Glory in Our Defiance • Zarry

3. - Serendipidous

1485 - York, England

The tavern isn't as busy as it usually is that night. Maybe it's good, maybe it's the worst fucking thing that could've happened. Even the usual whores haven't come to slither around patrons this evening. There are only four tables with guests seated behind them, leaving the rest vacant. But the noise is certainly enough to wake a village up. All thanks to the Styles party sitting at a table right across from Zayn's.

It's been about an hour since they've arrived, all dressed up with their chins held up, as if they were walking into battle and not a fucking tavern in York. Zayn has been cautiously watching them as they got drunker and drunker, ate like pigs and laughed like madmans. He's been ignoring his companions a bit, rejecting their offers to toast with them multiple times in order to keep his mind as sober as he can, considering he's had a considerable amount of drinks before the Styles clan came.

Harry Styles keeps looking at him. With this glimmer in his eyes, an almost invisible smirk dancing on his lips, Zayn wonders if Harry knows who Zayn is. They've never met before and Zayn isn't flaunting his nobility but would it be so hard to tell? A careful eye who's seen Zayn's portraits would have caught the similarities. If one paid enough attention, the would see the red rose depicted on one of his rings. Maybe one observant enough would see the difference in the behavior of Zayn and his companions. A prince raised to be a King ever since he was born behaves differently than some city nobility. Palace etiquette differs quite heavily.

The half-empty tavern keeps getting emptier as the night goes on, Zayn's companions leaving too, one by one until there was just Zayn and Frederick at the table. The men who arrived with Harry Styles are retreating to their rooms upstairs too until the false prince stays there on  his own. He doesn't seem bothered by it, not in the slightest. It's like he's been waiting for it. He keeps sipping on his wine, his lips stained red and plump. And as it has been tonight's staple, his eyes happen to meet Zayn's over and over and over again until they're left staring at each other like angry cats about to break into a fight.

"Zayn, are you even listening to me?"

Frederick's voice makes Zayn peel his eyes off of Harry's, shaking his head softly and looking at his friend.

"I asked you if you wanted to attend a gathering at my house this weekend?" Frederick asks.

"Yes, of course," Zayn says, still not fully grasping the words because his mind is infested with the imagine of vibrant green eyes and slick red lips.

"Very well then," Frederick nods as he stands up, putting on his coat. "You will get the bill?"

"Surely."

"Thank you, my King. I would bet my hand that no other King has ever been such a good company as you."

Zayn chuckles, looking around to see if anyone's heard Frederick. He isn't in the mood to deal with all that right now. "I'm not King yet, my friend."

"Not yet," Frederick replies, his gaze travelling to Harry's solitary figure at the table across. "But soon. Very soon."

Frederick's words are dripping with venom. It seems like Zayn wasn't the only one who noticed the false prince sitting across from them all night.

"Farewell, my friend," Frederick says. "I will see you tomorrow, perhaps."

"Goodbye," Zayn says after him, watching as Frederick's back gets out of view after he closes the tavern's door.

And Zayn heard him before he ever sits down and starts speaking. He heard the chair scraping the floor, the heavy footsteps coming towards him, the sound of a different chair  being dragged on the floor. But he didn't look that way. Not until he spoke.

"We meet at last, Zayn Malik."

This makes Zayn turn his head, regarding Harry with a bored look in his eyes.

"This is not the place where I imagined meeting you for the first time," Harry continues. "But it surely is exciting."

"Exciting?" Zayn lifts his brows curiously. "Where did you imagine we would meet?"

"A battlefield, perhaps," Harry shurgs with a smirk. "Or just seeing your head on a spike."

Zayn lets out a half-hearted laugh. "You certainly are quite confident. Talking like this but also coming to me like we were old friends and not enemies."

Harry looks at him with something pensive in his eyes. "You are not my enemy, Zayn Malik. You are my family's enemy. There is a difference."

Zayn's taken aback by the words. "So you want us to be friends?"

Harry shrugs. "Not exactly. I just wanted to talk to you. I am drunk, I will be honest, and I just wondered why am I warring against a man I have never even met? So I decided to meet you properly. At last, talk to the man I am supposed to hate with every bone in my body, even the marrow inside of it."

Zayn's riddled with confusion but at the same time, he finds some of his own queries in Harry's words. They're born of war, they never knew anything else. It was default to hate each other, even if they weren't even in this world when this conflict began. They didn't start it but they must end it. Even if it isn't their biggest ambition and desire.

"So what? You are talking to me now to determine whether to murder me tonight in private or wait to make it into a spectacle on a battlefield?" Zayn challenges. He cannot trust him. Even if Zayn tries to see the better side of people, he can't afford to give Harry Styles the benefit of the doubt. Not yet, at least. But he still hasn't been poinsoned or stabbed in this establishment, has he?

Harry smiles slowly. "I do not want to murder you, Zayn."

"Why are you here then?" Zayn asks.

Harry sighs before flashing Zayn a smile. "Care for a drink?"

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Hello everyone!! Another chapter is here :) hope you liked this one, there will be A LOT more action in the next one sooo stay tuned! And please leave some feedback if you like this story, so I know whether to continue or not :)