The kingdom was in love with the young prince

It should end there. It had to end there, with fiable memories capable of forgetting things told, things seen, emotions felt and secrets whispered. He should head on his way, return home and remember who he was, not who this human made him be. Lance, in time, would forget Harry. The sound of his voice, the color of his eyes, the soft lull a constant humming between their two bodies drawing them closer together until they were touching in some way. A harmless brush of a hand through hair, fixing the tight curls. A nudge of a shoulder, a fleeting hug.

He wouldn't remember Harry by the years end if the angel left now. The meaningless conversations that has passed between the two, centered around god and the hilarious fact that Harry claims to know such a man, would be nothing more than a faint whisper barely recognizable as reality. Their entire tale drawn out to only weeks rather than months. An Immortal chasing a human wasn't feasible, wasn't heard of.

The impression would be there, a footprint in the tan sand, enough to leave them both grasping for more without really knowing exactly what that more was.

Only, Harry would always know.

His mind held onto everything, nothing leaving the confines a constant stream of chatter and hurt. Wars were a conflicting scene battling with images of Lance, the good trying to outweigh the bad, twining together in a haunting tale he couldn't let go of just yet. In account, it wasn't just a harmless conversation. It was an eternity trapped in words.

A lifetime held together with sewn promises.

And Harry knew, with his eyes pinned on the boy spread out on the scratchy, thin blanket laid out on the high, prickly grass, that he wasn't normal . Would never be easily forgotten.

Passed off.

And so, he stayed.

With the knowledge that to Lance, he was his gift.

Not a curse.

——

The perks of being an immortal begins and ends with the passing days blending into each other, one day disappearing in a blink of an eye, a decade racing to you before you could truly grasp or affect the world enough to leave more than tiptoed steps a thin trail through the ten years.

Or, so it was before Khomore, before Lance.

Harry had allowed him to get lost to the chatter of time, constantly streaming on in a dull mantra that carried him through life enough to keep him present but not. He seen flickering images, just never grasped them. Never truly realized the meaning and potential a simple rose held until it became so much more than just a flower.

It was a flower curled in soft, chestnut hair. Mirroring the crown entangled in Harry's own darkened curls, smaller in comparison but making no less of a statement with the red petals curled down and around his ears. It seemed as if the human was adapting to Harry's ways, mirroring him without doing so intentionally and soon, the flowers grew into crowns and the once short hair was now longer in length, overlapping the ears just enough to protect them from Harry's tempting words and promises he really shouldn't make.

It didn't take long for the two to become known around the kingdom. Greeted as a pair, fed as a pair, always glued to the others hips and people noticed as much. Harry wasn't without Lance, and Lance was never without Harry. It was a given. Something Harry finally took from the universe, and Martha at the apple cart always knew to keep two of her largest red apples hidden beneath the basket for safekeeping to sell to the two boys on their walk through town every morning.

Chalice, the guard meant to follow and protect Lance when leaving the kingdom grounds, passed that flaming torch onto Harry and stayed hovering at the entrance gate, watching from afar but doing nothing to breach their bubble of fantasy; like he did every morning. Mr. Kay, down in the bakery, always met with the butcher, Edward, every afternoon to prepare the two boys a simple meal of salted meat, hung and dried, bread and cubed cheese. Their daily lives became predictable, but no less exciting. No less meaningful to Harry.

He knew his father would throw a tantrum at the sight of his son living an almost domestic life, with made up dances pittering across Lance's bed chambers floor, leaving ghost of footprints as childish, glee filled laughter echoed off the walls— encouraged them both to pick up speed, to avoid the other at all costs as the contest drew on until they both collapsed on Lance'ss ridiculously large, and incredibly soft, bed. Breathless. Spent. Happy.

Harry's decided he no longer has to feel guilty for stealing time from this precious human, for ignoring his duties, because although he is doing both, there is meaning behind what appears to be his selfishness. He's a collector, discovering all there is to hold and cherish and deem valuable enough to collect; and time with this human, this specific human, is him doing just that. He's figuring out the flaws in the creations, how they tick, what makes them lose control and he's lucky enough to have someone so experienced, a world class human, here to teach him. To show him all he needs to learn to truly grasp the real meaning of humanity.

Of caring.

And if sitting by a little lake, with a little human, on the tenth day on the fifth month with the same meal sat laid out before them on a scratchy blanket, is research, then he will dive into every small thread just to steal mere seconds with this boy.

Selfish or not, forever would be too short.

"I'm leaving with father by the ends week," Lance says as he sips his smuggled wine out of the canteen, crumbs of bread littering his trousers where his legs sat crossed. "The North is proposing an attack on the East, and father only sees fit that we become allies with both the North and West to assure our survival chances. He thinks it best I attend both meetings, to show the future king is truly involved and interested enough in his kingdom to put forth the effort and time to consider possible solutions for all outcomes."

Harry wishes he wasn't so self involved with Lance, the war sparking memories of what was yet to come but now, with his heart clouding his thoughts, he could no longer see anything Lance that extended past the present; the past. The future was an unknown, uncharted territory he couldn't see if any of it involved Lance.

And that terrified him. He was usually so confident, so self assured, but now. Now nothing made more sense than the feet resting in his lap. His twitching wings would agree to that very statement.

But why did he suddenly wish for Lance not to leave? The thought of them being separated for longer than a night near suffocating but to hide his reaction, Harry forged a grin out of tiny memories of Lance and looked at the boy.

"All should pray for a better leader," Harry joked, flicking Lance's heel as he gazed out at the twinkling water, wondering not for the first time what it would feel like to be completely enclosed in the icy waves. "Teasing. You will be a fine ruler one day, Lance. I promise, just you wait and see."

"Will you be here to see it?" Lance asked, innocently enough as he pulled at a loose string on his blanket, feigning neutralness when Harry could literally feel the weight the simple question held.

His heart ached.

"I suppose returning for the celebration wouldn't be too far fetched," Harry agreed, keeping the hope to a minimal, and manageable, level. Promising nothing more than he could stay true to. Returning wasn't the problem. Leaving was.

Satisfied enough with his agreement, though the sadness was a beautifully chaotic web masking the boy's eyes as he pointed across the lake, towards the barely visible other side at a man bent over what appeared to be a net, weaved together out of rope. "That is where Edward gets most of his product," Lance commented, starting a different conversation for the sake of keeping them both here for a little bit longer, with the setting sun a reminder of their impending goodbye.

"But he doesn't breed the fish," Harry said, "why should he make a profit off of what is, naturally, the entire villages right?"

Eyes clouding for what one would only conclude as love, Lance's lips tilted into a fond smile. "They keep each other alive," he said, "They know where to get their food if they wanted to save money, but they support one another. They give and take. A truly intricate, yet beautiful, system."

Lance was in love with the people of his kingdom.

And the kingdom was in love with the young prince.

Harry recognized that not even his second day here. The faces that grew familiar, that became more than just forgetful names, were the same people who raised Lance in ways the king never could.

Beyond Edward and Kay, beyond the guards and the king, sat an entire village of people often overlooked and forgotten and Lance paid attention to every single one of them. He wasn't royalty when they roamed the streets. He was the dirty little boy each and every single one has taken turns cleaning and feeding.

With their quiet conversation gliding across the water, both boys stood after a few minutes longer and gathered their things. The walk back to the kingdom was shorter than both wanted, than both anticipated though Harry knew he wasn't the only one tracking his steps and making them shorter and shorter with every movement forward.

The lanterns lining the path to the gate glowed bright and powerful in the dark, beckons sparking the sense of belonging and it was there, with the yellow glow with red hues slashing across their skin, that Harry wished Lance a goodnight and left.

Not chancing a glance backwards for the fear he would never truly leave, which has happened many nights before.

He was stopped by Pam on his tired retreat, the Goldsmith of Khomore, with his daughter hanging precariously off his counter with her chubby legs dangling inches off the ground, "Harry, lad, take a look at this," he urged in a tempting tone as he held a cupped hand out, guarding a necklace enclosed in fleshy fingers darkened and discolored from years of work. "Marie inspired this,"

And when he opened his fingers, there, with a silver chain sprinkled with sparkling diamonds wrapped around his fingers, sat a small rose, with a silver stem that had sharp leaves standing up and out, proudly offering a perfect display of a red rose, crinkled petals caught in the bent and contorted metal.

Harry doesn't know why, but a certain face immediately popped into his head at the exact moment he seen it.

Which led him to purchasing the necklace, and keeping it hidden in his pocket until he finally gave it to the boy the day he left with his father, showing along the stem set the personalized name inscribed out to Lance.

He made him promise there, as they stood outside the chariot with the king yelling at them from his seat, demanding them to hurry, that Lance would return.

And it was with a giggled, tear filled promise that he would, that the chariot disappeared down the road.

—

The time between Lance's departure and Lance's arrival seems like it drags on far longer than even Harry's entire existence has. He filled the boring days with all the scandals from the humans life's, learned Martha was actually saving money to send home to her son and his family, claiming despite his job a grandmother still had a right to worry about her grandkids.

The money gets returned every month.

Each and every attempt she makes to reach out, rejected. Her son married a woman from wealth, and Martha was a common woman. A peasant. There was no room in their life for her.

Yet, she never gave up hope.

And Shaun, one of the workers in Lance's castle that claims he is a slave but Lance rejects such titles, is actually in love with the certain knight from the kings vast collection, and hopes one day to be noticed and not hanged. Because, certainly his love deserves a chance too.

Harry didn't understand what he meant by that until he was given the cruel history gay males, and women, has suffered at the expense and hands of his father. Humankind led to believe they were unnatural, unloved, because a book said so? A book god wouldn't have taken his time to read, let alone write? When Harry asked to read the book, he was laughed at.

When they realized he really was as naive and clueless as he was acting, they led him to Herms library, where the original copy was set chained to the table, denying anybody a chance to steal it.

The words wrote made Harry laugh -his father could be cruel man, but even he wouldn't justify half the things written in this book-, and had filled the void Lance left for a day.

Then, he was back at Martha's door.

—-

It wasn't until day three that he met Jai Thompson, Lance's mother and the depressed queen who remained hidden every passing moment of the day. She was wandering the hallways, later claiming she did so when her husband was away because she felt safe and at peace, when Harry stumbled upon her. On pure accident, really.

She was on her way to the kitchen, she'd said, not asking who the young man was but rather smiling with warm brown eyes void of anything but pain; the very feeling running ragged on her face, her body. She invited him along, voice soft and sweet, carrying a motherly note that Harry filed away as a comfort as it washed over his shoulders in lapping breaths that eased the ball of loneliness that has taken up residency in his stomach.

It wasn't until the cloak was removed that he seen the round swell of her stomach. "You're pregnant?" He asked in a gushed, awe filled question that was immediately followed with disgust and so many questions.

He'd heard about human pregnancies, had even caught glimpses of a few pregnant women from afar, but he's never seen one so big, or so close. It was fascinating, terrifying, and incredibly disgusting all in the same breath. Human babies were ugly, wrinkly little things too.

Angel babies were born in pods, created rather than birthed, and were given a role as soon as their feathered wings expanded with their first breath. Harry didn't have a title, though. He was told he was too special.

A lie only one stupid human believes.

She was pregnant with twins, and it was when Harry felt her stomach that he knew; seen .

The Queen's clock was ticking down.

Lance's mother was dying.