Eat the Poor

BONUS: Auden falls off the horse

A/N: This bonus chapter is in Philip's POV and takes place from chapters IX-X ❤️ It was so fun revisiting that scene and also writing from the opposite perspective!

🦢•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢. •̩̩͙*˚⁺‧.˚ *•̩̩͙ 🦢

Philip

I am fonder of beasts than men.

I prefer their wordless communication to the often baffling complexities of human conversation. My steed, Archibald, speaks to me in his own way, in a language we have mastered together in the nine years we have spent together.

I am feeding him an apple when the stable hand appears at my side.

"Yours?" he asks.

He is the stable hand. The one I look for when I come to ride. 

I hold back my smile, though I am unable to stop the tiny shiver of excitement that sparks throughout my body. I am amused by this boy, with his awkward speech and clumsy bow.

What are you doing here? I asked him in the garden.

Watching you.

"Archibald," I tell him, keeping my eyes on my horse. The white stallion stares back at me with pitch-black eyes. "My favorite."

"Shall I saddle him?" he asks, looking directly at me. I am not used to this. Everyone, except for Beauregard, my Lord Chamberlain, does not dare allow their gaze to fall upon me. Evidently, Mr Murray does not know or care to do this. And now, I sense his eyes on me and I feel so small, so deliciously ordinary, I can barely summon a response.

"I only came to visit."

"You're alone," he points out. "Where're your courtiers?"

I like the way he speaks. His voice is rough, some of the words slurred together, far different than the refined speech I am used to hearing. The corners of his lips turn up at the end of his question, and when I turn toward him, his eyes are on mine, deep brown and slightly downturned.

I give him a soft smile. "I can be alone if I wish."

His eyes flicker and he looks as though he wants to ask something, but turns his attention instead to Paulo, the small brown stallion in the last stall by the stable doors. "That one on the end," he says. "Whose horse is that?"

I smile at his curiosity. No one asks after Paulo. He is often forgotten, though over the years I have always insisted he not be sent to slaughter. Perhaps I was hoping one day he would find a rider.

"He is nobody's." I tell Mr Murray the story of the day I found him, roaming in the forest.

"What's his name?"

"Paulo. From the Latin word paulus. It means one that is small and humble." An accurate descriptor of Paulo, who is well-behaved despite his lack of training. I have always had a soft spot for him.

"I've been calling him Brownie."

It's unexpected and I start to laugh. What stable hand carries this long of a conversation with the King? The most I ever hear from these boys is yes, sire and right away, sire. Eyes down, heads lowered in eternal subservience.

"Brownie," I say. "That's sweet."

"No one ever takes him for a ride." His voice carries a hint of pity, an edge of hope. "I bring him out to the pasture to eat with the others, but mostly he just paces round in circles. You should ride him."