[ the young prince of the kingdom is well-loved. so too was his mother who died giving birth to his youngest sister, and his father who died when he was fifteen and left him with his stepmother who is very decidedly not-loved. credence cannot take the throne until she steps down or dies and she rules the kingdom with an iron fist so fierce that there isn't a person alive in the country that doesn't wish that the crown prince would just kill her and take it from her cold dead hands.
but no: credence is too sweet, too kind, to kill even her. mary lou does not wish to give up her power either and thus will not grant it to her stepson - she won't grant it to her stepdaughters either. she had cleared the whole castle of the old staff save three: the princesses' ladies in waiting and the prince's personal servant.
she had granted them their servants as a false show of kindness; something to keep them settled long enough for her to do as she pleases in the background. credence is bright enough to watch her from the shadows with sharp eyes. he knows her cruelty but still he carries on and lets her focus on him. whenever one of them "misbehaves" they get beaten within an inch of their life even though it's an openly cruel means of keeping peace within the castle.
credence bears her marks most often as he poses the most threat: lashes across his back or his palms, bruises in the shape of her ring on his cheek. it leaves him quiet and timid and distrustful. so much that he only trusts his sisters and the man at his side. percival graves has been with him since he was a child - since his real mother was still alive. sometimes he asks the older man for stories about her, but mostly he just uses graves' beholden duty to him as a surrogate for affection.
(he's more fond of him than he should be, but he doesn't let on about it. ever.)
tonight he's sporting new marks courtesy of the queen's rage and his movements are a little stiff when he gets back to his chambers, shutting the door quietly behind him. it's particularly bad tonight - he's in simple pants and a shirt but the fabric of the latter is stuck to his back with sweat and blood. there's no denying that she's gone too far, but it isn't as though anyone can actually say anything without risking their lives. sometimes credence wonders if she wouldn't kill them if she could.
he knows graves will be in here now that he is returning. he's not allowed to attend the punishments as it's well-known he'll do anything to protect his charge, even inspire the queen's wrath toward himself. credence sighs, moving toward the window so that he can glance outside. ] Percival, will you please help me get ready for bed?
[ and that's just it. he's so kind, and so polite, and why wouldn't anyone with half a heart love him? the young prince, unspoiled and sweet. ]
[ the young prince of the kingdom is a precious, beloved young man, fairer than even the most beautiful maidens within the kingdom, with his expressive dark eyes, high cheekbones, full mouth, and curls that brush his shoulders. he is lovingly and perfectly formed -- at least, that's what everyone says, and it's no surprise that he has no end of female suitors, ladies and princesses who wish to be with him.
but there is someone who keeps him under her thumb -- the stepmother and queen of the realm, regent until credence comes of age, but she is as power-hungry as they come, and if credence wants to survive her, graves knows that he has to step with care. graves, who has served him ever since he had been a child. he's exceptionally skilled in dueling and keeping princes safe, even if he carefully conceals that skill from the queen. she doesn't need to know that he is credence's protector, assigned to care for him by the late king himself.
he is here to protect credence, to make sure that he stays alive despite the tyrannical queen's rule, and he's not often away from her except when ordered to. and today, credence is ordered out of his scope of care as the queen demands an audience with him, and graves knows exactly what will happen. behind closed doors is a woman who is as cold-blooded as she is cruel, and it fills graves with rage every time credence comes from her and sports new bruises, new lacerations and cuts.
graves cares for him, giving him the affection and the care he's starved for even though he knows how credence thrives on it. this is the only place where he can feel safe, so how can graves deny him this?
tonight is particularly awful; credence comes back in worse shape than ever, and graves, who is drawing a bath for his young prince, looks up and realizes immediately what must have transpired. the water is warm and scattered with healing flowers; the beatings must be worse tonight because credence seems more downtrodden than usual, his sweet-natured, innocent little prince suffering the indignity of a stepmother's jealousy.
he feels his jaw clench, fiercely protective and fond of him (too fond, he thinks; his growing attraction to his young prince is becoming a problem). ]
Yes. [ he says nonetheless, going over to him to gesture him closer, so that he can remove credence's shirt. ] Today seems to be bad for you. What did the queen demand?
[ credence is exhausted. his entire body hurts and all he really does is nod as he moves closer to graves, looking at him quietly a moment before standing still so that his shirt can be removed. as soon as the fabric begins to be peeled off his wounds he grimaces, nails digging into his palm slightly as he lets out a slow breath. some of the wounds will start bleeding again in the meantime and his shoulders slump. a bruise is going to blossom on his cheek as well, one that will naturally need to be covered with a concealing paste before he can go out among the public.
finally he shakes his head, looking over at graves. graves - his protector, his savior, his confidant. he smiles at him tiredly. ] It's not what she demanded, it's what I said.
[ a sigh. ] I questioned her decision to use force against our neighbors that are offering us a peace treaty. Her decision puts people in danger and it's unwise.
[ it's a show of credence's intellect: he would be a kind and just ruler that manages his country well but he's being hamstrung by the woman that's supposed to take care of him. ] I told her that she's going to lead us to a needless war and she got angry with me.
[ graves' jaw clenches at that report, and at the cruelty of his mother -- there's a familiar rage that curls in the pit of his chest. give the order, and graves would be more than happy to kill her and face whatever consequences that may come, but that would jeopardise credence's chance at the throne, it would mar his good name to know that his servant had done something like this. kinslaying is an unforgivable sin, even if they are not kindred.
so graves does what he does best, gently peeling off the shirt from his skin. the wounds make his heart clench, evidence of a brutal hand and a woman who does not deserve the crown -- credence deserves none of this; and he steps closer, light fingers brushing over it before he takes a warm cloth to gently dab at the wounds, taking care to clean it as best he can without hurting him. ]
She is no queen. You would rule your kingdom with kindness, and it would flourish under your care.
[ it would. credence is wise beyond his years, and he gently brushes his nose against his earlobe, soft and entirely inappropriate, but as a gesture of affection that has become their secret, hidden away from the rest of the world. to graves, he is not just his charge -- he is the light of his life, his world, his purpose. ]
I will dress this after your bath. Make sure it's clean.
[ sometimes credence considers giving that order. but he would be forced to kill graves after to prove his own innocence and cement his place as king and he refuses. there is no world where he can do that. he needs him, cares for him - loves him, as inappropriate as it may be. no one knows and no one ever will know.
credence grits his teeth and hisses out a breath as his shirt is tended to and more so when it's his wounds - they hurt so much and he never lets his mother so much as see him flinch from her treatment. no, percival sees all of it. percival is the only one that sees him cry, and a few tears do escape tonight. not many, but enough. ]
She only cares about herself. That is her problem.
[ the affection from graves makes him shiver and he takes a proper breath, one hand grasping for the older man's and threading their fingers for - well, a moment too long. but once he's undressed he continues to hold on, carefully using him as leverage to sink into the bath without stumbling or toppling over.
he has to be so careful because the water hurts so much at first and it lets more blood free as he settles, tinging the whole bath a very pale translucent pink. he sighs and looks up at graves, trying to relax, before: ] Help me?
[ graves would die for him in a heartbeat; he would be buried as a traitor for his sake -- but credence is as gentle-hearted as he is clever, and he knows he won't be able to do it. it's why graves loves him, why he's so fiercely protective over his young prince, the young man that he loves beyond jus tabout anything else.
he can feel him trembling, the intake of breath as he grasps him, and graves allows him this, reveling in the small bit of affection that he's been given. he supports him wordlessly, guiding him into the tub and he looks down at the swirl of pink, the blood that flows. at least it's not a deep crimson, but he knows how much it hurts. ]
It will stop hurting soon. [ he says quietly, kneeling by his tub with another clean towel. he dips it into the water, before he gently cleans his face, rinsing it again to let the water flow down his shoulders. ]
You'll sleep sweetly tonight, my prince. I'll keep you company until daybreak.
[ credence knows that graves would die for him, would be branded a traitor just to help him, but he won't ever do that to him. he loves him too much, wants him by his side always. it's the smallest selfishness but it's all he'll grant himself - keeping the man that he cares most for alive and safe. he wants that even more than the crown, which is certainly saying something.
at first he trembles slightly but graves' soothing touch helps him to calm and relax and he leans into it, eyes lidding almost shut. ] Thank you, but it must be uncomfortable to do. I don't want to put you out in that way. [ but he also can't invite him to share the bed with him - unheard of and inappropriate even if it would help him sleep even more.
eventually he's steady enough to assist in washing himself and he's looking down and away when he speaks again. ] I am thinking of doing something very rash. A hunting trip into the mountains.
[ credence doesn't hunt. however, a man lives in the mountains. a sorcerer that can kill without leaving a trace as to how or why. credence lifts his head slightly to look at graves, solemn and quiet. ] Will you go with me?
[ graves asks. he knows what's in there, how so many people actively work not to go in there unless absolutely necessary. he knows the rumors that swirl around the place, the whispers of magic and pain and wishes fulfilled. graves looks back at him in surprise, wary -- what is credence thinking, what does he want to do there?
his charge is solemn and quiet, serious and unwavering, and he wonders if he knows what he's asking, because the price they will have to pay is high, but perhaps it's warranted; how long can credence suffer under this woman, taking her abuse day after day? one day, she will kill him, and graves will not let that happen.
his fingers come to gently cup his chin, thumb brushing over credence's lower lip briefly, tentatively. ] Yes, of course. [ just the two of them. ] Your mother will be busy tomorrow, she will not notice you gone.
[ past time, really. credence does not know what cost will be dragged from them but he won't let it be pulled from graves. this is his fight and his servant will not bear more suffering than necessary - no, he needs him along as a guide, as help if he can't return home on his own. he knows graves well enough to know that he may try to take on the cost himself and he would try to go without him if he could but there's just no way and he trusts no one else.
he smiles and it's tired - but then graves is right there touching his chin, his lip, and he sucks in a breath that's just barely shaking. his hand, damp from the bath, comes up to grasp at graves' shoulder lightly, head bowed forward. ] Tomorrow cannot come soon enough.
[ graves has a vague idea of what credence intends to do, even if he doesn't have specifics -- there are times when even credence's thoughts are shaded from him, and now, too; even if the intent is clear. credence intends to do something about his mother for the sake of his kingdom, and graves would follow him wherever he goes, would pay any price for his prince's sake. ]
I will follow you to the ends of the earth. [ he murmurs, washing him, gentle and kind -- he is a fierce warrior, merciless and efficient, but in moments like these he is what credence needs him to be. he leans forward to let credence rest on him, a hand coming to gently curve over the back of his neck in comfort. ] It'll come when it comes. I would rather have some time left with you.
Hopefully we will not have to go that far. [ his voice is soft and his eyes are closed as he leans into the comforting touch, knees drawn up almost to his chest. he knows that graves would do anything for him and credence loves him for it. loves him too much, likely, but there's little to be done for that.
still, he manages a faint smile. ] You will have all my free time, Percival Graves. Every moment of it.
[ he tips his head again and in the process his lips just barely graze graves' jaw - whether it's on purpose or not is unclear, but the gesture is there and he makes no move to take it back. ] It must be uncomfortable to sit up all night.
[ his beloved prince makes a promise that graves will hold him to, but not now -- not when he's trying to care for himself. he pauses when he feels it, those lips brushing along his jaw; and he wonders if it's by accident or on purpose, even when his pulse leaps and he's never been more aware of his proximity.
he's reaching for a towel to wash him off, and boldly presses his forehead to his, taking a breath as he wonders if it's possible for his prince to feel as he does -- if it matters. the most important thing here is credence and his crown; he will do whatever it takes to restore him to the throne.
he takes a breath. ] It doesn't matter. I'm used to worse.
[ they're so close. they're so close and he loves him and graves has pressed their foreheads together and credence thinks he may die tomorrow to save his country and his breath catches. he doesn't mean to; it's instinctive and accidental but it's there.
he tips his head and their noses brush but there's nothing else - his movement is a little stilted, almost like he's frightened of what's happening. maybe he is, but he wants it nonetheless.
his eyes don't open. ] I don't want you to be uncomfortable.
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→ i want no other
but no: credence is too sweet, too kind, to kill even her. mary lou does not wish to give up her power either and thus will not grant it to her stepson - she won't grant it to her stepdaughters either. she had cleared the whole castle of the old staff save three: the princesses' ladies in waiting and the prince's personal servant.
she had granted them their servants as a false show of kindness; something to keep them settled long enough for her to do as she pleases in the background. credence is bright enough to watch her from the shadows with sharp eyes. he knows her cruelty but still he carries on and lets her focus on him. whenever one of them "misbehaves" they get beaten within an inch of their life even though it's an openly cruel means of keeping peace within the castle.
credence bears her marks most often as he poses the most threat: lashes across his back or his palms, bruises in the shape of her ring on his cheek. it leaves him quiet and timid and distrustful. so much that he only trusts his sisters and the man at his side. percival graves has been with him since he was a child - since his real mother was still alive. sometimes he asks the older man for stories about her, but mostly he just uses graves' beholden duty to him as a surrogate for affection.
(he's more fond of him than he should be, but he doesn't let on about it. ever.)
tonight he's sporting new marks courtesy of the queen's rage and his movements are a little stiff when he gets back to his chambers, shutting the door quietly behind him. it's particularly bad tonight - he's in simple pants and a shirt but the fabric of the latter is stuck to his back with sweat and blood. there's no denying that she's gone too far, but it isn't as though anyone can actually say anything without risking their lives. sometimes credence wonders if she wouldn't kill them if she could.
he knows graves will be in here now that he is returning. he's not allowed to attend the punishments as it's well-known he'll do anything to protect his charge, even inspire the queen's wrath toward himself. credence sighs, moving toward the window so that he can glance outside. ] Percival, will you please help me get ready for bed?
[ and that's just it. he's so kind, and so polite, and why wouldn't anyone with half a heart love him? the young prince, unspoiled and sweet. ]
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but there is someone who keeps him under her thumb -- the stepmother and queen of the realm, regent until credence comes of age, but she is as power-hungry as they come, and if credence wants to survive her, graves knows that he has to step with care. graves, who has served him ever since he had been a child. he's exceptionally skilled in dueling and keeping princes safe, even if he carefully conceals that skill from the queen. she doesn't need to know that he is credence's protector, assigned to care for him by the late king himself.
he is here to protect credence, to make sure that he stays alive despite the tyrannical queen's rule, and he's not often away from her except when ordered to. and today, credence is ordered out of his scope of care as the queen demands an audience with him, and graves knows exactly what will happen. behind closed doors is a woman who is as cold-blooded as she is cruel, and it fills graves with rage every time credence comes from her and sports new bruises, new lacerations and cuts.
graves cares for him, giving him the affection and the care he's starved for even though he knows how credence thrives on it. this is the only place where he can feel safe, so how can graves deny him this?
tonight is particularly awful; credence comes back in worse shape than ever, and graves, who is drawing a bath for his young prince, looks up and realizes immediately what must have transpired. the water is warm and scattered with healing flowers; the beatings must be worse tonight because credence seems more downtrodden than usual, his sweet-natured, innocent little prince suffering the indignity of a stepmother's jealousy.
he feels his jaw clench, fiercely protective and fond of him (too fond, he thinks; his growing attraction to his young prince is becoming a problem). ]
Yes. [ he says nonetheless, going over to him to gesture him closer, so that he can remove credence's shirt. ] Today seems to be bad for you. What did the queen demand?
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finally he shakes his head, looking over at graves. graves - his protector, his savior, his confidant. he smiles at him tiredly. ] It's not what she demanded, it's what I said.
[ a sigh. ] I questioned her decision to use force against our neighbors that are offering us a peace treaty. Her decision puts people in danger and it's unwise.
[ it's a show of credence's intellect: he would be a kind and just ruler that manages his country well but he's being hamstrung by the woman that's supposed to take care of him. ] I told her that she's going to lead us to a needless war and she got angry with me.
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so graves does what he does best, gently peeling off the shirt from his skin. the wounds make his heart clench, evidence of a brutal hand and a woman who does not deserve the crown -- credence deserves none of this; and he steps closer, light fingers brushing over it before he takes a warm cloth to gently dab at the wounds, taking care to clean it as best he can without hurting him. ]
She is no queen. You would rule your kingdom with kindness, and it would flourish under your care.
[ it would. credence is wise beyond his years, and he gently brushes his nose against his earlobe, soft and entirely inappropriate, but as a gesture of affection that has become their secret, hidden away from the rest of the world. to graves, he is not just his charge -- he is the light of his life, his world, his purpose. ]
I will dress this after your bath. Make sure it's clean.
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credence grits his teeth and hisses out a breath as his shirt is tended to and more so when it's his wounds - they hurt so much and he never lets his mother so much as see him flinch from her treatment. no, percival sees all of it. percival is the only one that sees him cry, and a few tears do escape tonight. not many, but enough. ]
She only cares about herself. That is her problem.
[ the affection from graves makes him shiver and he takes a proper breath, one hand grasping for the older man's and threading their fingers for - well, a moment too long. but once he's undressed he continues to hold on, carefully using him as leverage to sink into the bath without stumbling or toppling over.
he has to be so careful because the water hurts so much at first and it lets more blood free as he settles, tinging the whole bath a very pale translucent pink. he sighs and looks up at graves, trying to relax, before: ] Help me?
[ oh. ]
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he can feel him trembling, the intake of breath as he grasps him, and graves allows him this, reveling in the small bit of affection that he's been given. he supports him wordlessly, guiding him into the tub and he looks down at the swirl of pink, the blood that flows. at least it's not a deep crimson, but he knows how much it hurts. ]
It will stop hurting soon. [ he says quietly, kneeling by his tub with another clean towel. he dips it into the water, before he gently cleans his face, rinsing it again to let the water flow down his shoulders. ]
You'll sleep sweetly tonight, my prince. I'll keep you company until daybreak.
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at first he trembles slightly but graves' soothing touch helps him to calm and relax and he leans into it, eyes lidding almost shut. ] Thank you, but it must be uncomfortable to do. I don't want to put you out in that way. [ but he also can't invite him to share the bed with him - unheard of and inappropriate even if it would help him sleep even more.
eventually he's steady enough to assist in washing himself and he's looking down and away when he speaks again. ] I am thinking of doing something very rash. A hunting trip into the mountains.
[ credence doesn't hunt. however, a man lives in the mountains. a sorcerer that can kill without leaving a trace as to how or why. credence lifts his head slightly to look at graves, solemn and quiet. ] Will you go with me?
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[ graves asks. he knows what's in there, how so many people actively work not to go in there unless absolutely necessary. he knows the rumors that swirl around the place, the whispers of magic and pain and wishes fulfilled. graves looks back at him in surprise, wary -- what is credence thinking, what does he want to do there?
his charge is solemn and quiet, serious and unwavering, and he wonders if he knows what he's asking, because the price they will have to pay is high, but perhaps it's warranted; how long can credence suffer under this woman, taking her abuse day after day? one day, she will kill him, and graves will not let that happen.
his fingers come to gently cup his chin, thumb brushing over credence's lower lip briefly, tentatively. ] Yes, of course. [ just the two of them. ] Your mother will be busy tomorrow, she will not notice you gone.
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[ past time, really. credence does not know what cost will be dragged from them but he won't let it be pulled from graves. this is his fight and his servant will not bear more suffering than necessary - no, he needs him along as a guide, as help if he can't return home on his own. he knows graves well enough to know that he may try to take on the cost himself and he would try to go without him if he could but there's just no way and he trusts no one else.
he smiles and it's tired - but then graves is right there touching his chin, his lip, and he sucks in a breath that's just barely shaking. his hand, damp from the bath, comes up to grasp at graves' shoulder lightly, head bowed forward. ] Tomorrow cannot come soon enough.
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I will follow you to the ends of the earth. [ he murmurs, washing him, gentle and kind -- he is a fierce warrior, merciless and efficient, but in moments like these he is what credence needs him to be. he leans forward to let credence rest on him, a hand coming to gently curve over the back of his neck in comfort. ] It'll come when it comes. I would rather have some time left with you.
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still, he manages a faint smile. ] You will have all my free time, Percival Graves. Every moment of it.
[ he tips his head again and in the process his lips just barely graze graves' jaw - whether it's on purpose or not is unclear, but the gesture is there and he makes no move to take it back. ] It must be uncomfortable to sit up all night.
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he's reaching for a towel to wash him off, and boldly presses his forehead to his, taking a breath as he wonders if it's possible for his prince to feel as he does -- if it matters. the most important thing here is credence and his crown; he will do whatever it takes to restore him to the throne.
he takes a breath. ] It doesn't matter. I'm used to worse.
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he tips his head and their noses brush but there's nothing else - his movement is a little stilted, almost like he's frightened of what's happening. maybe he is, but he wants it nonetheless.
his eyes don't open. ] I don't want you to be uncomfortable.