little french boy. ➵ lashton ✔

quatre.

It was three weeks since Ashton had left and Luke slept even more restlessly at night, if he could relax himself so much that his body could slip in to the itchy, rough hold of sleep. He swirled up in his blankets, tangling himself until he woke up crying and wishing Ashton were there.

Instead of mulling over the absence of the King, Luke had taken to sneaking down to the stables in the wee hours of the night and riding Harlot across the stream as the sun rose.

He slowed the female horse to a lazy trot as he came back upon the stables, the sun high in the sky. Luke slid off of the back of the horse.

"Sir Luke," a man croaked, or what was left of a man. The poor creature had brittle, thin bones, a tattered plaid blanket around his shoulders, and rotting, yellow teeth filling his mouth.

"Please, please, Sir Luke," the man begged weakly, frail arms reaching out for the confused man, "spare some money... please Sir."

Luke dug in his pockets. "I may," he mumbled, pulling out a few coins and dropping them in to the hands of the old man.

"S-Sir Luke," the man rasped, "will you... take care of my daughter?"

Luke raised his eyebrows, not knowing who the man's daughter was or where she was, but nodded a little. "Yes," he whispered, hardly audible, "yes, I will."

Luke clapped a hand over his own mouth and stifled a sob as he watched a man die right before his eyes.

//

Luke finished his lesson that day, his English improving drastically from the first time he and George had met. He was especially happy that he was learning English, so he could speak to Ashton without problem.

Luke let his nimble fingertips scan over the books. "Do you like horticulture, Luke?"

"Horticulture?" Luke questioned with difficulty.

George nodded a little, as if this cleared up some unknown thought.

Luke shrugged a little. "Non," he bit his lip quickly, "no," he traded in his French response for an English one.

"Alright, okay. Thank you, Luke. You are free to go and do as you please."

Luke grinned and skipped out of the library, giggling happily to himself as he ran out the back door of the castle to the stables.

The little French boy pestered Clarissa in to saddling Harlot up for him, although she'd now shown him multiple times. He was a little, skinny boy, and very weak.

"Thank you," he whispered, sliding easily on to Harlot's back and trotting her out of the stables. Luke rode across the jumps for the second time that week, praising Harlot afterwards with a few carrots and a good brushing.

"You take such good care of her. Sometimes I'll walk in and think you're Sir Ashton, brushing her and talking to her like you do. Your French is impeccable."

Luke smiled, not knowing what impeccable meant but gracious for the referral to Ashton.

"What did Ashton?" Luke asked softly, wondering what Ashton did before the 'war' that everyone spoke of.

"Ashton was a great leader," Clarissa began, sitting in the hay across from Luke as he continued to brush Harlot, "so very kind to everyone and kept everyone in the kingdom safe."

Luke remembered the man from that morning, the one he'd watched die.

"Now, people are dying every day. There's a desperate need of doctors because Ashton isn't nice anymore, he's hardly focused on the kingdom. More interested in pillaging and capturing new lands. Now that he has you, we all think that you could be our new start. You see people calling you Sir Luke, it's because you're so much like him when he was first the king, when his father died. He was so kind, but timid. Like you. You're going to be a great ruler with him someday."

Luke shrugged. He came here to be with Ashton, not to save a kingdom.

"Au revoir, mon ami," Luke bowed courteously, climbing on to Harlot's back for his daily ride around the countryside.

The little French boy rode alongside the fence around the road that lead home.

He wanted France, the Duke, someone's fingertips to grace his skin and make him feel as if he were whole.

If anything, he wanted Ashton back. He wanted the king that Clarissa spoke of, the kind, loving king who kept everything in check and made sure everyone was happy.

Luke was riding back to the castle when he slowed Harlot to a stop, plucking a soft purple flower from the ground and tucking it behind his ear. He lead Harlot in to the stables and put her in her box stall, refilling her hay and water.

"Merci," he mumbled in to her mane as he left the stall and closed the door of the stall and stables, walking inside on sore legs.

//

Luke took a long bath that night, washing away all of the grime from the day and day before, draining the tub twice.

The little French boy dressed himself, deciding not to attend dinner that night.

Unfortunately for him, he felt his stomach grumbling late in to the night.

Luke slid out from under the crisply cleaned covers and pulled on some house shoes, grabbing and lighting a candle. He began walking downstairs to the kitchen and gasped.

The dark figure gasped as well as Luke, its eyes dark green and pleading.

"Sir Luke," a voice rasped, a glowing loaf of bread in his small hand.

Luke encroached upon the poor boy, the candle lighting up his lanky, yet not fully developed features and the satchel on his shoulders, probably filled with random vegetables or leftovers.

"Please forgive me, Sir Luke, my family is starving, my mother would have died had I not done something, please sir."

The young boy was now bent over in a praying position, hands clasped together as he bowed his head on his knees and closed his green eyes.

"Parlez-vous français?" Luke asked solemnly, the dim candlelight lighting up his features.

The boy shook his head. "N-No."

"Take bread," Luke encouraged softly, padding over to the pantry in which they stored the cured meats. He unhooked a few large portions of jerky off of the thin wire on which they hung.

"Take this," he said, nodding when he saw the boy's confused and astonished expression.

The boy's eyes welled up with tears as the meat was stored in his backpack.

"Bless you, sir Luke!"

"Name?"

"Oh, um, Harry, sir. I'm Harry."

Luke smiled, patting the boy's shoulder.

"Go."

Harry grinned and kissed Luke's hand before running out the back door of the kitchen to the backyard, probably to inform his friends that Luke was giving out handouts.

But somehow, Luke felt that, by watching the sheer sincerity in the boy's face, Harry wouldn't do that.

He felt like a king.

///

sorry this isn't very long. next chapter should be better because there's more than one character maybe. not just luke omg