.

"Neither should you," he replies to the void, pulling the lockpicks from his pocket. Drugging the guards was easy enough, the old useless drunkards would down anything that smelled of alcohol, but stealing the keys felt a little too much like tempting fate; and he didn't need them anyway.

A scoff acompanies him as he touches at the bars, trying to feel for the lock. "It'll cost me my head if you get caught, you know," the voice sing-songs playfully, and it is so achingly familiar that for a mere moment, he feels like he might break down and cry.

"Your head is at risk either way if this doesn't work, so kindly shut up," he admonishes, but he cannot control how choked he sounds, the ball of dread in his throat swelling and suffocating him more and more with every passing second. He finally finds the lock.

A hand catches his before he can insert the lockpicks into the keyhole, moulding around his palm perfectly, as if the two of them were a matching set. "Edwin," the voice pleas, and that's more than enough to shatter the makeshift dam which was holding his tears at bay up to this point. He contemplates not looking up, but then again, this already feels too much like talking to a ghost -- and he doesn't want to think how close to the reality it is. So he looks up.

He cannot make out more than the silhouette in the darkness, a thin, razor-cut shape in the curtain of night, but he doesn't need light to be able to place all the missing features in right places - the almond-shaped eyes, the slope of the nose, the slight indent of the Cupid's bow which's taste he knows better than that of his favourite wine. No, he doesn't need anything, not when he's able to map out Charles's face with his eyes closed.

"My father won't harm me with Henry still missing in battle, he wouldn't risk losing a possible substitute when the crown prince is absent." The salt running down his face tries to glue his lips shut, but he soldiers on in spite of it, knowing that Charles needs to hear him even when the words escape him like startled songbirds. "I can't watch you die," he finally breathes out, and just like magic, the hold on his palm gives, and he can work the lock open.

It clicks softly when the latches fall in place, and jumps open easily, as if made of butter. He doesn't waste time, pulling at cell door, making sure it doesn't make a sound as Charles slips out. He closes it back, and then purposely drops the lockpicks right by it. He can feel Charles's confused look on him, so he just shrugs, hoping the movement registers in the dark. "For plausible deniability," he explains, entwining their hands together as Charles's knuckles brush his, "One can always blame the guards for not inspecting you thoroughly enough."

Charles snorts softly at that, letting himself be dragged along through the winding staircases and corridors. "You know I would've found the way myself, right? I've been a servant in this castle all my life, I probably still know more secret passages than you," he says at some point, light-hearted, and the tone of his voice makes some of the weight fall off his shoulders. "I know," he confirms, "But I need to make sure you're out safe. For myself."

Instead of taking another step forward, he stumbles back when Charles stops abruptly, pulling him into himself, their lips crashing together before a single thought can cross his mind. He doesn't hesitate to reciprocate, revelling in the way he now has to climb slightly to his tiptoes to better angle himself against Charles. His free hand needs no command as it buries itself in Charles's hair, pressing them impossibly closer together.

He wishes for then and there, just for a moment, that the two of them didn't have to breathe anymore, forever inseparable, living off of each other; but alive lungs burn and demand attention, and he lets go, breathless and flustered, hot breathes mingling in the sudden space between them. "Let's go," he whispers, taking a step back before he can make one more stupid decision under the cover of the night.

The treck under the castle is easy enough, twisting and turning, but quick if you know the way. They climb through the broken sewage crate, something he knows he should let the king know about in case of danger; unfortunately, the crack in the castle's defense keeps proving itself useful.

Marigold neighs softly when she sees them, and he shushes her and pats her flank before untying the reins from the rickety shrub by the passage -- more of a statement than an actual way of holding her down. He passes them to Charles, and in the now dim-light he sees his eyes widen in surprise. "She always liked you better anyway, he says by means of explanation, and kisses his cheek - for good measure, and because he can't help himself.

Charles doesn't protest when he mounts Edwin's horse, throwing his long leg over the saddle with ease, and whispering a greeting into the mare's ear, in a language Edwin knows he knows from his mother. The horse shakes her mane in delight, clacking her teeth and pawing at the ground, ready to go as if she knows she's about to experience freedom the likes of which she never felt before. It seems ridiculous, but Edwin can't help but feel jealous.

He takes the reins by her head, leading them away towards the less-known path through the forest, all the while battling his thoughts on whether he should speak up.

"What's going on in that beautiful mind of yours," Charles asks before he can make up his mind, once again proving that he knows him better than Edwin knows himself. He stops the walk, bracing himself for what he's about to do. When he turns to Charles, his gaze feels both searching and strangely understanding, as if he already knows what's about to happen.

"I know this is a lot to ask of you," he begins hesitantly, forcing himself to maintain the eye contact, "But if you were to find Henry, send him home... If my father gets his Crown Prince back-" his breath hitches again, the teacherous tears silencing him. He's about to turn away in shame, but a hand on his shoulder stops him, and although he can barely see Charles's eyes, the love he feels in them burns brighter than a thousand suns.

"I'll find him," Charles says, and there's confidence in his voice that Edwin doesn't feel himself. "I'll find him, and get him here. And then we'll run."

And oh, isn't this exactly what Edwin wanted to say, what he hoped to hear. He leans against Marigold's side, and Charles bends down to kiss him one last time. It's softer, slower than in the tunnel, as sweet as honey and as bitter as buckwheat, and much to short for the time he knows they'll spend apart. But it cannot last, because the night is coming to an end much too soon. He takes a step away, and Charles takes off without a word, as if any farewells would curse them for the rest of their lives.

Edwin turns around after the horse and the rider disappear in the forest. He can hear the first birds waking up, and he knows he has to hurry if he wants to lay the false tray successfully. So he gets to work, and he tries not to grieve, all the while, against his best wishes, he can still taste the goodbye on his lips.

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