(A/N:) Two oneshots in and I'm already writing cliches oops. Have a Royal au where my boys are princes. Enjoy.
Third Person P.O.V:
Virgil sat on a bench stationed inside the garden, his private garden, his thoughts weighing heavy on him. The sun had since set, the only light visible being the lanterns that scattered the garden and illuminated it dimly, the stars exceptionally bright tonight. He looked up at the sky, a deep and troubled sigh exiting his lips as his hands gripped tightly to the seat of the bench, so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His heart, though he was alone, beat rapidly in his chest as his mind wandered.
Virgil was a prince, next in line for the throne which it itself was a major source of stress. He Was a particularly anxious person, riddled with self-deprivation and anxiety, depression heavy on his weary soul. He didn't feel ready for the responsibility of becoming a king anytime soon; how could his people learn to love him as their leader if he couldn't even stand himself? The thought of being in charge of an entire kingdom, managing it and making so many complicated and frightening decisions shook him to the core. It just made him want to run far, far away from all of the people counting on him to soon rule with poise and perfection, but he couldn't do that no matter how much he ached to, especially not now.
His kingdom was currently at war, their bravest knights fighting with all the moxy and bravery they had within them on the battlefield day in and day out. Men and women alike were getting slaughtered ruthlessly on both his side and the opposing, something that made him want to vomit if he even so much as thought about it. That was just it, though, he thought about it all of the damn time. He tried not to, really he did, but he couldn't help himself, especially because of Roman.
The kingdom they warred against had a prince also next in line for the throne who was of about the same age as Virgil. When there was peace between the two communities, though that felt like an eternity ago, the two boys had met. At first, Virgil had repulsed Roman in all of his heroic, egotistical, self-absorbed glory. It didn't help that he himself was dreadful with dealing with people, something his parents tried to attend to and help him with as best he could but it couldn't rid him of his anxieties. He was terrified of talking to people, of saying the wrong thing or sounding stupid so interaction with anyone was an issue. Although Roman and Virgil hadn't gotten along at first, this had drastically changed. As it came to be known between the pair, they shockingly had similarities. Virgil, in time, grew to admire the Prince's courage and spunk, and Roman grew fond of Virgil's delicate nature and sweetness hidden behind dark eyeliner and a jagged exterior. He didn't know what it was, but he just found himself drawn into the aura that was this strange dark prince, and Virgil felt the same way. They became absorbed in each other, becoming one another's truest confidant, a relationship that originated from loathing but blossomed into something far different: love.
Neither of them wanted to face the fact that they were falling hard and fast for one another. Virgil was terrified, afraid that Roman couldn't possibly feel the same way and Roman, for once, felt a strain in his confidence and believed truly that Virgil could never love him. The two were foolish, yes, but when the secrets were finally revealed they could only feel relief and bliss. In the cover of night, in this very same Gardon under the pale moonlight, they'd shared their first kiss. It was something so sure, so extraordinary and passionate. It felt like everything in their lives had been leading up to this one, perfect moment.
And then the war started.
It was unexpected, over territories and land ownership, positively maddening in the eyes of the princes. Both had rushed to their parents, begging them to reconsider and explain that there was a way to solve this without resorting to violence but to no avail. It didn't work, and from then on their seeing of each other was hereby banned. Virgil immediately was grief-stricken, confined to his room for several weeks, not having contact with anyone. He refused to talk. He didn't sleep, he didn't eat, he didn't want to be alive. There wasn't any point in living, he saw it if Roman wasn't there by his side. Now there was no way that they could be joined together, and he couldn't bear the thought of him not being around. Roman made him feel special, something so pure and rare, Roman made him feel wanted. He made him feel like he was loved. Days into deciding that maybe he'd be better off dead and thinking that no one would really care if he disappeared, he received a letter delivered by a single white dove, an animal symbolic for love, that'd perched on the ledge of his window. In the letter was Roman confessing how much he missed Virgil, how much he needed him. He couldn't get over the fact that Roman had said he actually needed him, but there it was in writing. He went on for several paragraphs explaining his deep love for Virgil, expressing his infatuations in many poetic, beautiful words before he had explained a time and location in which they could meet in secret. Though Virgil was scared out of his wit that they'd be caught and he normally wouldn't do anything nearly this risky, he desperately needed to see him and so they had done it. Under the cover of night, they spent their evening together, holding each other close and never letting go of one another's hand.
