little french boy. ➵ lashton ✔

cinq.

)yeah um this is super short just basically summing up the fact that ashton's a dick and we all need to know that)

Sir Ashton's arrival at the castle had surprised everyone.

He'd been gone for so very long, and Sir Luke had been so good at taking care of the kingdom and making sure that everybody had a fair ration. It felt like Luke was their king, and Ashton had just been on a short hiatus. A vacation, you could say.

Luke didn't know if he wanted Ashton to be back, given the terms that they split upon. Although he knew, deep down, that he really needed Sir Ashton back.

"Luke," Sir Ashton smiled, embracing his little French boy as he walked to the library for his lesson.

"Happy castle," Luke nodded, gesturing widely to refer to the entire castle.

"The castle was happy without me?" Ashton asked, confused. Mostly, he knew that the kingdom couldn't possibly have been any happier without him-because that's just how conceited Ashton was-but when Luke nodded, he pursed his lips.

//

Luke was irritated that Ashton felt the need to follow him around all of the time. Luke had his own affairs to attend to, and Ashton wouldn't even let him go outside.

"Let's just stay in here and cuddle," Ashton begged, "you'll get hurt outside."

Clarissa had become more and more distant.

At night, when everyone was asleep, Ashton would take advantage of the little French boy.

Luke was used to it, because it was just what the Duke had done.

Luke realized, one night while Ashton was breathing heavy and hard in to his neck, that he didn't want to do what the Duke said. He wanted to save Ashton's kingdom and make him see the poverty he was inflicting upon his people by saving every crumb for the war they were fighting.

Luke's arms wrapped around Ashton's waist and he winced suddenly, every thrust becoming a painful spear in to him.

"A-Ashton..."

Clawing on his back only aroused the young king more, and Luke felt tears in his eyes.

He never could escape the horrible lives he lived.

//

For the next couple of weeks, Luke had become sadder and paler and more lethargic. He wasn't nearly the evenly-tanned boy that took care of his horse and rode every evening even though his thighs would ache. He hadn't the strong arms that he'd had before from lifting the saddles and bridles.

One day, after his lesson, he snuck out to the stables.

What he saw frightened him.

Clarissa was sitting on the ground with Harlot, who'd obviously become skinnier and weaker.

"She's sick," Clarissa murmured, "and I don't have any hay to spare."

"Graze?"

"She's too weak to get up, Sir Luke."

Luke had tears in his eyes, he'd watched too many people die in the hands of Sir Ashton's malpractice.

Luke ran out of the stables and back to the house, where he dropped a few small coins in to Harry's eager hands and kissed the head of his newborn brother. Harry's mother blessed him and Luke smiled, although he had other business to attend to.

He found Ashton in the throne room in which he had never been.

"Then we can capture Slavnia and-"

His eyes landed on Luke, the frantic and bloodshot-eyed boy.

"Take care of kingdom!" Luke screamed, alerting the other men in the room.

"Leave horses unattend and they die! Leave Luke unattend and he die!"

The other men laughed. "So this is your servant boy?"

"Is he good?"

"Bet he is, Sir Ashton's always had good taste."

Luke felt victimized, staring at Ashton with hard eyes.

"You not fit to be a king!"

Ashton's eyes widened a bit, but he knew what to do.

"Guards," he ordered dismissively, "take him to the dungeon."

"Ashton?" Luke asked, breathless and entirely confused. The guards seized his arms and began to drag him.

"Ashton!"