Stolen Path

10|| Grey Clouds and Petrichor

Content warning: this chapter is 12+ and contains allusions to body dysmorphia and non-graphic mentions of masturbation.

As of 11/04/24, I've edited this chapter so I don't get kicked off the app. At some point I might move off Wattpad to find a new place to post SP and put the full chapter. Edited/removed parts will have a [] to show missing text.

-Casper-

It was only after the sun had risen the next morning and the two lesser princes (along with their parents) were hurriedly escorted into the carriage home, that Casper's father told the two boys of Cadfael's location.

"He fell ill a few hours into the night," the king had said, staring out into the green lawn that rolled passed at a steady pace, his knee bobbing erratically as he mumbled a few symptoms of his son's affliction, "He'll be here – on the estate, under my mother and father's care until he gets better."

"Adney's staying with him to keep him company," the high queen added casually, "as will Ophelia. I believe the country air will be much better for him than the excitement of several days' journey back to Grachester."

A needle of concern pricked at the sides of Casper's nature. Among the family, it was a well-known and practically certain fact that Cadfael never fell ill – not properly at least. Not like Casper or Callum ever did, "Surely, can't the two of us stay here and keep him company as well? Even a kind word at a door might do him some good." His father glanced towards the high queen then back to the undulating woodland of the outside middle-distance, "After all, he always used to do the same for me... it's practically returning a debt – I'm sure Callum feels a similar way." For once, his older brother nodded in staunch agreement.

For a moment his mother hesitated, "Considering the... circumstances of your brother's condition," she began with a sigh, "we – your father and I – have both agreed that it would be better for both of your educations and Cadfael's own health that the rest of us return to the city." There was a firmness in her words that indicated the matter was not up for debate, "And of course, if you don't mind, Casper darling," something told him there was no matter of minding about this, "don't write to your two new friends about this whole matter – if journalists hear rumours about the condition of the Grey Colt..." she grimaced, "let's just say it isn't the time for civil unrest of that sort."

*

A week passed with little ceremony and even less correspondence between Casper and his eldest brother. This worried the third prince. The whole situation worried him. Thoughts of his kind, polite, noble brother being deathly pale and bead-bound felt so wrong. Impossibly and categorically wrong. A small part of the prince's mind suspected foul play pertaining to narcotics or poisons but that just had to be ridiculous. Who in all of Rettafil would stoop to that level? And at a costume party?

*

It was a late Dondas afternoon when Casper was lying on his bed, spending his hours arranging his thoughts in the placid pleasance of solitude. Quiet afternoons were always good for thinking – sometimes slightly too much so.

In recent months, the prince's mind had seemed to wander from the normal bounds of thoughts he would expect from himself. Thoughts of pretty girls flashed before his mind's eye like his own personal theatre []. Despite his awe, a deep sense of shame would always ache at the edges of his conscious [] What if my future wife found out? Was a common end to these wonderful streams of consciousness, and What if she thinks I'm disgusting for it? often followed with What if she's right? served as the final nail. The irritating, perpetually nagging guilt was in no way helped by the discomfort Casper felt over his own body. It was awkward, small, and shoddy – even looking at it in a mirror was rather embarrassing. Nothing seemed to fit together in the right place and although he'd been countlessly assured that he'd grow up into a strapping young man, the thought of it snapping into adulthood had always felt so impossibly unimaginable, if a little terrifying, to him. Casper rolled onto his side and frowned at the ruddy-faced reflection he could see from his bedroom looking glass. He needed some air – perhaps even some exercise.