Bitter Sweet and Strange (larry stylinson)

Chapter 3

Harry awoke to a knock on the door. He groaned, his voice like warm gravel, and buried his face deep in a soft pillow.

Someone knocked again and Harry frowned into the pillow- his servants didn't knock. They knew to come straight in. Then he remembered where he was, and what he was- a prisoner. He sat bolt upright and glared at the door as the knock came for the third time.

Harry stewed in testy silence as the door opened and a perfectly coifed, dark haired head poked cautiously into the room. The man had cheekbones and a jaw to rival King Louis, but where the Beast was painted in hues of gold and blue this man was all dark eyes, dark skin and artfully shaved stubble. It was a face that could make any woman in a hundred miles swoon, but Harry wasn't about to let inhuman beauty fool him. He had heard about this man. Master Malice, their spies called him. King Louis' War Master.

Master Malice caught Harry's eye.

"Oh! You're awake. Good morning, your highness. Or afternoon, actually, uh..." He came fully into the room now, dressed to the nines in the most perfectly tailored ensemble Harry had ever seen.

"Please allow me to introduce myself," he said with a bow, "Master Malik at your service."

"What can I do for you, Master Malik?" Harry said, conversationally, not bothering to get out of bed. He was warm and naked, and if King Louis had some kind of torture arranged for the day he wasn't going to make it easier by cooperating.

"Actually, your highness, it's what I can do for you," Master Malik smiled, "I am the Master of the Wardrobe here at Doncaster Castle."

Harry nearly choked in surprise, covering it up with a cough. "Master of the Wardrobe?" He repeated, as Master Malik marched briskly to the closet, flinging the doors open.

"I took the liberty of providing you with the essentials, underclothes, socks and the like, but I took a wild guestimate in regards to your coat and pant size. I'll need to do a proper fitting if you're to have a decent wardrobe to wear around court-"

"No."

"I beg your pardon?" Master Malik swivelled on his heel, his expression vaguely murderous. Harry realized where the nickname came from. "These shirts must to be tailored to your figure, your highness."

"They're fine. They have sleeves and a hole to stick my neck through."

"That might be so, mate, but you'll look ridiculous." Master Malik dropped all semblance of courtly graces, his irritation clearly overcoming manners. Harry instantly liked him better. At least this near psychotic tailor was being genuine with him.

"I refuse to be dressed up like a doll by my enemy. I can't think of anything more humiliating."

Master Malik pursed his lips furiously, clearly about to threaten to skin him alive and dress him in his own remains.

"Mornin'!" Niall appeared in the doorway, bursting in to the room at an improper run and throwing a friendly arm around Master Malik's rigid shoulders.

"Christ, what have you done Harry?" Niall frowned, "I thought you two at least would get on, what with your fabulous hair and your mutual love of all things dapper..."

"Apparently my services are unwelcome," Master Malik informed him, frostily.

"No time anyway, Zayn, Louis wants an audience with Harry." Niall glanced at Harry, still naked, still in bed. "You do have some clothes, right?"

Harry nodded.

"Phew, thought you were another exhibitionist! One constantly naked royal is enough for one castle. Let's go. Louis tends to flay people when they're late."