𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐨𝐥 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐧, young royals

Chapter 5: Wilhelm

Can't Pretend,  Tom Odell

5: Wilhelm

Once we arrived, I excused Simon and I and told my mother I'd show him around the palace.  We'd only made it through two rooms before we winded up in my bedroom and decided to end our visit.

"I can't believe this is your room," said Simon, smiling sheepishly.

He toured the bedroom, perhaps twice the size of his, and rested his gaze on every piece of artwork, touching on every oak-crafted armoire and surface. He absorbed his surroundings through gapping, admiring eyes, the sort of Corinthian touch on the wall architecture, the lash of neoarchaic manner in its entirety, as if he were trying to memorize each inch of it.

I crossed the room to meet him, hands drawn behind my back, my footfalls silent and unheard, simpering. I stopped behind him, gently curving my fingers through the belt loops in his jeans and drawing him closer to me.

"I can't believe you're in it," I whispered, sinking my nose in his curls, inhaling the familiar smell of his vanilla-scented shampoo.

Slowly, he pivoted to face me, a smile romancing his rosy lips. His delicate fingers playing with the hem of my shirt, his breath fanned over my face, warm and fresh, like the first breeze in the blush of spring. We were pressed against each other, waists touching, like two Greek statues, carved from marble, perfectly fitting together as one.

"Me too," he replied, soft-spoken.  Then he added in a whisper, "I just wish it wasn't for this reason."

I smiled, a sort of morose, sullen smile.  "I know.  This isn't how I imagined it, either."

Simon tilted his head, crow-feet around his eyes as he grinned.  "How did you imagine it?"

Stepping away, I took ahold of his hand and began steering us toward my bed. Slowly but eagerly, I tugged on his hand, and the creep of a blush heated my cheeks.

"I could show you."

Hesitant, he followed along, glancing at the door.  "Wille... our parents are right there."

I squeezed his hand.  "They won't start without us.  Come on."

Laughing soundlessly, he caved in, shaking his head. "You're crazy."

When our lips colided, some obscure, arcane part of me was revived, I was sure of it, and I was swept in a jarring stupor, a haze of madness. I was propped higher than any throne would ever take me, standing taller than any mountain.  His fingers, tangled in my hair, poking my flesh, coasting my body, held my entire life, the vastness of my kingdom, my whole being.  I'd have allowed him, I apprehend, to tug at my strings like a puppeteer.  I'd have beseeched him to touch me until I turned jaded and rusted.  I'd have implored him love me into dementia.

Enmeshed in my sheets, we obliged our impress on their silk to haunt them forever.

I touched my lips to his neck, an attempt to map out every artery and blood vessel that vibrated under his skin, the hope to travel the rivers of his jugular veins and drift into his heart's ocean sound and keen in me.  Soft breaths, gaining in strength and rapidity, swallowing up the entire room, swathing us in this moment.  Skin chafing, reddening and swelling, and I watched morning flash in his eyes.  Something stirring awake inside him, swelling like the tide, leaping like the sun over the horizon.  Like dawn breaking and searing light splattering from the brown of his irises.  I marveled still at his body's response to my call.

And then, lying on my back, head rested on a pillow, the tip of his fingers travelling up and down my torso, I almost let us fall asleep, have the rest we long-deserved.  His head on my chest, silky curls tickling my chin and eyelashes brushing my flesh with each blink.  I closed my eyes, drawing invisible circles on the round of his shoulder with the pad of my thumb.

"How are you handling it?"  I asked softly.  "After the jubilee, I mean."

Simon sighed, lifting his head off my chest and dropping on his back by my side.  "Okay, I think.  I shut off my phone for the most of it," he murmured, rubbing sorely his eyes.  "I did go to the store once, but a nine year-old took a video of me buying eggs, and this old lady told me I'd send our country to pieces."

"Oh," I said.

"Yeah," he replied.

"And your family?"

"Mamá was worried, at first.  But she's really happy for me," he said, smiling softly.  "Things are still complicated with Sara, though."

I nodded, flipping on my side, propping my head on my arm, and brushed the back of my fingers on his bicep.  He turned over, too, facing me, and looked into my eyes.

"And you?" he queried.

"Mom barely looks at me.  She needs time, I think, but I don't know how much she'll need just to forgive me," I admitted sullenly.  Then I added, grazing the side of his face, "I wish Erik were here.  I wish he could've met you."

"I wish I'd met him, too."

With that, we fell silent for a few more minutes.  I collected each second of peaceful isolation until we decided it was time to draw ourselves back to reality.

We dragged ourselves out of bed without bothering to fix up the messed-up sheets and jumped back into our clothes.  Before we went out to meet with our parents again, I stopped him and pressed my lips to his, drawing another taste out of his mouth until the next one.

I pulled back sooner than I liked. "I'm making my statement on the jubilee tomorrow. Will you be there with me?" I asked quietly.

He nodded. "Of course."

And "I love you," I murmured.

He grinned.  "I love you, too."

✧ ✧ ✧

I suppose the meeting wasn't as awkward as I'd anticipated it to be. My parents did know how to host a party, after all.

Much to everyone's relief, subjects such as August and the drugs were most happily not addressed, and the words "heirs" and "succession" were carefully avoided. So, aside from frightening Simon and his mother into flinching at the sight of a public bus, not much was done.

Simon and his family would be protected by the crown now, which brought some relief upon me. I could only hope it would be enough for the storm that was brewing.

I was sad to see him go, wishing we'd get a little more time alone, but my mother held me back to discuss my statement, and he and Linda were escorted out and driven home by our guards.

"No," I said, tossing the script out in front of me, sending it scattering across the table.  "I want to follow my own script.  My words.  Not the court's words, certainly not yours.  If I'm going to adress the entire country, I'll do it on my terms."

My mother sighed, briefly exchanging glances with her court.  "You must understand that we have to compromise, Wilhelm.  You're not alone in this."

"Really?" I retaliated sourly.  "Sure feels like it."

"Wilhelm," warned my father, "now's not the time."

I ignored him.  "I'll answer their questions honestly.  I'll stick with what I said at the jubilee and what was agreed through the meeting.  But I won't have your pretenses be spoken through my mouth.  Not this time.  Not ever again."

"Fine," agreed my mother reculantly, "if that's what you want.  But you won't be going rogue again.  Tell us what you wish to change, we'll come to an agreement."

So we did, and I guess that was a step forward.

sometimes i think my main goal in writing is ppl reading my stuff and going like wtf