little french boy. ➵ lashton ✔

trois.*

)asterisk because there are other people getting hurt besides luke??? no actual abuse though so um)

Luke and George were getting along finely. Luke would arise in the mornings and change in to a fresh pair of trousers and a tunic, then walk down to the library for another lesson.

There would be just enough time for breakfast before Luke was finished with his lesson for the day and could do as he wished about the castle. He loved staying in the stables, no matter the malodorous scent. Luke brushed the horses for hours on end, humming a tune from his childhood and running his fingers through the horses's soft hair.

"Would you like to ride one?" A soft, feminine voice called.

Luke's wide, blue eyes darted to the door of the stable and a tall girl emerged.

Her long, dark hair was braided neatly down her back and she had a riding crop in one hand and a bucket of salt in the other.

Luke nodded wordlessly as she smiled.

"I'm Clarissa. Have you ever ridden a horse before?"

Luke shook his head, understanding only the bare minimum of what she was saying.

Silently, she lifted a saddle off of its hanger on the wall and set it on the horse's back, adjusting it a bit and helping Luke in to more protective gear.

Clarissa grabbed a stepladder from the side of the barn and looked over at the door to the man walking inside.

"Hello, Peter," she smiled, walking over to kiss him sweetly.

Luke watched, curious, as he climbed up the stepladder.

"This is Luke," Luke wondered how Clarissa knew his name, "he's going to try out Genevieve."

Peter smiled, his round face warm and inviting, like a fireplace at night.

"He's never ridden a horse before, so I'm just going to show him around," Clarissa nodded, looking up at Luke, who had settled himself upon the horse's back.

Soon, the three of them were leading their horses in a slow trot around the stables and grazing field.

"Sir Ashton rides Harlot, over there," Clarissa pointed in Luke's position, to a tall, black horse with a long tail and mane.

"He rarely ever rides anymore, though," Peter remarked, a hint of coldness in his voice, "not since the war."

"He probably just hasn't had the time," Clarissa soothed quietly, not wanting to alarm Luke, "the war's taken a lot out of everyone."

"He used to love that horse."

Clarissa gave up, shrugging, and looked over at Luke.

He was running his fingers through the horse's dark mane again.

"Do you like her?" Clarissa asked, making Luke's head snap up.

Luke nodded, petting her mane again.

"She's very beautiful," Peter said, "born about two years ago."

"Sir Ashton was very careful to make sure that the horses receive the utmost care and-"

Luke felt the horse buck suddenly and then it was sprinting, galloping through the grazing fields and agricultural areas, trampling everything. Luke slid off of the suddenly frightened horse finally and landed on the ground, the scrapes on his body beginning to ooze dark red blood.

Peter and Clarissa were there in a second, the woman kneeling down beside Luke to tend to his injuries as Peter searched for the horse.

"What in God's name happened to Genevieve?" Peter was confused and furious.