Strawberry Shortcake// l.s.

un (i)

Twenty-two minutes ago, the virgin prince of Wexton argued with his parents for the first time. 

"It will only be a week, Harry. It's not like it will be forever." Queen Beth explained, trying to soothe the young prince. Harry averted his mother's gaze when she tried to look into his eyes. Harry was angry, quite angry in fact. He couldn't ever remember being so upset before, actually, he hadn't been so upset before.  He couldn't bring himself to speak because he knew that if he did try to speak, something entirely inappropriate would come out of his mouth.

"You'll get on, lad. Not to worry, right? You should be happy, excited even." His father sat down in his chair in the throne room, attempting to reason with the boy. Happy? They wanted Harry to be happy?

"Not to worry, father? I've never even seen a boy my age! Much less had to spend a week with him!" Harry yelled, his voice a bit rough. 

"I simply do not understand why you are behaving this way, Harold." His mother chastised him, grabbed tightly onto his shoulder and escorted him out of the room. Harry stayed silent all the way up to his room, where he sits now, feet against the headboard of his bed, hands over his eyes, praying it will all go away. 

"How's it going?" Samuel, a palace attendant, peaks his head through the heavy oak door into the Prince's quarters. Harry has always liked Samuel. He likes the way he treats Harry like he isn't a prince, like he's a person first. 

"Fine." But, today, he is a bit short with him. It isn't the young servant's fault, Harry is just having a bad day. 

Samuel bites his lip, weighing his options. He could either try to coax the truth out of the young prince which may risk annoying his master or he can leave him be and risk him holding in his emotions. Samuel, knowing something about how unhealthy the ladder is, decides to ask Harry what's wrong. 

"Hey, what's up? Bad day?" He walks to the edge of the bed, placing a careful hand on the bedpost. He waits for Harry to invite him to sit, which he does. 

"Yeah, something like that. Have you heard anything about the King of Midsommar?" Harry asks, hoping Samuel might have some information about their soon-to-be houseguest. But, Samuel does not. He explains that he had heard nothing about the King's arrival until that morning, when he heard Alexandra, a chamberlain, gossiping with Cedric, the King's squire. 

"Tomorrow, they said. Not much time to prepare, ay? How do you feel about it?"

Harry scoffs. "I can't believe mum and dad would spring this on me at the last minute! I mean, who is this guy anyway?" 

It's more or less of a rhetorical question. Of course Harry knows who he is. He's King Louis I of Midsommar, boy king, somewhat of a local legend. Nobody really knows much about what happened to his parents, everything happened overnight. 

They were meant to meet before, Harry and Louis (or more literally the boys' fathers). But, the night before Louis and the king were meant to depart, an epidemic spread throughout Midsommar, devastating the better half of the population. It's rumored that they lost 600,000 people that summer.

But, now, it seems like the boys really will meet for the first time. Harry hopes the king isn't as dreadful as he assumes him. He hopes Louis will be funny, caring, responsible, all the things he admires about his father. 

"Sorry, sir, are you listening?" Samuel recaptures Harry's attention. Harry's cheeks go red, realizing that maybe Sam had been talking the entire time. He had.

"I said you should get to bed. It will be a long day tomorrow and you're going to need some rest. Let me fetch Grace, sir." Samuel is quick to move off the bed and to the door. Harry watches the servant, again, lost in thought.

"Well, good night, sir. I'll be here to wake you bright and early. Shall I tell the cook to prepare you two muffins tomorrow?"

"Please. Thank you, Samuel. Good night." Harry chuckles.

"Good night, sir."