Glory in Our Defiance • Zarry

2. - Seized Youth

1485 - York, England

Zayn has always loved a busy city. The hustle and bustle, the hundreds of people in the streets shouting and talking. His mother hates it with her whole heart but Zayn has always begged to be allowed to visit the city. As the crown prince of England, he couldn't just walk around the centre of London like that but his father had believed that keeping up the appearences with the common folk was good and vital for a successful reign.

He misses London and the Windsor Castle but York isn't terrible. It's still better than the confined walls of the Skipton Castle. While it's beautiful, the life around it is boring and as far from the culture of a big city as it can get.

His mother sends him to York for his studies for two weeks a month. Zayn visits a priest, a monk and a wealthy nobleman that has travelled most of the world. As if his teachers in Skipton weren't enough. Most often than not, she takes Zayn's education too seriously. Sometimes he feels like he's training to become a priest and not preparing to be a King.

Despite the nuisance of studying and learning about completely useless things, Zayn doesn't mind leaving the humdrum Skipton and spending his days in a city where the most exciting thing isn't a brood of newborn kittens found in a shed.

He isn't flaunting his status here, usually posing as a simple young nobleman and not a prince. This allows him to enjoy the indulgences of youth, the little he actually can do in the middle of a war.

The fighting doesn't stop, it hasn't for years. It had started years before Zayn was even born and the battles continue to go on now that he's already old enough to reclaim his throne and rule England as its rightful King. But there is still the Styles family, the powerhungry people who killed Zayn's father and now they want his throne.

The war is pointless. Thousands of lives have perished and for what? John is looking over the throne for Zayn and if Zayn chose to rule himself tomorrow, the worst case of resistance would come from his mother, who would say he's still too young to rule. Yet, the Styles family are too stubborn to let this generations old squabble go and want their youngest on the throne. Their claim has weaked over the generations and in order for them to be the directly next in line, around ten people would have to die.

According to Zayn's mother, they only want two people dead - Zayn and his uncle John. That's why they don't let Zayn to participate in the battles. His mother despises when people ask her about it, considering the Styles boy has fought in a few battles already. Few being two but his family love to present him as a fearless and mighty warrior, who has won thousands of wars and killed countless men all by himself. Zayn would love to see him in real life. He would bet he's an inbred imbecile who probably can't even lift a sword off the ground.

But it's a bit ironic, as if the Styles' couldn't poison him or send an assassin. It'd be terribly easy, considering how careless Zayn often is when he's wandering the streets of York at night, but he's not going to give up the little sliver of youth he has for irrational fear. His youth has been seized by the war and he's reaching so far for at least a tiny bit of normalcy.

As he's walking into the house of the eccentric nombleman Raphael, Zayn feels like any other young student and not a prince, whose head is desired to be seen on a stake.

The door to Raphael's manor house is open, as usual. It's as if he had no clue about things such as robbers and murderers.

"Raphael!" Zayn calls out into the sprawling house. "I'm here! And I don't have much time tonight, I want to go drinking!"

"You've arrived today and you're going drinking already?" says a on Zayn's left. He nearly jumps, turning around and seeing Raphael with a wine goblet in his hand.

"You're drinking as we speak," Zayn remarks. "And what in God's name are you wearing?"

"I am allowed to, I'm about to spend an hour talking to you, I need the help. And don't say his name in my house unless you want me to kick you out. Made up things aren't welcome here," Raphael talks as he walks towards his study, Zayn training behind him. He ignored Zayn's comment about the atrocious red tunic he's wearing but Zayn's used to seeing clothes from all over the world on Raphael's frame.

"Today, we're talking about Plato," Raphael announces as he plops down on an exotic looking sofa in his study. Zayn vaguely remembers a story about some fight with Arabs and a night of drinking that goes along with it. "Which reminds me, on my last journey to Athens, I encountered a very very peculiar fellow."

The following hour goes on in a similar manner. Raphael talks about his travels, the people he fucked there, he drinks wine and somehow in the middle of all that, he manages to tell the whole Platonian philosophy. It's been almost two years since Zayn first sat with him like this and it's still a mystery how Raphael stays oriented and concentrated in his chaos. It's rather fascinating.

"Where are you going drinking?" Raphael asks as Zayn's putting on his coat.

"Gilly's Tavern, probably," Zayn shrughs.

Raphael nods slowly. "Starting off fancy, I see."

"I suppose," Zayn sighs. "Goodbye, Raphael. Thank you for the lesson."

"You are the most welcome," Raphael bows his head a bit. "Oh, and I almost forgot."

Zayn stops in the doorway, looking at Raphael curiosly.

"There are some interesting people staying at Gilly's. Attractive people," Raphael winks. "Have fun, my prince. Just not too much of it. We need you on the throne soon."

"I'll keep that in mind," Zayn laughs and finally leaves Raphael's study, closing the door behind him.

He walks to the tavern, enjoying the winter air that's keeping the city fresh despite the filth. It's like this only in winter and maybe that's why Zayn likes it so much. The walk isn't long, just about fifteen minutes till he's opening the door to the tavern, letting himself be enveloped by the warmth and the smell of food.

The place is lively, brimming with people with pink cheeks and jugs of beer in their hands, all of them shouting over each other. Zayn sees a table with a few locals he knows by name, these near strangers who are a good distraction and a decent company in this city. They don't talk about politics, they don't care about who Zayn really is, even though they saw through his lies and know about his true status. They're young enough to care only about drinking and fucking. It doesn't matter to them that they're getting drunk with their future king, as long as he pays for their drinks every other night.

Zayn drinks with them for a while, laughing and talking about complete gibberish before a party of six people walks down from the rooms upstairs. He sees immediately that they don't fir there. Their clothes are more for a battle than a night out drinking and there's an air of arrogance floating around them like flies around a carcass. Then Zayn notices the white rose symbol decorating some parts of their clothing and partial armor. He freezes, realizing who these people are.

One man in particular catches Zayn's attention. Not really a man, more of a boy with long curly hair and a face pretty enough for a girl. He laughs at something a companion of his says, flashing a smile so bright it captivates the room. A couple of seconds later, his eyes, his green, green eyes catch Zayn's for a moment, suddenly cold and relentless. He looks away, sitting down ag his table, leaving Zayn speechless.

The hair, the handsome face, the white rose. His piercing green eyes and blinding smile. Zayn knows the rumours and tales, oh he knows them well. And he knows he just had the pleasure of seeing Harry Styles in flesh for the first time. The traitor, his rival, the man who wants his throne. He certainly didn't look like an inbred imbecile.

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Hi everyone!! Another update today :) hope you're liking the story!

Some parts of this are most likely very historically inaccurate but i'm trying to research everything as best as i can and trying to make it work with the story :)