#machi.chessboard

[mach1nat1on]

Séraphin silently adjusts Cyrille’s wedding attire, peacefully quiet despite he busy halls outside the crown princes dressing room. Séraphin’s hand resting on the brooch decorated with the Lecair family crest after ensuring it’s secure. A sullen look on his face, barely hidden sorrow pooling in his eyes as though it’s a funeral. For Séraphin’s heart, it may as well be; his heart lost in the mountain of wedding gifts for the crown prince and a noble woman of high birth. Served with a shining ribbon in a beautiful box to be presented at the end of the ceremonies and parties.

The prince doesn’t know that though, even as he cups the cheek of his advisor, examining the younger mans face as if he could spot whats wrong. “You look like you’re sending me across the river to our deities above” the prince quips, fondly smiling as his advisor looks to him. “I just can’t believe you’re getting married before me” his advisor cheekily responds, as if his heart wasn’t stuck in his throat, desperate to string words together in a lovely confession. Yet Séraphin pulls away, and Cyrille is reminded again of how cold his hands feel when they aren’t cupping his dearest friends face.

“Best you get going, the preparations are almost done, your majesty.” Séraphin states, distant in tone as he walks to the other side of the room to act like he’s busy cleaning up a very small mess.

“already? here I was thinking I could enjoy my last moments of bachelordom for a while longer…”

“her highness is on her way, it’s rude to keep a lady waiting; especially your future bride”

Cyrille can’t help but notice the distance between them. Physically and emotionally.

“Must you be so proper? I remember when we first met. Wild and young as you climbed onto that horses back like you had done so a thousand times before” His majesty reminisces as he picks up a book, lessons from his now faraway youth. Cyrille continues speaking as he walks to Séraphin, a gentle smile on his face.

Séraphin doesn’t seem to notice, or care when he replies.

“It’s because I had, my mother had me riding horses before I could even run straight.”

“My point is my dear, you were always so free and happy, now you’re all serious and rule abiding-”

Suddenly, Séraphin can’t seem to pay attention to the books in his hand, or whatever else his majesty says after the words ‘my dear’. It makes the tips of his ears burn red, hiding his face by turning away and putting the remaining books onto the shelf in front of him. His red ears don’t go unnoticed, Cyrille’s laughter echoing in the room. Charming and warm like a stoked flame in winter. “And to think you’d turn such a lovely shade of red”

Séraphin stammers, collecting himself as he turns to his prince. “You-!”

Cyrille laughter slowly dies down again, a satisfied grin settling on his face as he looks to Séraphin with amusement dancing in his eyes.

“you better get to the wedding Cyrille! you’ll be late at this rate!” Séraphin changes the subject quickly, ignoring the flaring heat in his cheeks and the back of his neck.

“but what if I want to be late?”

“You absolutely cannot! not this time!” Séra crosses his arms, a stern look on his face. Eyeing the groom with a raised brow.

“Séra….” Cyrille pouts innocently, but it’s short lived as Séraphin winds up again.

“no! I will be the one in trouble if you’re late so shoo! you’re already ready, you just have to make it there on time!

The groom huffs, finally heading towards the door to leave. Just when Séraphin is ready to sink to the floor, his prince speaks up again.

“Séraphin”

“….yes?” worried, he looks to the prince. The door cracked open and he can simply feel the vulnerability the prince exudes in this moment.

“you’ll be with me till the end right?”

“of course, my prince.”

silence. uncomfortable silence.

“now go. go get married. do not leave the future Queen waiting”

“…right.”