Short Stories

Love Dark As Gold (2020)

It is an honor to be acquainted with the prince they say. An honor I'm not supposed to deserve but I do, and that alone makes the Sarden court despise me.

Honey spills over the bread and onto my fingers, creating a cool web of sticky gold. Visually, it's like wet paint dripping down a canvas. Stuffing the remainder into my mouth I'm quick to wipe my hands on my apron, careful as to not disturb the resting piece nearby.

Pa always tells me that I should pursue an apprenticeship from a Laelen artist. He tells me of all the beautiful mosaics, tapestries and paintings that are to be found there. But Laelen isn't Sarden and it certainly isn't as glamorous as our gleaming sunset and rolling hills.

As for those in charge of caring for these lands - they're all long gone. You won't find "Kings" in Sarden; only monsters dressed as men in riches who bleed their cities with taxes. But Hildith could be different.

His painting stares back at me from the easel, agile and carefree like any other boy I've seen in the village. He'll never admit it but he's annoyingly good at modelling for my paintings. Most people will buckle under pressure from shyness, but not Hildith.

Part of me is convinced that it's his arrogance (even though it's been years) after I told him I would never draw him. Now look at what that led to.

Casting warm flashes across his painted skin my rushlight brings out the amber undertones hidden beneath his deep sepia skin. I've painted him so many times that the planes of his face are now burned into the core of my memory, the shades of his features merely becoming second nature. It makes Lefquen pout out of jealousy that I don't paint her as much.

Though I'm careful to still use him as a reference, despite knowing that it probably builds up his ego. But this time is different. This time I haven't invited him to stand still for me to paint. Instead I've gathered the myriad of paintings I've made and used them as a mock reference. They're not perfect, but they're something.

And for that I'm glad. Afterall, who wants to give away a surprise? Especially on his Crowning. I mean, you only ever turn eighteen once and in Hildith's case recieve your Crowning once.

The door creaks open, ushering clouds of smoke and dust into the art room. Whilst I rub the soreness from my eyes I hear someone cough and then take a few steps inside. Though it's more of a scuffle than a full step. I recognise the figure instantly.

"Pa," I mumble as his broken physique clears into view. "I thought Achard wanted you to remain bedridden, you mustn't overwork yourself. I'll pull take the sheep out-" I stop myself. Concern creases along my father's forehead, working down towards his sullen features.

"Sons of gold, Emilia, have you been up in here all night?" Though he tries scolding me his voice can't help but come out more hoarsely than stern. A side effect from his medicine I remind myself. Guilt weighs inside my chest.

"I'm sorry Pa,"

The farmer's movements are stiff, given the brutal nature of his back but he makes it, resting a kiss upon my forehead before offering a hand for me to stand. I don't take it though, not after everything his body has been put through. I'm scared to pull too hard and trigger his back. Anything could result in his back seizing up with pain nowadays. I never want to risk it.

He says nothing at my refusal but his glassy eyes tells all. Turning his gaze to the portrait of Hildith he gestures with his cane.

"If you're going to sneak in to see him then at least sleep a little beforehand. The palace can always wait."

But I'm too stubborn to admit to him that the dark rings beneath my eyes are poisoning me with sleep deprivation.

I've waited all week for this. Besides, I'll be quick and by the time I'm back I'll have time to finish dealing with my sleep deprivation.

I shake my head. "Sorry Pa." But then somebody else speaks.

"Well, you won't have to be sorry." A figure emerges from the exposed doorway. His dark fingers trail over the crooked frame, sweeping over the chipped wood and it takes me a moment to fully register that it's Hildith. Shit.

I stand still, horrified that he's here. That he came over so early. I sweep towards the finished canvas, using myself as a shield against his eyes.

Hildith snorts, arching his brow as I defend my painting and it hits me that I'm completely screwed.
"What's that?" He finally asks, pointing directly behind me. Sons of gold..

"A figure study of a naked fat man." I answer boldly. Though I know he's better at seeing through my lies I waver my hands about still trying to distract him.

Crossing his arms the prince peers past my shoulder, sending sparks of fear flying inside of my chest. He wasn't supposed to find out yet. Not like this anyway. I even had a huge speech prepared and everything.

Damn you, Hildith.

"So apparently I'm a 'naked fat man'. Pa, don't you think that's a bit of an obscene label?"

My father clucks his head towards us. They aren't in anyway related by blood but my father once took him in after Hildith tried running away from home and I suppose Pa has now become a father figure to him. I wonder how he feels about his real father though, the Sarden King.

I shudder.

"Well, shouldn't you be back at the palace now -doing "princely" duties or whatever-"

"Please, we both know that the festivities are held well after dark. Always. Don't change the subject, Em." His eyes flash at me, a taunting shade of bronze and it takes all my willpower to not slap him right then and there.

"Fine," I say, defeated. "It was supposed to be a present for you."

"You wanted to give me a painting of, and I quote from your lovely words, 'a fat man' as a present? How quaint." He grins but I can tell he's pleased, making my cheeks redden.

"Shut up, I worked hard on it." I stab at the rings beneath my eyes with my finger. "See?" I let out a trapped laugh and accidentally break my stern facade.

Pa chides us, clapping his arms around both our shoulders. Hildith nods slowly pulling away from the forced hug. He's wearing commoner clothes today, though I doubt it's even necessary; most Sardens have no idea what their Crown Prince looks like, as goes the tradition of protecting the heir. That same practise almost cost Pa his life.

I try my best not to grimace. I know the risk I put Pa in from talking to Hildith. I know of the rumours people try to spread about me. Part of me wishes that Pa would try to stop me because no matter how hard I try I can't match the past with the face of the boy who sneaks into the royal kitchen to bake pies.

Hildith wraps an arm around my shoulders and I force myself to give a weak smile.

"Come on, I've got something to tell you."

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AN: Hi guys, so this was supposed to be a *very* loose retelling of Goldilocks and The Three Bears. The idea for this came to me when I was in the car on my way to an art class. I wrote the first two chapters and then never touched back onto it but I'm open to rewriting it in the future after I finish working on my sleeping beauty retelling. :) (I'm utterly addicted to coming up with ideas for fairytale retellings)