Kurt ran out of his room, down the creaking stairs, and through the sitting room towards the door. He could barely see anything through the flood of tears that wanted to just pour down his face, but he knew his village well and he didn’t need to see where he was going to know where he would find the cemetery.

His tears still rolled down his cheek, leaving a hot trail behind on his porcelain skin when he neared the cemetery, but he slowed down and pushed the iron wrought gate open when he came to it. The gate only went up to his waist and was there for no other reason than to make the place look all that more somber and forbidden. Kurt took a familiar path of cobbled stone and veered left when he came upon the grave of Martin Sher. He walked a little ways and then left the path to walk towards a line of graves. It was the center one he was focused on. His mother’s grave.

Wilted flowers sat in front of it and Kurt just fell to the ground and folded his legs under him. Just her name was on the grave and nothing more. Kurt wished he’d insisted on adding some sort of marker for who she had been to it. But at the same time he knew no words could have encompassed everything that Elizabeth Hummel was.

“Mom,” he whispered, “I miss you so much. Dad’s getting married tomorrow and she’s horrid. Carole says I shouldn’t blame him – she says I’ll understand when I’m older, but I don’t want to understand. It’s to do with money, I know that much, but it isn’t fair. I wish you were here.”

It had only been a month since Elizabeth Hummel died and since then things had changed drastically and quickly. Sometimes Kurt wished it’d been him that died and not his mother.

“You would know just what to say to me.”

Money had gotten really tight after the funeral, mostly because immediately after her death his grandmother cut them off. She’d never liked Kurt for being too “feminine – he should have been a girl and I might have liked him more”, so not even the incentive of still having a living grandson could make her see past the grief of her dead daughter. So, the stipend of money that she still sent her daughter had stopped and Kurt knew it was because she blamed his father for her death – the entire marriage and her life.

So, even though his dad was respected around their village and he was a good merchant, they really weren’t doing well. Half the household had been fired. His dad had tried to find everyone that was let go a good situation elsewhere, and most of them had understood the reasoning behind it, but Kurt didn’t like how slowly the house was becoming emptier. It had begun with getting rid of servants, and then later his dad was selling their books and pieces of art. It wasn’t enough.

Only Carole remained now but her wages had been cut. She did it for him, Kurt knew, and she did it because she understood exactly what they were going through having gone through something similar years before when her husband Sir Hudson died during a joust.

“He doesn’t love her, mom. But it’s the only way to keep the house.”

There was another option of course – his marriage. But his father would not hear of it and Kurt really didn’t want to marry for money to a girl that he wouldn’t even be interested in.

A branch broke and Kurt was brought out of his thoughts. He turned only to find a black polished boot which contained a leg. He followed the length of it with his eyes until he met hazel eyes.

“Sorry,” the other boy said, “sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

It took Kurt a whole of a minute to respond because in that time not only had he come to the conclusion that this boy was the best looking boy he’d ever met, but Kurt took notice of his cloak and the sword at his belt. This boy was none other than the Prince. Prince Blaine Anderson, the future King of Dalton.

“It’s…that’s – you’re the prince.”

Blaine chuckled. “Yes,” he said, “I am. And you’re Kurt Hummel.”

The prince knew who he was. Kurt tried to wrap his mind around that. He couldn’t believe it. How was it possible?

“How?”

Blaine blushed. “Your mother,” he said, “I knew her – she was amazing, really funny. I, um, I came to leave her these.”

The flowers were a bunch of different ones and beautiful. He smiled at the gesture even if he couldn’t remember if his mom had ever mentioned meeting Prince Blaine.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I came to the funeral,” Blaine said, “I don’t think you noticed. She was friends with my mother, you know, and they still met sometimes for tea.”

During the funeral, Kurt had been far more preoccupied with trying not to sob too hard to really pay attention to anyone else that had been in attendance. Of course he hadn’t noticed Prince Blaine and probably the Queen as well.

“I wanted to speak to you, but you were a bit busy,” Blaine continued, “I hope you’re doing well, now.”

“I don’t think I’ll ever get over this,” Kurt replied, “but thank you. It is getting easier.”

Kurt wiped at his pants to get any dirt that had gotten on them off. He watched Blaine as he placed the new flowers at the grave and removed the old ones. Kurt suddenly realized that they had probably been Blaine’s. He hadn’t brought flowers, after all. His mother had hated the practice. He didn’t say anything about it to Blaine. It was a nice gesture.

They stood silent in front of her grave for a while and Kurt wiped at the last of his tears off his face. He was definitely never going to stop mourning his mother. He would miss running around outside when the fireflies came out in the summers and trying to catch some in jars. He would miss going down to the river and bathing, racing into the water. He would miss cooking with her and making a mess in the kitchen that Carole would end up cleaning. But mostly, he would miss her hugs and kisses, and specially her cuddles when he was teased or pushed around as had happened often because of his voice.

“My dad’s getting married,” he told Blaine, “tomorrow.”

“Isn’t it a bit soon?” A frown marred Blaine’s forehead.

Kurt nodded but didn’t offer any more information about it. It was one thing to talk to a grave about what was happening and another entirely to tell the prince. He wouldn’t trouble Blaine with those problems.

“Have you met her yet?”

Kurt nodded again. “She’s horrid.” That was the only word that Kurt could use to describe her. Horrid because it pretty much embodied any insult that Kurt might want to use on her and still kept it a word that could be used in polite conversation.

They began to walk away from his mother’s grave and towards the gate. Blaine opened it for Kurt and then closed it behind them when they approached it.

“And she has two daughters. They’re, um, they’re obsessed with you.”

At that Blaine laughed.

The thing was that a lot of young women were obsessed with Blaine. After having been pushed into an arranged marriage, Blaine’s father had refused to do the same thing to Blaine. So he wasn’t promised to anyone. Instead his parents wanted him to find someone to marry on his own, he just had to do it before he took the throne. So, many of the young women in the kingdom all would do anything to meet and ensnare the prince. They all had dreams of becoming his queen.

“Thank you for that,” Blaine said, “you’re a lot like her, you know.”

“Who?”

“Your mother.”

Kurt bowed his head.

“And don’t tell them you’ve met me.”

Kurt laughed, then, and he had to pause because he hadn’t laughed since before she died. He settled for a smile.

“I hope I see you again,” Blaine said.

Kurt nodded. Then they went their separate ways.