#this all started with me checking the spelling for ramrod-straight and then realising i have no idea if i should hyphenate it or not

[cangrellesteponme]

girl help i have literally been studying english for years and i've just learned the actual rules of compound adjective hyphenation how the fuck did i survive this long

[jovialyouthmusic]

Bastien Undercover

What goes on under the sharp grey suit of the Head of the King’s Guard? All will be revealed...as part of @bobasheebaby​ and my ‘Bastien’s Underwear Challenge

Word Count 2500

A/N Please note the picture centre top and keep it in mind for the story below. No warnings - just a little suggestive, some fluff.

Brief Encounter

Sophia heard a knock on the door of the suite she and Bastien shared at the Palace, and went to investigate. Bastien was doing his physio in their new improvised gym and was not likely to emerge for at least another ten minutes for his shower. It was internal mail, and she discovered a package addressed to her lover. She took it with a smile and set it on the coffee table, going into the little kitchenette to make another pot of coffee ready for Bastien. He emerged a little while later just as she poured some for herself, the back of his t shirt damp with sweat, a towel around his neck, mopping his forehead. He raised his eyebrows at the parcel, a strange expression on his face.

‘I won’t kiss you, I’m all sweaty’ he said, passing the parcel, somehow unable to tear his eyes away from it. ‘When did that come?’

‘Just now – there’s coffee for you when you’ve showered, agápe mou’ He disappeared toward the bathroom and Sophia sat with her cup of coffee, looking curiously at the package. The address label was printed, so it must be some sort of purchase. There was no clue as to where it came from. It wasn’t Bastien’s birthday or hers, so her interest was piqued. She picked it up and gave it a squeeze. It was soft.

‘Sophia?’ She jumped violently as Bastien entered, freshly showered and wearing a bathrobe.

‘Oh – I was just…’ He swooped on her and tried to take the parcel, but she held on to it.

‘This looks interesting – what is it?’ she asked. Strangely he coloured a little

‘It’s personal’ he said ‘and private’ He pulled it from her grasp ‘You’ll find out soon enough. Now where’s that drink?’ Sophia slumped in defeat and got up to pour him his morning coffee.

------

Later that day, Sophia returned to the suite after going for a spa visit with Olivia. The parcel had disappeared without a trace, and she wondered why Bastien was being so secretive. She didn’t have long to wait before he returned from his meeting with Lewis, and he kissed her fondly as she greeted him.

‘Dress for dinner, we’re going out tonight to a little Italian restaurant I know in town’

‘Oh? Sophia replied ‘Are we meeting anyone else?’

‘No, just you and me – it’s a date’ he smiled, and brought his mouth to her ear ‘and you may get lucky afterwards’ She shivered in anticipation and he patted her backside as he made his way to the bedroom ‘Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll change’

‘Oh, I don’t need to shower’ she said ‘I’ve been to the spa, remember? We can change together’ Bastien frowned.

‘You go ahead and change, I’ve just got a few papers to see to’ She pouted

‘I thought you said you’d leave work at the door’ she protested

‘It’s just a small thing, I forgot to take some things down to the office earlier, it won’t take long.’ Sophia went through to the bedroom and opened her wardrobe, looking through her dresses and wondering what to wear. Eventually she picked out a sleeveless turquoise dress that showed enough cleavage without being indecent, figure hugging above the waist but with a bit of room below to allow for a bit of food belly. She wasn’t going to overeat though, as even though she would be working it off pretty quickly if Bastien’s promise came through, sex on a full stomach was not comfortable.

She picked out a suitable bra and wondered whether to bother with panties at all, but decided on a thong and hold up stockings. Bas would go crazy when he realised, and she wondered if they would even get to the restaurant before they had to let their hands do the talking. Perhaps she would tell him after they’d eaten.

She was aware of him coming into the room and going to his underwear drawer. He fumbled around, then loudly proclaimed

‘I’ll shower now, you don’t need to go in the bathroom, do you?’ Sophia was rummaging around in her makeup bag.

‘No it’s fine, go ahead’ she said absently, though she knew he was acting oddly. She turned to look at him and he swiftly turned away as though he was hiding something, quickly leaving the room. Still intrigued, she waited a moment then crept after him, foiled as he heard the lock engage on the bathroom door. She sighed and went back to finish getting ready.

------

Bastien had arranged for one of the younger guards to drive them to the restaurant, and they had a pleasant meal. The staff knew him well and treated them like honoured guests. Sophia ordered pasta with kalamari and indulged in a scoop of gelato afterwards. They gazed at each other adoringly over spoonfuls of the iced dessert, Sophia feeding Bastien.

‘We could order some cannoli to take home’ she said in a sultry tone. Bastien leaned closer

‘Trust me, we don’t need it, ’ he said ‘It was great as a jump start after our little famine, but tonight I have something else to interest you’

‘I’m wearing stockings’ she whispered, and Bastien’s eyebrows shot up. He reached into his jacket pocket for his credit card.

‘Check please’ he called, rising to his feet as fast as his injured leg allowed.

------

They got a taxi back, as they could fool around in the back more easily than if it was one of Bastien’s men driving. Immediately they set off, his hand wandered up Sophia’s thigh to feel for the top of her stocking, groaning with pleasure.

‘You do things to me that shouldn’t be legal’ he murmured in her ear, and angled his body so he could nip at her collarbone. Hands wandered and lips roamed as they drove back to the palace, the sexual tension between the two lovers thick enough to cut with a knife.

‘You said you had a surprise for me’ Sophia said as they disentangled themselves as the taxi went through security at the Palace gate, so that by the time they drew up into the staff courtyard they were respectable, clothes straightened and neat.

‘Patience, theá mou, you’ll find out soon’ They made their way back to their suite, Sophia pulling him into an alcove along the way to kiss him again, then giggling as she easily raced ahead of him up the stairs.

‘Wait for me Sophia’ he grumbled, fumbling with his cane and cursing his injury ‘or so help me I’ll spank you when I catch up with you’

‘Promise?’ she laughed, and was ready for him inside the door of the suite, leaning against the wall and pulling him against her. ‘I can’t wait any longer’ she breathed ‘What’s my surprise?’ He pressed her to the wall with a scorching kiss, again reaching for the top of her stocking and snapping it against her skin so that she gave out a little yelp.

‘Follow me’ he commanded, taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom ‘Sit down and watch’ he said, and she did as she was told, biting her lip and fixing her eyes on him. He took his jacket off and hung it casually on the back of the chair, continuing to undress smoothly and sensuously. She caught her breath at the familiar but still highly stimulating sight of his chest and abs. He had kicked off his shoes and balled up his socks to the laundry basket, and paused with his fingers ready to undo his belt and zipper. She squirmed a little with anticipation, noticing that unsurprisingly his pants were already tenting impressively.

As he unzipped his pants she caught her breath again and he let them drop to the floor, heavy with his belt. She gasped. Instead of his usual plain black or navy briefs, he wore a pair of multicoloured boxer briefs, straining at holding their contents. They hugged his contours snugly, and he turned, showing her the curve of his firm buttocks and studying her expression expectantly. Her mouth hung open in amazement for a moment before she managed to speak.

‘Bas – what are those?’ He frowned.

‘Do you like them?’ he asked

‘Is the pope a Catholic?’ she asked, awestruck ‘Those are spectacular. Why haven’t you worn anything like this before?’

‘It didn’t feel right for work’ he said ‘Now I’m taking a less active role I thought I’d try them again. I used to wear something similar, but there’s a story behind them…’

 ------

Bastien stood outside Jackson Walker’s office door, quaking in his boots. He was in trouble – serious trouble, and he was terrified he had jeopardised his chances to stay with the King’s Guard once he had finished his training. Not all made the grade, and many a security guard or doorman at the swanky hotels and exclusive clubs in the Cordonian capital and Monte Carlo owed their start in their working life to the exacting regime of the Guard. None could tell the tale of their experience as they had signed non disclosure agreements and could only clamp their jaws shut and purse their lips when asked what they had to go through before they had been found wanting.

The door opened and Walker’s second in command beckoned to the young man. He straightened his back ramrod straight and walked in, his face impassive but his guts churning and his knees shaky. He stood in front of Walker’s desk, hands clasped in front of his groin, gaze level.

‘Reporting as requested, Sir’ he announced gravely, and the older man lifted his chin

‘At ease, son’ he replied ‘This isn’t the army – sit down, Lykel’

‘I’d rather stand, sir’ Walker sighed

‘Very well, have it your way’ Bastien dared not look down at the desk – he knew what was there and it spelled his doom. Jackson tapped the surface and Bastien swallowed hard, savouring his last moments with the King’s Guard.

‘Lykel, please tell me what this is’ he said sternly, tapping the object in front of him

‘It’s a magazine, sir’ Jackson grunted in frustration and waited for him to look down. He felt his face flush as he did so, the image that met his eye burning into his retinas. There was an array of photographs of toned and buffed young men sporting colourful underwear – a high end brand he was only too familiar with, as at that moment he was wearing a pair. He wished he had worn something more modest that day – his ‘lucky’ pants having given up the ghost a week ago so he had been forced to wear – well actually it was the pair that was top left on the page in front of him.

‘I’m waiting, Lykel’ Bastien’s heart hammered in his ribcage. His mind worked overtime – the model agency had been impressed, perhaps they would take him on when Walker threw him out on his ear. Maybe it would pay more than private security.

‘I – I needed the money Sir, it was before I applied for – for the King’s Guard, Sir’ Jackson sighed heavily

‘Now that wasn’t so hard son, was it? He paused ‘Please sit, Lykel, I don’t want you to throw up’ Gratefully Bastien sank into the hard chair in front of the desk, taking a deep breath, and waited for the lecture – and the dismissal. However, there was a glimmer of hope in his superior’s eyes, a sympathetic expression on his face.

‘Just so you know, Lykel, this is not a sackable offence’ Bastien almost saw stars with a sick sense of relief, but wouldn’t allow himself to relax just yet. His superior continued ‘You know that there may be occasions when you will be undercover. Your presence is vital, but your identity needs to be kept secret’ He looked down at the magazine.

‘Luckily, there are no head shots here, and I have already contacted the magazine and the model agency to have any photographs and their negatives destroyed, and your profile erased.’ Bastien’s rigid posture softened a little and he let his breath go. Jackson fixed him with a steely glare.

‘This isn’t the end of your career in the Guard, but I consider it strike one, and you did it before you joined up so I’ll be lenient. You are a very promising cadet and I don’t want your training to fail on something like this. Is this the only agency that you used? Am I likely to find any more surprises?’

‘No sir, thankyou sir – I mean, no, that was the only shoot’ Bastien stuttered.

‘Very well. You are on probation and if I discover the tiniest flaw in your attendance or performance, I will come down on you without mercy. Dismissed’ Thankfully, Bastien rose with a huge sense of relief

‘Yes sir, thankyou. I won’t disappoint you, Sir’ He promised earnestly

‘I’m pretty sure you won’t’ Jackson Walker replied as he left the room with a lighter step.

 ------

‘I take it you kept your promise then?’ Sophia asked, turning her back for Bastien to draw down the zipper of her dress, kissing his way down her spine.

‘I certainly did. I didn’t make a single mistake for the rest of my training – not a late morning, not a hair out of place, not a wrinkle in my uniform, and I passed first in all the aptitude tests – every single one. I finished top of my year with a perfect record and nobody’s ever equalled it’ She shrugged off her dress and put it in the laundry. Bastien looked her up and down, standing in her underwear and stockings, and she looked back at him in the figure hugging brightly coloured boxer briefs.

‘Apart from modelling for underwear’ she scolded

‘Not while I was a guard’ he smiled. She put her arms around his neck and planted a kiss on his lips, their bodies only millimetres apart.

‘Well I think you could go back to the modelling agency, they’d welcome you with open arms, especially with that adorable patch of white on your beard’ she teased. He bent his head to brush his lips over hers.

‘The only reason I had a pair when I was younger was because they let me keep the ones I’d worn’ he replied ‘They’re damn expensive even now, but I thought I’d treat myself – and you. Do you really like them?’

‘I like them so much you’re still wearing them’ she laughed ‘But perhaps you could take them off now. I can take my stockings off too’

‘No’ he growled, nipping at her collar bone ‘Keep them on, theá mou’

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

The Black Swan

Chapter 14

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 6745

Chapter: 14/17 (All chapters)

Summary: Simon brings what he's found to the lake, and has a plan to fix it all.

Read on AO3

AN: Hey, so my essay has been kicking my ass. Editing this has been a nice break. Hope you guys like this :)

———————————————

Simon hopped off the dirt wall. Much to his surprise, and slight disappointment, Baz wasn’t there waiting for him. Instead, Baz was standing in front of the lake with his back to Simon. He was waving the wand like a conductor's baton, making water dance in slow streams in front of him. The swans on the lake were honking loudly in confusion.

“Calm down, all of you,” Baz said, exasperated but also amused. “It’s just some magic, you panicky little twits.” They kept honking, flapping their large white wings. “Gods, once again, I wish you all could actually understand me when I’m human.”

Simon’s heart was melting out of his chest and dribbling into his boots. He straightened his bag straps over both his shoulders and walked towards Baz. He put his arms around Baz’s waist, and after weeks of this, Baz didn’t even flinch when he did. He simply leaned his head back on Simon’s shoulder, sighing against his ear.

“Good evening, love,” he purred. “Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hi,” Simon replied. “How are you?”

“I’m good. Working on water spells, I think I’m getting better.” He made a figure eight motion, and the water followed perfectly. It still wasn’t as smooth as his fire work but it was certainly improving. In almost three weeks, he was doing better than most first year mage students after six months. Simon was so damn proud.

He squeezed Baz’s waist. “You’re doing amazing.”

Baz turned his head and pressed his cool lips to Simon’s cheek. “Thank you, darling. How are you doing?”

Simon subtly gulped, and realised he was holding Baz a bit tighter without thinking. “Yeah, uh, actually, I have to talk to you about something...and we should probably sit down for it.”

The water in the air immediately dropped with a resounding splash. The swans squawked very angrily at Baz. Simon had no idea if swans could say curse words, but if they could, they’d probably sound like that. Baz was completely stiff in Simon’s embrace. He lowered his wand hand slowly, arm ramrod straight. Simon couldn’t see Baz’s face, but he had a feeling he looked very, very cold.

“Baz? What’s wrong?”

“Simon,” he said, voice like the most biting frost, “if you’re going to end this, I’d prefer you just get it over with.”

“What?! No, no!” He dashed in front of Baz. Heartbreakingly, Baz’s face was stone, completely neutral and unfeeling. Simon hated when Baz looked like this, like a complete statue. He cupped his sharp cheeks. “No, Baz, I’m not ending us. I promise, I’m not.” Baz still looked unconvinced. Simon held him tighter. “Baz, it’s...it’s about your family. I think I found out who they are, who you were, before here.”

Baz’s face went from stone to complete shock with a twinge of happiness. His free hand flew up to grip Simon’s arm a bit too tight. “Really? You’re serious?”

“Yeah. I promise. I make jokes but I wouldn’t joke about this, Baz.” They both chuckled, and Simon felt incredibly relieved. But...he still had to tell him. “You’re going to want to sit down though.”

Baz furrowed his brows. It was painfully adorable, but Simon couldn’t get distracted. “Okay, if you say so.”

They sat down together, simultaneously crossing their legs, knees touching. Simon put his rucksack in his lap. He took many deep breaths. Baz was looking at him very strangely, almost on this side of amused. Simon hoped he would still look at him like that after.

“So, uh,” Simon said, “I looked through the mage family records, but couldn’t find anything. But then I went to the back, and I-I found this weird room, and I found, well, this.”

Simon pulled the portrait out of his bag and shoved it at Baz. He was a bit taken aback, but still took the painting from him. He scanned over it carefully, analysing like Penny did with it too. Simon felt his palms get more sweaty with every passing second. But Baz didn’t shout or cry or anything. He just looked perplexed.

“Okay,” he said, “it’s a nice portrait. I’m not sure why you’re showing it to me though.”

Simon tried to suppress a groan. It wasn’t Baz’s fault. Simon hadn’t explained, but he wasn’t looking forward to doing it. He barely knew how to start. He leaned up on his knees, pointing at the people in the picture. “This is, uh, the royal family, before David and me. That’s actually Queen Natasha Grimm-Pitch, the author you love.”

Baz’s lips quirked up. “Oh. It’s good to finally put a face to the admired name.”

“Y-Yeah. And that,” he moved his finger to the little boy, “is her son, her only child, Prince Tyrannus Grimm-Pitch. They both, uh, they died a long time ago.”

“Well, that’s morose. Still don’t know why you’re telling me about them. Or how they have anything to do with my family. Am I some distant cousin of royalty? That would be interesting.”

Simon took a very long, very deep breath. He needed to muster up every ounce of courage he had for this. Because he was scared, he was worried, he didn’t want Baz to be mad at him. But in the end, this wasn’t about him. This was about Baz. His future, his family, his escape from this hell. And he wanted to know he had people who missed him.

“Baz,” he said firmly, “I think you’re Prince Tyrannus.”

For a long, long moment, the only sound was the wind whistling in the trees and the swans softly paddling the water. Simon kept his eyes squeezed shut at first. He needed to centre himself, make sure he was calm before talked to Baz again. He had to be Baz’s rock in this insane storm. But once he was ready, he slowly opened his eyes, and looked at Baz. And well, Simon didn’t know what else he expected.

Baz looked completely, utterly, shellshocked. His face was frozen somewhere between bewilderment and horror. He gripped the frame so hard Simon feared he’d snap it in half under his incredible strength. Baz’s breathing became more and more shallow, as if his lungs were becoming smaller with every passing second. Simon almost reached out to touch him, but it felt like touching a wild bear, unpredictable and possibly deadly. He waited for Baz to speak first. It felt like Baz’s place to break the tension, when he was ready.

“Simon,” he finally whispered, “if this is the actual joke, it’s not very funny.”

“It’s not a joke!” Simon put a hand on his knee, bear danger be damned. He shouldn’t be afraid of Baz. “I’m serious, Baz. I think you wer- are Prince Tyrannus, son of Queen Natasha Grimm-Pitch. Fuck think, actually, I know you are. I found stuff to prove it and shit. I mean, first of all, you look exactly like the prince. You’re bigger but you still look the same. You can see that, right?”

Baz’s eyes flicked up. They were narrowed, but still quivering slightly. “I suppose you have a point, but that’s not exactly objective fact. I hope you have some more solid proof. Otherwise, I'm not sure I can believe you.”

Simon nodded. “Yeah, yeah, of course I do. Look, here.” He reached into his bag, and pulled out the first proclamation. “This is an announcement about the Queen and Prince’s deaths. They died in a fire, in 1002. You would’ve been five. Queen Natasha died, but you were taken. Like in the dreams, remember?”

“Yes, of course I remember. But this could just be a coincidence. You’ll need more than your dreams to convince me I’m a bloody dead prince, love.”

Simon smiled slightly. He was glad Penny had been with him to look for proof. "Yeah, I know. That’s why I have more.” He pulled out the other proclamation paper and put it Baz’s hand. “This is the announcement of the prince’s birth. This was released the day after he was born, so he has the same birthday as you. And see that symbol on the bottom of the page? Look familiar?”

Baz touched his silver chain where it peaked out of tunic collar. Just a small brush, but an acknowledgement all the same. “What is it?” he asked, voice very cautiously hopeful.

“It’s the crest of Tyrannus’ father’s family, the Grimms. And it’s on your necklace, Baz, along with the same birthday. That can’t be a coincidence.”

Baz twisted his mouth. Simon knew he was just thinking, but the movement was infinitely distracting and he needed to focus right now. “I suppose you have a point. But...you said this prince was dead. Last I checked, I’m not dead. Not physically anyway.”

Simon almost wanted to laugh. It was certainly extremely convenient how Baz’s train of thought followed their journey to find proof. Thank the Gods for Penny’s similar need for irrefutable proof.

He pulled the journal from the bag, the page he needed already bookmarked. “See, that’s the thing.” He flipped it open and pointed to the entry. “He may have been officially declared dead, but his body wasn’t actually found after the fire. These are the court physician’s notes. Because you were taken, not killed. No one knew though, since there was too much debris from the castle burning down. And Lord Grimm didn’t want to keep looking so they never realised the Prince’s- your body wasn’t there.”

Baz’s hands were shaking again as he held the journal. His mouth was pressed tight together. Simon knew that look. He had the same expression whenever he was trying to keep his feelings in check too.

“But,” Baz choked out, “why did he stop?”

Simon’s heart broke. Of course Baz felt abandoned, like he had his entire life. Simon put both his hand over Baz’s. The shaking subsided a bit. “Look at the journal, you can read it there. He was too grief stricken to keep looking. It must’ve been hard to keep his hopes up all the time and keep being disappointed. I-It was a big fire, there was a lot of stuff. And Lord Grimm, he couldn’t have known you were actually taken by some madman.”

“I know,” Baz whispered, carefully putting the book down next to him. “Still...it hurts...”

Simon immediately crawled into Baz’s lap and threw his arms around him, pressing Baz as tight against him as he could. Baz hugged his waist, burying his face in Simon’s shoulder. Simon felt tears wet his tunic. He didn’t say anything though, he just let Baz cry. It was the least he could do after dumping all this on him. And considering everything, it was a relief Baz wasn’t having a full on breakdown. Simon was just glad he was mostly alright.

“One question,” he mumbled into Simon’s shoulder, “if his- my name is Tyrannus, which is a stupid name by the way, why the fuck am I called Basil? Did the man make up a new name for me?”

“Funny story about that,” Simon chuckled. “I talked to Queen Natasha’s sister. She doesn’t like David or me, so it took a bit of convincing, but she told me something cool. Prince Tyrannus’ middle name? It was Basilton. Everyone in the castle called him that, or Basil for short.”

Baz arms somehow tightened even more. He let out a shaky breath. Simon slowly ran his fingers through Baz’s hair. He had a feeling it was finally settling in for Baz, just like Simon had felt it settle in for him; Baz was Prince Tyrannus. He was supposedly dead royalty, with a name, with a family.

“So,” Baz said, barely raising from Simon’s body, “my...my father...” He obviously struggled to get the word out, but found a way to do it anyway. “He’s still alive?”

“Yeah, yeah, definitely. I see him at every council meeting.”

Baz pulled back a bit while still looking at the ground. “What’s...what’s he like?”

Simon tried to find a word to summarise Malcolm Grimm. A lot of them weren’t exactly positive. “He’s, uh, he’s...very...stern.”

Baz finally looked up a bit, his red and puffy eyes meeting Simon’s. “That’s not exactly encouraging, Snow.”

“Yeah,” Simon chuckled, “I know. It's just, he doesn’t like David that much, so he’s really cold in council meetings. He might actually be nice. I mean, I’m pretty sure he remarried and he’s had like, three or four more kids. So for their sake I hope he’s nice.”

Baz chuckled. “Well, I hope so too then.” He fiddled Simon’s trouser seam, rolling it between his long fingers. A nervous tic to distract himself. “So I’ve got siblings too?”

“Uh, yeah, I guess so. I didn’t connect it, but, yeah.” He grinned as broadly as he could, running a hand over Baz’s hair. “You’re a big brother.”

“Hm, that...sounds nice. And I have an aunt?”

“Yeah, Lady Fiona Pitch. She’s, uh, very forceful.”

Baz raised an eyebrow. “You don’t seem to have a high opinion of my family, Snow.”

Simon chuckled and shook his head. “No, no, it’s a good thing. She’s like, super strong and willful. She didn’t want to tell me Prince Tyrannus’ middle name at first because she didn’t want me dragging her nephew’s memory through the mud.”

“She thought you would?”

“She didn’t know for sure at first. She just wanted to protect her family.”

Baz’s mouth morphed into a tiny half smile. “That’s nice.”

“Yeah. She’s fiery and sharp tongued. I think you two would get along.”

The smile got the tiniest bit wider. “That’s good.”

He kept fiddling with Simon’s trousers. Simon kept running his fingers through Baz’s silky hair. It had gotten long again. Maybe they should cut it, before tomorrow night. Before the Winter Ball. Because Simon had an idea, if Baz agreed to it, and Baz would want to look good.

Suddenly, Baz stopped fiddling, his entire body going stiff. Simon pushed himself back. Baz’s eyes were wide in what looked like shock and horror.

“Baz? Are you okay, love?”

“I’m a prince,” he said quietly. “I’m a fucking prince, heir to a throne. Fuck...”

Simon couldn’t help the little snort he made. The fact that Baz didn’t pinch his side or flick him showed Simon just how shocked he was. “It just hit you right now, huh?”

“Yeah. Holy shit, I’m supposed to be a king. That’s insane.”

Simon cupped the back of Baz’s neck, tilting his face up just enough so their eyes met. “Um, yeah, technically you are. But you don’t have to be though, if you don’t want to...”

Baz held his head higher, brows very firmly knitted together. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Snow.”

“Baz,” he sighed, “I of all people know how hard it can be to be a prince. I didn’t tell you this to put that burden on you. I-I just wanted you to know you had a family and people missed you, because that’s what you wanted. But you don’t have to be a prince or a king. I can break the curse and we can just, run away together. Or you can stay, and the Court will make you the crown prince instead of me, and one day you’ll be king. It’s up to you, love.”

“Wouldn’t King David come after you if we ran?”

Simon tenderly ran his thumbs under Baz’s grey eyes. “It would be worth the risk.”

Baz’s smile was small and his gaze was sparkling. He leaned into Simon’s hands, running his own fingers up and down Simon’s sides.

“I’m not sure what I should do, Snow.” he whispered. “My...my mother, I think she would’ve wanted me to take care of the throne after her, right?”

“Yeah, I think so. But you don’t have to-”

“I know, Snow, I know. I just...I’m probably not the person she hoped for me to be, who she wanted to be her heir. She was a brilliant ruler. At least she had brilliant ideas about ruling. She certainly would have wanted to raise and teach me herself. But instead, I’ve spent almost my entire life in a bloody lake, and for six years of it cursed. Would...would I even be a good king?”

It finally hit Simon. It wasn’t that Baz didn’t want to be king and carry on his dead mother’s legacy. He loved politics and economics and every weird finicky prince thing Simon found boring as shit. But he didn’t think he could. Baz was right in way, he probably wasn’t exactly the person his mother thought he would be. Simon had no idea who he would’ve been if Queen Natasha had raised him. But he knew who Baz was, right here, right now. And he needed Baz to know what he thought too.

“Baz,” he said softly, tucking a piece of black hair behind his pointed ear, “I think you’d be a good king. Way better than David, and definitely way better than me.”

“How much of a compliment is that?” he mumbled. Simon flicked his cheek while his lovely, caring companion snickered.

“I’m serious, though, Baz. I think you’d be a good king.”

His face didn’t exactly fall, but it became serious. He was examining Simon like he was one of his books, looking for meaning and understanding. “How do you know?”

Because you’re smart, he thought, and kind, and so unbelievably strong. You’d be able to see all the small details I miss. And you would treat the people so well. But the words got stuck in his throat, and he wasn’t sure the ever self deprecating Baz would believe him if he just said it. If there was another way...

Simon held Baz’s arms, still snug around his waist. “If you were king, what would you do if you needed the wheat, but the amount you needed wouldn’t leave enough for the people farming it?”

Baz’s face pinched together. It was adorable, and Simon had to actively stop himself from snogging him silly. “What is this? Some kind of riddle?”

Simon shook his head, hands moving to hold his shoulders. “No, just a question. Please answer it, love.”

Baz tilted his head to the side, lips sliding back and forth over each other. Once again, it was a struggle to not push him to the ground and snig him senseless. “Well,” he said slowly, “I wouldn’t take that much to begin with. I’d tax a sustainable amount. And if I really needed more, I’d give the farmers funds to encourage them to till more arable land. But not enough it would destroy wild lands for animals. You should always protect nature. It’d be complicated and difficult, but it would be worth it to not harm the people. Queen Nata- ...my...my mother, she wrote that at the end of the day all a ruler really has is the faith of the common people. You break that, you lose your throne, and you’ll deserve it. So never harm them with your own ambitions.” Baz nervously met Simon’s eyes. “Does that make sense?”

Simon’s grin was involuntary and broad. He didn’t know exactly how Baz would answer, but he was more than happy with what he said. “Yeah. That makes perfect sense.” He pressed a firm kiss to his cheek, trailing his lips up to Baz’s ear, where he whispered words. “You would be an incredible king, Baz.”

“Really?” he asked, voice tiny but hopeful.

“Really. Trust me, I wouldn’t lie about this. Listen to yourself. I never would've thought of any of that, but you did. You would be fucking fantastic.

Baz let out a long breath, all the tension in his muscles thawing like ice. His forehead fell against Simon’s shoulder. Simon’s fingers were pressed to Baz’s neck, warm breath heating up his tunic.

“I think,” Baz said into the fabric, “I think I want to. Take back the throne, that is. I want to show I’m worthy of it. Well, I’ll try, and hopefully I am.”

“You’re sure that’s what you want?” Simon asked. “Not what you think your mother would want?”

Baz nodded. “Yeah. Honestly...I think it’s a bit of both. I want to prove I’m worthy of her legacy, but I also want to myself.” He pulled back, the tiniest smile playing on his mouth. “I’ve been reading about politics and philosophy for years, might as well put all of it to use. And I’ve been trapped here almost my whole life, unable to do anything. I could do a lot as a king, make a difference. I’d like that.”

Simon almost said that he could do a lot as anything. He didn’t have to be king. But it was obviously something Baz wanted to do. Simon didn’t fully get it, what with his experience as a prince, but he understood it was important to Baz, and that was all that mattered.

“Okay,” Simon said. “If that’s what you want, okay.”

Baz lifted his head sharply. “But wait,” he said, voice very nervous, “will...will you stay with me? If I become the crown prince? If not, fuck the throne, we’ll run fast and far and never look back. I’d rather have you than any crown or legacy.”

Every part of Simon’s body felt so incredibly warm. Like the sun was beating where his heart should be. He cupped Baz’s beautiful, perfect, sharp face and brought their mouths together. It was an incredibly soft kiss compared to most of their others. But kissing Baz was kissing Baz, and it was always amazing. When they pulled apart, Simon hugged Baz’s neck as tight as he could.

“I’ll stay,” he said against his ear. “I’ll stay with you, no matter what, Baz. Whether you’re a prince or a king or a swan, you’ll never be alone again, I promise.”

Baz let out a relieved sigh. He squeezed Simon so hard Simon struggled to breathe a bit. But he didn’t care. Fuck breathing. Baz was hugging him, that was all that mattered.

Eventually, they eased up, settling into a softer embrace. Simon shifted onto his knees to better look at Baz’s face. His black hair was disheveled from Simon running his hands through it, the area around his eyes was a little red and puffy. But he was smiling. And he looked damn gorgeous.

“Now that we’ve got that all sorted, my plan can work,” Simon said cheerily.

Baz looked confused, as he had many times tonight. “Plan? What plan? Should I be scared, Snow?”

Simon giggled, shaking his head. “Unless you’re scared of dancing again, then no.” Baz looked even more confused. Simon grabbed both his hands. “Tomorrow night, there’s going to be a huge ball at the castle. It’s a big event for the nobility, lots of people will be there. David wants to announce my...my engagement to my friend there.” Baz flinched, and Simon held his hands tighter. “But I’m not going to let him. Instead, you’re going to come, all dressed up and shit. And I’ll...do what Siegfried in Swan Lake was supposed to do, but do it right, and the curse will be broken. Then we’ll tell the whole court who you are. You can see your family and take back the crown.”

Baz took a few minutes to process all of it. His eyes moved back and forth across the air like he was reading. Soon, he slowly nodded. “Okay, okay, and what am I going to wear? My clothes aren't appropriate for a huge ball."

"Still got the solstice costume?" Baz nodded. "Then where that. Anyone asks where it's from, say it's bespoke."

Baz snorted, turning into a low chuckle. "Sure, they'll believe that. And what if my captor shows up? Here or at the ball?

"He only shows up here every few months, we should be fine. And if he's at the ball, I'll kick his arse."

Baz chuckled again, shaking his head. Simon hoped he actually believed him. "Alright, sure. And..." Baz took a deep breath. Simon watched his expand slowly, the muscles and sinew tensing and relaxing. Simon's anticipation rose in every one of those slow seconds. "You can definitely break the curse?

Huh? Simon thought. “I...don’t know what you mean. You’ve read the book, right?”

“Yes yes, I’ve read it. I mean...” Baz cleared his throat and ran his thumb over the back of Simon’s hand. “You’re sure you’re, capable of breaking the curse? You...feel the way you have to in order to break it?”

It took Simon his own time to process Baz’s words. But slowly the revelation dawned on him. The nervous way Baz bit his lip, the flush covering his cheeks, how he was looking at the ground. Gods above, Simon couldn’t believe it. Did Baz not realise Simon loved him?

“Yes,” Simon blurted out, voice edging on annoyed, “yes I can! I really, really can.”

Baz eyes went wider. He was truly shocked “Really?”

Simon nodded so hard his hair flung back and forth. “Yeah, of course! I’ve never felt like this before you, like Siegfried. I absolutely I meet the curse criteria.”

“Oh,” Baz squeaked, cheeks flushing bright red. “Alright, that’s good to know.”

Baz’s voice was strained, nervous, and something finally clicked in Simon’s brain. His jaw fell open in shock. “Is that why you haven’t talked about the book since I gave it to you? You were scared I didn’t...care about you like that?” Baz shrugged, very pointedly looking at the grassy floor. Simon let out a breathy chuckle. “What, did me snogging you for three weeks and everything else before not fully convince you?”

“You can snog someone and come see them and not...feel that way about them,” he mumbled with red cheeks. Simon wanted to slap his feelings of worthlessness right out of of him. Or kiss them away. That would be good too.

“Well, I do. I mean, I just promised to stay with you forever for a damn good reason, Baz.” He pulled Baz’s face up and tapped their foreheads together. “Baz, I lo-”

Baz surged forward and covered Simon’s mouth with his, effectively cutting him off. Simon melted into it like always. His arms went limp on Baz's strong shoulders. And when Baz pulled back, Simon chased his lips, but Baz sadly kept him away with a light push of his chest.

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” Baz whispered playfully. “But save the actual word for the ball. We don’t know exactly how the curse works. We may only have one shot, and we need the world to hear.”

Simon nodded. “Alright, yeah, you have a point. I’ll fucking shout it tomorrow night.”

Baz scoffed playfully. “I’m sure all the nobility will appreciate that.”

“Eh. I won’t be the prince for much long after. They won’t give a shit what I do.”

“You really don’t mind losing the title?”

Simon shook his head vigorously. “Absolutely not. You know I hate it. I think being a prince’s, uh, whatever we are will be way easier. I can do whatever I want.”

Baz smirked devilishly. “Oh dear, what will the Lords think then?”

“What?” Simon leaned back, arms lazily draped on Baz’s shoulders, “worried I’ll reflect badly on you, Prince Tyrannus?”

Baz’s smirk immediately turned into an angry frown. But Simon didn’t think he was angry at him, because he wasn’t pushing Simon onto his arse and stomping away. Rather, he was holding his waist tighter. “No. And don’t you ever think that ever again.”

Simon was a bit taken aback, but the aggressive affection was very endearing in it’s own way. He smiled all the same as his heart beat pleasantly against his ribcage. “Okay, will do, your highness.”

“Don’t call me that, please,” Baz chuckled, head falling against Simon’s chest. “It feels weird.”

“You’ll have to get used it eventually, love.”

Baz rolled his eyes incredibly dramatically. “Yeah, but not yet. I’m still just Baz right now.”

Simon instantly leaned forward to press a hard, fast kiss to Baz’s cool lips. Baz barely had time to react before Simon pulled away again. “You’ll always be Baz to me, no matter how many people call you ‘your highness’”

Simon wasn’t sure how nice that was, or how much sense it made. Things that came out of his mouth tended to be just this side of nonsensical and usually unhelpful. But Baz grinned, and he pulled Simon by his tunic collar to kiss him again, more slowly this time, carefully winding his long fingers in his curls as he languidly took his mouth. So maybe Simon was helpful for once. That was a nice feeling. Kissing Baz was a better feeling though. It was better than anything.

Baz was the one who pulled away this time. He nuzzled Simon’s cheek with his long nose. “Just curious,” he said, “what would you have done if I didn’t want to take back the throne? Would we still have gone to that ball but then dashed off instead?”

Simon giggled, pressing himself closer to Baz’s comforting embrace. “No no. I, uh, I actually thought about stealing supplies, going to the town square, and shouting it to everyone there. Then we’d get on horses and ride as far as we could in one night.”

Honestly, Simon expected Baz to mock him for such a simplistic idea, or at least laugh at him for a moment. But he didn’t, because Baz was a constant, wonderful, ever renewing miracle. He just grinned and kissed Simon’s burning cheek. “That’s a great plan, love. I absolutely would’ve done that too.”

“Well, thank you,” Simon laughed. “The ball will be good too though, I promise. I mean, it’s going to be sort of boring, but it’ll be better with you there.”

“You really take me to the most wonderful places,” Baz drawled. He reached back and touched his own hair, rubbing the strands between his fingers. “Say, think you could give me another haircut before my big debut? I liked it just at my neck.”

“Yeah, of course. What else would my dagger be for?”

“I have absolutely no clue.”

Simon pecked Baz’s annoyingly attractive smirk, then reluctantly released himself from his embrace. As he stumbled around behind Baz, he pulled his dagger from his boot, spinning it for dramatic effect. (Baz had taught him the value of dramatics.) Baz sat straight backed, hands perfectly placed in his lap. He was doing a very good statue impression. He’d fit in quite well at council meetings.

It was quiet as Simon cut Baz’s hair, just like the first time. Simon could hear the soft wind and lapping water. But now the air wasn’t filled with tension and awkwardness. Simon’s hands didn’t start off shaking as he sliced through Baz’s raven locks. Baz wasn’t stiff and pulling away from Simon. He leaned into Simon’s hand, hummed happily when their skin touched. And Simon took every opportunity to touch Baz again and again. They weren’t the anxiety riddled loners anymore. Almost four months later, and they were so much better.

With a final slice, Simon finished. It wasn’t perfectly even, but only a very scrutinizing eye would noticed. Baz looked great. Simon kissed his cheek, his temple, and his ear. He wanted to kiss Baz all night. Of course, that was when he let out the world’s biggest yawn.

“Aw,” Baz cooed, craning his head back, “you tired, Snow?”

“A bit,” he sighed. “But I’m fine.”

“No. You should sleep. We’ve both got a big night tomorrow.” He went to his feet and outstretched his long arm. One of the floating lights illuminated the back of his head. He looked like some sort of demigod or celestial being. Simon was simply in awe of him. “Come on, time for you to steal my bed again.”

Simon rolled his eyes but still took his hand, letting him be hoisted to his feet. “You’re the one offering.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” He tugged Simon forward, making him stumble into Baz’s embrace. When twisted a piece of Simon’s hair between his fingers, he practically melted. “Like I’d ever complain about having you in my bed.”

All the words left Simon’s mouth and brain. He had been reduced to a blushy, lovesick mess of a man and he never wanted to be anything else ever again. Baz giggled, then leaned forward to peck Simon’s lips. It was short, and Simon almost pushed for a longer kiss, but he was tired. There would be lots of time for that afterwards. After the curse was finally broken. When Baz would finally be free.

They walked to the cottage hand in hand. Baz led Simon to his cot for what was hopefully the last time. Simon laid down, and Baz followed, though he also grabbed a large book to keep himself entertained while Simon slept. He sat with his back against the wall and patted the space next to him. Simon happily collapsed there, head on Baz’s thigh and arm across his lap. He felt sleep wash over like a tide on the beach. Baz rubbed his back, and Simon focused on that slow, comforting motion as he drifted off.

This would be his last time in this bed. But it certainly wouldn’t the last time he fell asleep with Baz right next to him.

———————————————

When Simon woke up, it wasn’t quite yet dawn, the sky a deep violet and edging towards orange, a few grey clouds beautifully illuminated in the distance. Simon looked at Baz with blurry eyes. But he could see Baz’s smiling down at him, and that was all that mattered.

“Morning,” Baz said wistfully.

“Morning,” Simon replied.

They spent a few of their precious minutes kissing. Baz made muttering comments about Simon’s terrible breath, but didn’t actually stop. Eventually, they had to get up though, and Baz let Simon use his arms to pull himself up. As they walked outside into the coming day, greeted by soft rumblings in the sky and swan honks, Baz suddenly stopped in the doorway. Simon unceremoniously knocked into him.

“Baz? What is it?” he asked, rubbing his aching nose.

“This is all I’ve known for so long,” Baz said quietly. “And...I don’t think I’m going to miss it. Is that weird? To not miss your home?”

Simon pressed his cheek to Baz’s bony shoulder, gripping his hand tight. “This isn’t your home, love. It’s your prison. Let it burn for all I care.”

Baz snorted. “You weren’t exactly a fan when I tried that.”

“Okay, you know what I mean, arsehole.” He squeezed his hand again. “By tonight, you’re going to be free of here. You’re going to have a huge castle and a big family and me all the time.”

“Yeah,” Baz sighed happily, leaning on the top of his head. “I’m looking forward to that.”

They collected all the books and papers in silence, putting them back in Simon’s rucksack. He slung it over his shoulder with ease, then turned back to Baz.

“Oh I almost forgot,” he said and started rummaging into his trouser pocket. Soon he felt something metal graze his fingers. He pulled out the gold signet ring, etched with a sword insignia, and pressed it Baz’s palm. “Wear this to the ball tonight. Tell the guards I invited you and show them it. They’ll let you in, or at least tell me, then I’ll let you in, okay?”

Baz nodded, absentmindedly slipping in onto his left ring finger. Simon didn’t know if that was intentional, but his face flushed all the same. “Okay, will do.”

Simon could see the sunlight approaching from over Baz’s shoulder. Their time was almost up for now. As his heart broke, Simon kept reminding himself of that this was the last sunrise they had to worry about. He pulled Baz for one more kiss. It was deep and sure, just like his feelings for Baz. Simon reluctantly separated from him. Soon, he thought, soon he’ll be free, and we’ll stop having to say goodbye.

“It starts after sundown,” he whispered. “Head there right after you change.”

“Okay,” Baz replied.

“Wear the solstice costume?”

“Of course.”

“And make sure you have the ring.”

“Will do.”

“And-”

“Simon,” Baz chuckled, cupping his face delicately, “it’ll be alright. You can go. I’ll see you tonight.”

Simon took a deep, somewhat calming breath through his nose. His nerves were still sky high, but Baz’s voice helped. He always helped. “Okay. I’ll see you then.”

They kissed once, twice, and a third time for good luck, then Simon finally walked to the edge of the root covered wall. He turned back to look at the lake one last time. It’s lush green grass, short trees, graceful swans, and glistening blue water. It was a beautiful place. But Simon wouldn’t miss it either. Because the best part of the lake was Baz. Soon Baz would be free, and every place with him would be just as beautiful.

Simon met Baz’s grey eyes one more time, grinned, and started climbing the wall for what he hoped would be the very last time.

———————————————

Baz watched Simon ascend the wall with a smile on his face. He watched until the barrier made him invisible. He sighed, fingers instinctively touching the gold ring. It was a comforting weight, reminding him of everything. The ball, his impending freedom, Simon’s love.

Baz had spent six years listening to people from afar, figuring them out and being unimpressed. None of them compared to Simon. Brave, kind, strong Simon. Baz knew he loved Simon almost since they met. His feelings were so intense he feared they would kill him. No matter how much he tried to fight it, they stayed. Baz knew it was impossible. Even that one near kiss at the festival felt unreal, just an impulsive mistake from Simon. And when Baz pushed him away he thought that was finally it. The end he expected came but destroyed him all the same. Then Simon kissed him, saved his life, told him he would find his family, and there was a little hope again. But Baz still couldn’t believe it was love. Friendly affection mixed with physical desire maybe, but not love. No one could ever fall in love someone as strange and damaged as him. No one could break his curse, and he was too much of a coward to bring it up.

Except Simon did love him. Simon, his brave, kind, strong prince was in love with him. What a charmed life Baz had.

He looked down at his hands. They were softly glowing, and he knew his time was approaching. One last time, then no more swan form, no more painful transformation, no more prison. He wouldn’t be the nameless cursed boy any longer. He’d be a prince, someday a king, with a father and siblings and an aunt and Simon. He would be making his late mother, his idol for his whole life, as proud as he could. He would make a difference.

Fate had a strange way of working out.

Baz slipped the ring off and put it in his trouser pocket. He started unlacing his tunic. The was glow increasing bit by bit. But he wasn’t scared for once.

“It’s the last time, just one more time,” he muttered, “then this will finally be over.”

“That’s what you think.”

A large, rough hand clamped over Baz’s mouth, and an arm grabbed his waist. He screamed, but he knew no sound got past the barrier. And every time he struggled the arm held him tighter. He looked down. The arm was dressed in a grey robe.

“So, you think you can escape, huh?” the man hissed, his voice unaltered for once. It was a deep, angry baritone. “And it’s because of Simon. Damn that boy, he’s more trouble than he’s worth. No matter though. He won’t be breaking your curse. I’ll make sure he never can. And you will be somewhere he can’t find you.”

Baz screamed again but it was hopeless. The shield blocked what little sound he made. The man’s hand around his waist pulled away, but the other hand kept Baz from fleeing. Frightened tears fell down his face but the man didn’t care. Something pointy tapped Baz’s temple twice, and then everything went black.

———————————————

AN: Uh-oh, that's not good. What ever shall happen? Also I hope my reasoning got across. I'm worried Baz wanting the throne is too OOC. In my mind though, this is an extension of Baz wanting to continue his mother's legacy. But he hasn't grown up with that legacy as something crushing and love stopping in this fic. It's something he can live up to. Plus he's been isolated and alone almost his entire life, feeling like his life doesn't mean anything, like he's been a ghost in the world. Being a king would let him have a say and do something. He can help people like Simon helped him. Could he do that without being king? Yeah. But he wants to be. He likes politics and philosophy and could like being king. Simon doesn't like any of that, and while he wants to help people, doesn't know how to do it as king like Baz. I hope that came across. I need to stop over explaining my writing lol. Any who, next chapter will be on Monday :)