The Armor (Prince Harry fanfic #1)

Chapter Thirteen

Harry waited, kept apart from Lucy for the longest time since he showed up. After leaving the schoolhouse, Lucy had been taken away by some of the women of the village in cheers, while Harry had been taken the opposite way. Through the time together, Harry chose to wear his own clothes, though offered clothes from the village for the event. He chose his best clothes that he brought, which weren't the normal of his tailored suits and silk ties, whether nice enough jeans and a shirt. He stayed with the men and boys long enough to be part of the preparations, but left as soon as he could. Now, he waited for Lucy.

There was a loneliness that lasted within him, pressing upon his chest. The celebration was only beginning and he watched as people walked around him, but the pressure stayed. His eyes wandered from face to face, never finding hers, like she was immune to the pressure. Harry shook his head, trying to clear it. No, he told himself, no. His eyes came up again, and she wasn't there.

He stretched his legs, walking along the front of his slum. The pressure released only a little, but the need to vomit came again. Maybe it was because no one was talking to him, not that Lucy always spoke. She was just there, and it was comfortable to him. Maybe it was because there wasn't a constant person with him, not that Lucy always was there. Both of them had the perfect amount of alone time, away from the crowds and each other. Maybe it was because he was alone again. So many people moved around him but he wasn't a part of anyone. Harry always liked his alone time, like most people, but now he was part of something. No one followed him constantly, a nice time for him to be with another human being.

The pressure continued on his stomach, like there was some concern there. He believed it to be his own concern: nervous for this wedding, nervous for not seeing Lucy for one moment, nervous about whatever came next. He told himself that nothing came next. She wasn't next. He told himself that she couldn't be next. She was too good, too wise, too better than him. She deserved a normal life, and whatever happened with him wouldn't allow a normal life for her ever. He had to protect her.

"Hey, Prince Charming," she called, bringing him back and relieving some of the pressure. His eyes met hers, and it was like she knew, almost. Her eyes mocked him, calling him a loser with a smile for thinking that he could protect her. She could protect herself.

That, however, wasn't the first thing that popped into his mind, not even close, whether how she looked. Most people would call Lucy average or below in beauty, where Harry saw the deep passion she brought to a moment. Though, she didn't match the norms, Harry did believe she was stunning: her confidence, her shoulders back and chin held high but never looked down, and the way she just laughed without a care, her ability to care. She wasn't like the rest of the girls. At the same time, Lucy's beauty made Harry sad, knowing she would never be accepted by society.

No, he told himself. No.

Tonight, his universe would allow her in with how she looked, class and beauty of the stereotypical kind. A stabbing pain exploded in his stomach, unable to get enough air into his lungs, and his eyes clouded over when he looked at her. She was beautiful, like her outsides matched her insides. But it hurt him. She was stunning before, but she was beautiful now. Everyone knew. Everyone saw her beauty when Harry had always known. His eyes hurt from the light she gave off.

He swallowed, eyes finding the ground. Act cool, Harry. You're better than this. You're cooler than this. When he looked up, his face was still red, and it was like she knew.

It wasn't the colors of difference than what she normally wore, brighter and shiner, given whatever the women gave her for tonight. Her hair was pulled back into a braid, done by not their normal standards. Her makeup wasn't the makeup of their old lives, but what was represented here, who she was here, where she belonged.

With the lack of Lucy's normal clothes and being, she felt uncomfortable, bare. Her arms were naked with her legs covered, but the scars that snaked along her chest were exposed. The scar upon her hairline was bright, she knew, deathly cut. Her hair had been pulled back so tightly, showing that scar, whatever messed with her head. Usually, the hairline scar was the easiest to cover up. With the rest of Lucy's scars, the ones upon her arms and body, they shined. Harry didn't even look.

She smiled at him.

The beauty that shined through Lucy's eyes blinded him. The smile she shared was genuine. He had noticed the lack of clothes and his curiosity wanted to kill him for not glancing at her scars. He yelled at his eyes not to move from hers, but it wasn't his eyes that would move. She was stunning.

He smiled at her.

There was something he was supposed to say to her, something nice, but none of the words tasted right in his mouth. He had said those words to other girls before. Lucy was a woman. Whatever compliment he paid her wasn't enough. He needed to give her more. The words didn't fit her right. He only smiled at her.

He told himself to talk. "How are you?" he asked. Mentally slapping himself in the face, he wanted to give her a nice compliment, and he skipped over it. He knew he screwed up.

Lucy didn't notice, or she didn't show that she noticed. "I'm good. How are you?"

"I'm good." His voice sounded dopey to him, stuck on the words too long. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah."

They started walking. Harry forced himself to walk slower, not out walk her, not runaway. Lucy's skirts pulled against the ground. Dusk picked up around them, covering his jeans. Heat started to hit Harry under his nice enough shirt and jeans, and he liked the heat. Harry could only imagine how hot Lucy must be.

"Are you excited?"

She shrugged, feeling not overjoyed for the situation but not scared. She didn't know the word fear nowadays. "You?"

He shrugged. "When was your last wedding?"

Lucy wasn't one for weddings but it had been a long time since she had been to one, maybe when she was ten. She went to two when she was ten, her cousins, sisters, married within two months of each other. "Maybe eight years ago." Time was a problem for Lucy. Some days were too long for her, and some years were too short. "How about you?"

"Recently," he said, and Lucy nodded. "I go to a lot of them, and we're invited to even more. There are always people getting married." And there were always people giving birth. And there were always people getting divorced. And there were always people dying. There was always a circle.

"Why are you invited to so many?" She assumed it was a royalty thing, since it seemed like all his friends and family revolved around being royal.

"Well, people number themselves far back for royalty, going into the thousands." Harry laughed to himself. "They basically count how many people have to die for them to become King or Queen." He rolled his eyes, getting himself back on track. "But you are invited to all these weddings, friends and family, and they hope you show up."

Her eyes slid over to him. "They're not really family if they're that far out, and as for your friends, I don't think that's friendship."

"You mean people wanting something?"

She understood. "Friendship is about wanting something, Harry. Friendship is about wanting companionship."