The next morning found Blaine pacing his rooms, second-guessing his bold move the night before. He was feeling twitchy, uncertain, and above all, terrified, so much so that he startled violently when his door banged open and Santana strode through, followed by an obviously exasperated Mike.

“Okay, so first things first,” Santana said, effectively ignoring Blaine’s reaction and cutting off Mike, who had begun to berate her. “I got everything you wanted in town, and your money is gone. So next time I go into town I’m going to have to sleep with someone if we want to buy anything. Just so you know.”

“I don’t think that will be necess—“

“Secondly,” she continued, speaking right over him, “that music room of yours isn’t going to be ready for another couple of days, seeing as how we only have about five people who are fit enough to handle the physical labor and two of those are wearing dresses. Third, have you come to your gods-damned senses?”

Blaine relaxed. Santana had just given him something to respond to, making what he had to say easier to get out.

“You won’t have to sell yourself, Santana, much as I’m sure you’d enjoy that,” Blaine replied, smirking just a bit at her narrowed eyes. “We’ll be able to afford everything in due time. That includes hiring laborers to finish renovations on the castle. I suppose the question of my senses will depend on a few things.”

“Like how the hell we’re going to afford any of that?” Santana suggested.

“Just that,” Blaine said, unable to keep a hint of smugness out of his voice. Now that he’d decided, he felt a new confidence filling him, breaking away the shell. The fact that Santana hadn’t made a single comment about his appearance despite his lack of wearing a hood helped immensely. “I have orders for you both.”

They both remained silent, and Blaine faced them fully, standing straight.

“Mike, you’re going on a trip—you’ll be gone for a little while, so I’d spend today with Tina before you set out tomorrow.”

“Where am I going?” Mike asked when Blaine didn’t elaborate.

Blaine savored the moment before quietly announcing, “You’ll be visiting the Lords’ estates. Start with Haverbrook, as it’s furthest away. Then travel as you like to Carmel, Westvale, Defiance, Lima, and Westerville. Though if you’d like to skip over Lima, I’d understand completely, and we can handle accounts with Lord Smythe at a later date, when our position is solidified.”

“What are you saying?” Santana demanded.

“Mike’s going to collect tithes,” Blaine said calmly. He looked back over at Mike. “I understand it might be difficult to persuade the lords to immediately hand over seven years’ worth of payments, but that is the ultimate aim. I will allow them some room to maneuver, but I will insist that you collect at least this year’s and inform them that they will be expected to render accounts and plan for back payment before you depart for the next location.”

“This won’t make you popular,” Mike warned, the warning made less dire by the smile he was clearly unable to keep from his face.

“I think I will still be more popular than Lord Smythe, don’t you?” Blaine asked sincerely. “Collecting what is owed must be better than demanding more payment as time goes on, as I’ve heard Lord Smythe has done to Lima. I’m sure this pattern would continue with all the kingdom at his feet. And if you need to use that argument with the Lords, I encourage you to do so.”

Mike grinned, nodding.

“Haverbrook is three days’ travel from here,” Mike said. “I won’t spend more than one night at each estate—I just need to deliver the message, correct?”

“I don’t see why the Lords can’t send their pages with the payments, no,” Blaine agreed.

“Then three days’ travel, one night in each province except Lima, ending in Westerville. If I leave tomorrow morning and make no stops, I should return a few days before the end of the month. That gives us—“

“Three weeks,” Blaine said. “Exactly twenty-one days until my birthday. And I wish court to be in session for the first time on that day. Which is where you come in,” he added, turning to Santana.

“You expect me to get everything done in three weeks?” she asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow at Blaine.

“I believe in your abilities, yes,” Blaine said mildly.

Santana looked him up and down, and Blaine felt distinctly judged before realizing that a slow smile was growing on her face. He grinned back when she finally looked right at him and said simple, “Done. I don’t need to actually pay for anything up front anyway—everyone will be so eager to get a glimpse of your lumpy mug that if anyone complains I can find a replacement faster than Hummel wants to grab his ankles.”

“Santana,” Blaine warned, turning to her with a glare. She smirked widely and nodded, as though expecting the reaction.

“Mmhm. In any case, I can go into town tomorrow and start commissioning all the poor sods I can get my claws on. That gives me a just under a month. Anything else?”

“One last thing,” Blaine said. “Don’t tell Kurt. I want him to figure it out for himself.”

And before either of them could reply, there was a knock on the door. 

That morning at breakfast, Kurt was pleased to be in the company of everyone but Mike and Santana, including the Armsmaster Beiste, whom he had never met.

“Aren’t you just a darlin’ little punkin,” she said, her heavy accent marking her as being from out of the kingdom. “When am I gonna see you out at the practice field? Skinny little thing like you, expect you could barely pick up a sword, and I’m aimin’ to fix that.”

Kurt had politely told her he didn’t know when his duties would leave him free to come and left it at that. His immediate like for the gruff woman didn’t lead him to respond like he would’ve if one of the village boys had said something to the same effect.

“So, Kurt,” Mercedes said, turning to face him at the table, leaning forward and smiling. “You know that the Prince is renovating, right?" 

“I saw,” Kurt replied, smiling back and leaning in, savoring the fact that she was sharing the gossip with him. “Last night. Is it just the music room?”

“For now,” Mercedes said. “I can’t imagine what’s going to happen next. I mean, first the Prince starts hiring people like you and Tina, and yesterday Brittany told me he spent the entire day out of his rooms—and she swore she saw him with his hood down! Who knows what’s going to happen next. I for one am curious to see just what he’s been hiding under there. Do you think the Prince is planning to resume court?”

“Oh, I hope so, Mercedes.” Kurt tried not to smile too widely at the mention of the Prince spending time out of his rooms—he had to admit to himself that he was more than a little pleased to have been the cause of that, and at the fact that he had seen the Prince’s face.

“Well, as of yesterday, it’s exactly a month till the Prince’s birthday,” she said. “Plenty of time to get things going, if you ask me. I mean…I don’t see why he would wait. And as soon as it’s open he can start planning on becoming King.”

Kurt tilted his head.

“You think?” he asked. “I mean…I’m not really sure what the difference is.”

“He’ll find a queen, silly,” she said. “He’s Prince as long as he’s unmarried, but as soon as he finds a wife he can take the title of King. I mean…there isn’t really much difference besides the title, but it’ll make everything legitimate.”

“He can’t be legitimate without a queen?” Kurt persisted, trying to keep his voice even. He felt like everything inside of him was sinking to his feet, making every move heavy.

“Well, he can’t have an heir without a queen,” Mercedes said, seemingly unaware of Kurt’s world taking a strange downward turn. “And why not? He’s the most eligible bachelor out there—plenty of young ladies would kill for the chance to be courted by him. And when court opens up, I’m sure the noblemen will be flooding the place with their daughters.”

Kurt nodded and turned back to his food, but each bite he took felt like he was eating ash. After a few perfunctory bites he pushed the plate away and excused himself, telling Mercedes he had to work to do before leaving as quickly as he thought he could without arousing suspicion.

He found himself wandering into the court, sunlight filtering through the dusty windows and falling onto the neglected splendor of the room. He stared around and finally allowed himself to feel the crushing disappointment that had been pushing at him since Mercedes mentioned Blaine’s ascension to King.

What else had he expected? He didn’t even know if Blaine favored men for sure. All the evidence pointed to it—their encounter last night had not been the slightest bit platonic, and the rose on his pillow had been the most romantic thing Kurt had ever heard of, even outside of his own experience. After their talk, he knew it to be a declaration—the color, the removed thorns, the fact that it was the only one. All things Blaine had taught him about just the day before he received it. So it was clear that Blaine was courting him.

But he had to marry, and he had to have an heir. Kurt knew that homosexuality was more common amongst the nobility, but a Prince who was to be King…that was different. He couldn’t have children with another man, and he had an obligation to his kingdom, didn’t he?

So why the rose? Why the entirely pleasing confrontation in the hallway?

Kurt shook his head and sighed, pushing these thoughts away. He wouldn’t know by standing around and wondering, and he had duties to attend to.

He walked slowly to the Prince’s chambers, trying to gather his wits and compose himself before he arrived, just barely succeeding before the great wooden door was before him and his knocks were echoing down the hall.

The door opened to reveal Santana, smirking like the cat that got the cream, or the mouse, or perhaps an entire nest of mice bathing in cream. It was a very complex smirk.

“He’s inside,” she said, brushing past him. As he stepped in, Mike also left the room, smiling at him widely.

“Kurt. Come in.”

Kurt stepped in and saw the Prince, unhooded and dressed rather more neatly than usual, his shirt whiter and his jerkin more polished, though still the same black leather he was used to now. He was smiling and looking at Kurt with an expression that spoke of affection, and Kurt felt a knot in his throat that he tried to clear quickly.

“I came to check on how you are healing, my lord,” he said, doing his best to sound polite and professional. Blaine’s smile twitched, falling just enough to lose a bit of its warmth, and Kurt took a steadying breath, fortifying himself against the weak feeling in his legs that was growing stronger by the moment.

“Of course,” Blaine replied. Kurt moved forward and took the Prince’s hand in his own, taking a small guilty pleasure in the feeling of their skin being in contact as he pushed up the sleeve gently. He’d left the bandages off to allow the wounds to breathe.

“This is healing well,” Kurt said, studying the stitches. “I should be able to remove them in another two or three days. How does it feel when you move it?”

“Not bad,” Blaine said, moving it around and opening and closing his fist, flexing his forearm. Kurt kept hold and stared as he felt the muscles moving under his hand, prominent veins appearing on the surface under his fingers. “A little sore, but mostly it just feels tight.”

Kurt nodded, swallowing. “That’s to be expected.”

Their eyes met shyly, but Kurt immediately dropped his gaze, pulling his hands away from Blaine’s skin.

“And how does your side feel?”

“Fine,” Blaine said. “It itches sometimes.”

“That’s good,” Kurt replied, feeling a little awkward. “That means it’s healing well.”

“Do you need to check it?”

“No,” Kurt blurted, just a little too quickly. “No, the last time I checked the skin was mending, as long as it doesn’t tear, you’ll be just fine. Just let me know if you start bleeding again or if you notice anything unusual.”

They fell into an uncomfortable silence. Just as Kurt was debating whether or not to just leave, Blaine spoke.

“I wonder if, as my side is feeling better, we could finish the measurements for my garment?”

“Right now, my lord?” Kurt asked, finally looking up into Blaine’s eyes, allowing himself just a moment to enjoy the light reflecting off of the smooth honey. “I’d have to return to my rooms, but—“

“Tonight,” Blaine corrected, “after supper. That way you can bring your lute as well and you can show me a little of that. I know the acoustics in here aren’t all that we could wish, but it’s all I have for now.”

“That would be fine, my lord,” Kurt nodded, smiling bashfully, feeling a little guilty that he had basically ruined the secret of the Prince’s renovation. “I’m sure the acoustics in here would be fine for the moment.”

“Very well then,” Blaine said, gesturing to the door. Kurt nodded and turned, taking it as a dismissal.

When he reached the door, however, he was surprised to find Blaine reaching ahead of him, pulling the door open for him.

As Kurt stood and stared, he reached down, grasped Kurt’s hand in the one he wasn’t using to hold open the door, and lifted it, carefully leaning forward to brush his lips across the tender skin of his knuckles.

“Till tonight,” he said softly, a charming smile lighting his features, his hand carefully replacing Kurt’s by his side.

Kurt bowed his head, his cheeks burning, resisting the urge to do something mortifying like giggle, and walked slowly out.

“Tonight." 

Kurt felt like lightning was crackling through his veins as he waited for the Prince to arrive for his supper that night. He could barely sit still, his whole body aching with anticipation. And he knew his fidgeting was noticeable by the stares he got first from Wes and David, and then from Mike, whose looks were at least broken up with smiles. Wes and David had looked at him like he was going crazy.

What was going to happen with the Prince tonight? He was certain now, after Blaine had kissed his hand, that he was being courted somehow. He wasn’t sure if it was really serious or if he was imagining things.

In his head Blaine’s voice whispered one rose with its thorns removed means someone has fallen in love with you at first sight and one should only give a dark red rose when their love is so fervent that it cannot be denied.

Had Blaine really fallen in love with him at first sight? Had he really known the moment he watched Kurt from that darkened colonnade? Kurt could hardly believe it. He was sure that had this been another life, had Blaine been whole and undamaged, Kurt would have been the one falling in love at the first, hoping and praying every day to be noticed by the handsome, charming Prince who had stolen his affections. Kurt could feel the tale growing within him, begging to be told—but he didn’t want to tell it until he was sure it was complete.

How would it end?

The Prince entered as he contemplated this, and he noticed two things. First, he was dressed casually—he had left off his jerkin, leaving him in a clean, crisp white shirt, the throat tied loosely, revealing his scarred neck and collarbones, a faint dusting of dark hair peeking through the lacings. And with his jerkin gone, he had no hood—and if Wes or David returned for some reason, he would be unable to hide beneath it.

Kurt found himself feeling desperately proud of Blaine for leaving behind that measure of safety.

The second thing Kurt noticed was that Blaine was clean-shaven. His face was free of the wiry beard he’d sported, the skin between the scars looking very smooth, and Kurt suspected he had just finished moments before by the light sheen on his skin, probably from whatever lather he’d used. I wonder if he used rose oil…

Kurt started playing quietly as Blaine sat down and began his meal, and it was only about halfway through the meal that he realized he’d been playing the same five or six notes over and over again and openly staring at Blaine. He was brought back to himself by the way he realized Blaine was looking back at him, looking vaguely puzzled. Kurt flubbed a note and dropped his gaze, blushing furiously and cursing himself. He picked up playing again, studying the floor and concentrating on not messing up again.

After a few more agonizing minutes, he heard Blaine dismiss Mike. Kurt stopped playing and looked up to see Blaine rising from his seat, looking carefully over at Kurt.

“Are you ready?”

Kurt nodded and leaned over to pick up his tailoring things, grasping them in one hand and his lute in the other, following Blaine out and to his rooms.

They were alone when they entered the chambers. Kurt kept looking around to see if Mike was coming to tend to things before the Prince went to bed, but to all appearances the Prince’s steward was not coming, so he set his things down and turned to the Prince apprehensively.

“What shall we do first, my lord?”

“Why don’t you show me a little of the lute, first?” Blaine suggested. “I won’t keep you too long tonight—I just want to see. Perhaps you could show me how to play that tune you kept playing tonight?”

Kurt looked up sharply, expecting to see the Prince mocking him, but it was nothing so cruel. His smile was certainly a bit teasing, but Kurt detected no meanness, and took it for what it was—a gentle joke.

“Of course, my lord.”

Blaine was a quick study. Kurt only needed to adjust the Prince’s grip on the instrument twice, once at the start and once when he was trying to hold down the appropriate strings. Within half an hour, Blaine was playing the same notes Kurt had played at dinner, although slowly and a bit clumsily.

“Very good,” Kurt said, genuinely pleased as the Prince smiled happily at his success. He gently removed the lute from the Prince’s grasp and put it down out of the way. “Shall we…take the measurements now, so I can start on your garment?”

Blaine nodded and stood. “What do you need me to do?”

Kurt considered, a tense, almost empty feeling in his chest that turned to tingling as it slipped lower through his body, leaving him with a feeling of anticipation in his belly that left his breathing heavier and his head swimming. He looked over the Prince, in his thin shirt and tight leather breeches, and came to a decision for his own sanity.

“I just need you to stand still over here,” Kurt said. “I’ll take the measurements and write them down, and then I should be able to embroider the fabric as we discussed. I’ll sew it after that, and you should have a completed garment within a few weeks, depending on how much time I have to devote to the task.”

Kurt settled his paper and stick of coal on the table and beckoned the Prince closer. He picked up his measuring tape and turned to Blaine.

“Lift your arms.”

Blaine lifted his arms and Kurt immediately stepped in to measure as quickly as possible. Being so close to the Prince, touching his body in tiny, accidental brushes—it was driving Kurt mad. He felt like the entire situation was a waking dream, and he hardly knew what he was doing. Time felt unreal, as though it were passing too slow and too quickly all at the same time.

“Are you all right?”

Blaine was looking at him with concern, but Kurt waved him off.

“I’m fine. Just…having a little bit of difficulty.”

He was. The shirt was large and kept bunching under the tape, throwing the measurements around Blaine’s chest and hips off. And based on the way he’d been tugging at the fabric, Blaine probably couldn’t help but notice his trouble.

“Should I remove it?”

Kurt took a deep breath and steadied himself for the inevitability.

“Yes, please.”

Blaine swiftly removed the shirt, leaving him bare above his hips. Kurt again moved in to measure quickly, feeling little jolts of excitement and uncertainty and a certain amount of arousal every time his fingers brushed Blaine’s bare skin. But soon enough, he was finished with the measurements for the doublet he had planned. He turned back to Blaine after making a quick note on the parchment.

“Now I need to measure for the hose. Please stand with your legs apart.”

Blaine nodded and complied, and Kurt grabbed the parchment and knelt at his feet, the tingling feeling that had been swirling through his gut swiftly culminating in an uncomfortable rush to his groin. There was something deeply erotic about kneeling at Blaine’s feet. Kurt was all too well aware of the implication of the position, of the innuendo, and by the way Blaine was breathing deeper, heavier above him, he knew it wasn’t lost on the Prince either.

“I’ll be quick,” he said, and he wasn’t sure who he was reassuring, if it was at all needed.

He was indeed quick, taking the measurements and noting the numbers. When he measured or the inseam, he very deliberately kept his hand and his eyes away from Blaine’s crotch, though focusing on his thigh was hardly better. But soon enough he had everything he needed.

“All done, my lord,” he said, his voice breathy and husky in a way that he hadn’t intended. Blushing for what felt to be the millionth time, he stood slowly, aware of Blaine stepping in as he did so, closing the distance between them as he rose.

“I trust you have all that you need, now?” Blaine asked, and Kurt nodded silently, feeling as though he could not pull enough air into his lungs. He almost fell to gasping as he felt the tape and parchment taken from his hands and laid aside, all without Blaine moving from within inches of Kurt.

“Tell me to stop,” Blaine whispered, looking into Kurt’s eyes, and Kurt couldn’t look away even as he felt Blaine’s fingertips brushing up his arm and over his shoulder, stopping to caress his collarbone. “I will stop.”

“I don’t want you to stop,” Kurt admitted in a rush of breath, allowing himself finally to heave for the air that he had been denying himself, his sensitive neck tingling as Blaine drew patterns over the tender skin. He blinked slowly, his eyelids feeling heavy as he tilted his head to the side, instinctively and silently asking for more contact.

“Then I will not.”

Blaine leaned in further, his breath ghosting over Kurt’s face. His fingers brushed up the taut tendon in Kurt’s neck and tickled lightly along his jaw.

“Did you like my rose?”

Kurt took a shuddering breath and nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Blaine exhaled his relief, a small, wondering smile gracing his features.

“Good,” he said, slipping his fingers into the hair around Kurt’s ear, his palm cupping Kurt’s cheek and his thumb smoothing over the skin beneath it. His other hand folded over Kurt’s hip. “Then I have something you should know.”

Kurt looked into Blaine’s eyes, unable to keep himself from darting glances at Blaine’s lips every few seconds as he waited, drawing his own hands up Blaine’s chest, his fingers drawing along the scars there.

“I wish to pledge myself to you, Kurt Hummel,” Blaine said, brushing the tip of his nose against Kurt’s briefly before moving to one side. “I wish to pledge my loyalty—“ he pressed a gentle kiss to Kurt’s jaw “—and my love—“ he kissed again, this time on Kurt’s cheek “—and my devotion—“ his lips brushed Kurt’s forehead “—and I shall continue to pledge this—“ his other cheek fell beneath those lips “—for the rest of my days.” Blaine finally kissed the other side of his jaw before pulling back just enough to look into Kurt’s eyes again. “Do you accept my pledge, Kurt?”

Kurt brushed Blaine’s scarred cheeks beneath his hands, exploring with awe how beautiful the Prince was in the light of both the fireplace and his own passion. He saw it all for one instant—spending his days composing sonnets and songs to his Prince, spreading tales of his perfection; spending his nights tangled with him, whispering their love in the space between their bare flesh, falling asleep and waking to the sweet pressure of it.

And then he remembered what Mercedes had told him that very morning.

As soon as he finds a wife he can take the title of King…and when court opens up, I’m sure the noblemen will be flooding the place with their daughters.

Kurt gasped, drawing back, his head filling with sudden, bitter thoughts.

He could never be accepted as King with someone like me—not only a peasant, but a man. He knows this. He wants the same thing as Sebastian. He wants a whore he can call on when he’s not begetting an heir.

He can never truly love me.

“No, my lord,” he said, his voice trembling with his emotion; his disappointment and his despair. “I cannot.”

And before Blaine could see the tears fall, Kurt turned and fled from the room.