Marc blew hair from his mouth. Just having woken up, he found a small bunch of hair in his mouth. Luckily, it was his own hair and not the sleeping prince's. Still gross, though. He rubbed his sleepy eyes lightly, sitting up on his elbows. Tracing his eyes across the darkened room, he stared out of the window. Seeing that it was still dark out, Marc slowly stretched across the bed to pick up an obsidian pocket watch from the bedside table. Quickly flipping the cover open, he read the time as 4:50. Marc hushed his tired whine so not to wake the sleeping Prince.
Gently setting the pocket watch on the table, he carefully slid out from the covers, laying them back down over Nathaniel. He waited a moment to see if he had woken up in the movement, silently exhaling after a few seconds. He sat on the wooden floor, putting his socks. Sliding his brown boots on next, he noticed that they were starting to wear out. The quality wasn't bad, though, for the price he got them at. He quickly knotted the laces, quietly moving to the desk. He took a small paper from the drawer and dipped the quill in the small container of squid's ink, tapping the tip against the container's rim. Gliding the quill across the paper's surface, he wrote a note for the Prince. Marc left his signature as a simple cursive 'm'.
Folding the paper in half, he lifted Nathaniel's palm, setting it down in the center. Gently setting his hand down on the bed, Marc smiled softly at the sleeping Prince. Nathaniel's hair that was usually tucked behind his ear had fallen over his face, shielding any light from creeping into his eyes. If he hadn't already looked so beautiful, his state of grace could easily be compared to that of an angel's.
Marc left a soft kiss on his forehead as a goodbye, going to the hidden passageway. Tossing his hooded cape around his shoulders, he latched the button into it's designated loop. Marc pushed two bricks in and pulled one slightly to the left, revealing a small opening. Pulling on the edge of the opening, the rest of the door heavily sliding open. He silently entered the passageway, making sure to fully close the opening behind him.
Traveling down the hidden halls, he heard indistinguishable chatter and noises coning from rooms that he passed. The halls had been abandoned as far as anyone knew. Marc had been using them for quite some time then and never saw another soul in these halls, so he assumed they were shut down or forbidden for some reason.
They were also the reason as to how he got to know the Prince on a more personal level, aside from his job as the royal scribe.
Marc heavily sighed, hand resting on his black leather messenger bag settled against his hips. He stood outside the General's castle chambers, already knowing how badly the General would take this. Though, he knew delaying it would have worse outcomes. Hesitantly knocking on the closed door, he took the General's letter from the bag.
"General D'Argencourt?" He called through the door.
There was a brief silence.
"State your reason of presence." An older, male voice called.
Marc nervously fidgeted and took a breath. "I am the royal scribe... I have a message for you."
The sound of feet thudding against the floor quickly filled the silence, the door suddenly swinging open. A tall, thin, older man had opened it, but sprinted away immediately after. He gestured for Marc to come inside while periodically swinging a fencing sword at a target. That really didn't help Marc's teensy bit of confidence.
General D'Argencourt glanced over at him, raising a scrutinizing eyebrow at him. "Well? Read it."
Marc swiftly opened the letter, reading over it in a rush. Just like that, his last bit of confidence diminished at the crude writing. "Um, this seems more of something you would want to read yourself, General."
Marc flinched as he whacked the sword against the test target. "I'm rather busy at the moment, can't you see? Read it!"
Marc quietly nodded, knowing better than to talk back. He started from the beginning, replacing some of the more explicit phrases.
"General Armand D'Argencourt,
Your outrageous accusations of unlawful ways of going about acquiring the title of King of Bourgeois are disregarded. As King, I will not stand to even listen to such atrocities about my ancestors. If you wish to regain your family's royal status, may I suggest taking place in the next noble election of one of Bourgeois's many cities?
Sincerely,
King Bourgeois."
As he silently set the letter on the General's desk, Marc heard the sound of a sword stabbing into the test target. He took a breath and quickly turned on his heel, beginning to walk towards the door. "I should head out now-" Marc squeaked, shutting down when the door slammed shut. He closed his eyes and stood still, silently listening as the General spat out curses.
"That pompous prick! He thinks he can just waltz his way into any land , wave his cash around, and become the leader of said land just like that!"
Rough hands grabbed onto Marc's shoulders, shaking him crazily until his eyes opened. The scribe stared up at the General, who was taller by nearly a foot. "Y-Yes?"
General D'Argencourt hadn't let go. "Did Lord Agreste send a response?"
Marc was hoping he had forgotten about that, but the man's impatience wouldn't allow it. He shakily exhaled while nodding. "In a way... yes."
His hands tightened around Marc's shoulders, making him shift around a bit from the nails digging into his skin. "Read it!"
Emerald eyes avoided contact the General's, aimed at the dark wooden floor. "Lord Agreste didn't send a letter, just an oral message..."
D'Argencourt raised an eyebrow, clearly not amused. "Well?"
He tensed, thinking on how to say it. "Lord Agreste said, quote, 'You can take your plan and shove it. Do not contact me on matters regarding your personal woes again. Have a good day,' unquote."
The General grit his teeth, face twitching in anger. He shoved Marc harshly back, his back colliding with the brick wall. Something moved slightly under his back, but didn't feel sharp or pointy, so the scribe ignored it for now. The General slurred curses, crumpling up the Bourgeois's letter and throwing it in the fireplace. Marc watched in quiet terror as he removed the sword from the test subject, repeatedly stabbing the letter. While his back was turned, Marc quickly moved behind the General's desk so that there was something to separate them if push comes to shove. He wouldn't realize, but a fifteen year old shouldn't have to know what to do in this situation.
General D'Argencourt loudly inhaled, soon forcing the breath back out. He turned to Marc, his serious facade back up. "What about Lady Couffaine?"
Marc made a small "Oh," after having forgotten that she sent a letter. He fumbled in his bag full of letters, which he sorted alphabetically. Skipping to D'Argencourt's section, he pulled out the enclosed letter from Lady Couffaine. He shakily picked up the letter opener on the desk, slicing through the red wax seal and extracting the letter from it. Unfolding it, he glazed over the words, thankful that it wasn't as blunt as the last two.
"Quote,
'General D'Argencourt,
While I admire your persistence to reclaim what you say was once your ancestors, I must refuse. Given the lack of evidence to support your claims, it would be a mindless decision to send my warriors to your aid. Perhaps, if the circumstances were different, my choice would be different. Please, respect my decision to sit this one out.
Sincerely,
Anarka Couffaine."
He set the letter down on the desk, as he did with the previous one. Marc watched the General warily, read to duck or dodge if the sword came at him.
It looked like he was processing the information. D'Argencourt took in a short breath, silently swinging his fencing sword in an arc. Marc saw this coming as let himself collapse onto the floor. He held his arms around his head, as a Marinette's friend's older sister had taught him to do. He felt a shoe tap his shoulder.
"I was sheathing my sword, you fool. Get up."
"Sorry, Sir," Marc quickly replied, scrambling to stand up. "Did you wish to send a message back?"
General D'Argencourt stormed out of his chambers, slamming the door loudly behind him. Marc took that as a 'No'. He drew in a long breath, shakily exhaling as he leaned against the brick wall. The biggest downside about his job as the royal scribe was that he would always be the one to bring bad news. With most higher-ups, they wouldn't allow him to leave until they had taken out the brunt of their reaction onto him. Hence why he learned self-defense from Marinette's friend's older sister, Nora. She'd been recruited by the royal family to train young knights in both offense and defense. Thankfully he was able to use most defense tactics without being accused of attacking someone of royal or hierarchal status.
As he inhaled again, Marc felt a blocky object stick into his back and move around as he did. He had forgotten about knocking something out of place earlier. Turning on his heel, Marc closely inspected the wall to find what had happened. Two bricks were slightly pushed further into the wall, the one on the right revealing a little hole. He panicked, knowing that if he didn't fix it, he would have to pay for it with money he didn't have. Marc slipped his hand into the hole, pulling on it in hopes that the bricks would simply slide back into place. As if it was the building's way of spitting in his face, the brick slid to the left, the hole now being double the size it used to.
"Oh, no, no, no, no," Marc sputtered quietly, starting to tug on the brick. "Please go back, please go back." Suddenly, the entire wall split in half, opening slightly. Dust and bits of powdered brick crumbled away along with whatever last bit of hope Marc has left. "Well isn't that just dandy?" Marc squeaked, voice crackling along the way.
Then he noticed the empty space behind the opening. It looked like a dark crawlspace that was built into the wall when the castle was constructed. Marc peeked his head inside, looking both ways. Cobwebs and dust bunnies littered the insides, looking like the tunnel hadn't been used in decades. I really shouldn't, Marc thought. But he did anyways.
Now inside the forgotten passageway, Marc closed his eyes to get adjusted to the darkness. He waved his hand in front of his face, trying to disperse the dust clouding around him. A cough escaped his throat, unexpectedly echoing and multiplying in volume from the small space. Unluckily attracting the attention of a guard passing by outside the General's chambers, he stopped and looked around the usual hallways.
"Hello?"
Marc's eyes widened, knowing exactly what the guard would think if he saw Marc's situation. In a rush, he dragged the separated wall closed, hoping it wasn't obvious that it was just open. The guard walked into the chamber, looking around and finding nothing. He shrugged, not hesitating to walk away. Marc sighed with relief once he knew the coast was clear. He'd decided that it was time to get out of the tunnel and call it a day. He started pushing against the wall, to no avail. The wall wasn't budging a single bit, much to Marc's dismay.
"Oh, no." Marc said to himself.
He pushed and pushed at the wall, putting in more strength each time. Though, it quickly stopped since he didn't have much strength to begin with. He thought that maybe he had to push in a few bricks like before to get it to open, so he started harshly pushing at bricks with his fist. Nothing moved out of place.
Marc looked around for more exits. The tunnel was nearly pitch black, which wasn't helpful. He started walking to the left, remembering that from his current standpoint in the castle, there were more rooms in that direction.
Minutes passed by as he traveled the passageway, muffling a few sneezes on the way. He then realized that it was probably from the excessive amount of dust present. As his mind was starting to blank out, Marc noticed a dim light far off in the distance. Without hesitation, he took off running towards it, just happy that he would be able to get out of that tunnel. He had stopped worrying about the consequences of being caught long ago.
Stopping in front of the light, he realized that it was from a wall being cracked open just a little bit. Marc smiled with relief and hurriedly pushed the wall open, stumbling into the unknown room. He had barely taken a look around before being tackled and pinned to the ground. The tackler flipped Marc onto his back, pressing a slim and rounded object to his throat and covering his mouth. Marc squinted up at the person with wide eyes, vision not yet adjusted to the newfound brightness.
"Who are you?" The tackler demanded, his soft voice contradicting his violent actions.
Marc quickly replied with his name, which was muffled by the hand over his mouth. The tackler soon realized his mistake and removing his hand.
"My name is Marc Anciel, I'm the scribe."
The tackler blinked. "Oh. That's why I recognize you." He glanced at the double doors, seeing they were still closed. "Where'd you come from? I locked the doors."
"The tunnels. Your tunnel entrance was open." Marc said, nodding towards the opened wall.
The tackler's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He looked to where Marc nodded, seeing what he was talking about. "What the...? I've never seen that before in my life."
Marc couldn't help but study the tackler's face. He had met him briefly before, but couldn't remember his name. He was quite pretty, though most of his hair had fallen into his face during the tackle. The second he pushed his gorgeous red hair behind his ear, Marc gasped. His teal eye had triggered the memory.
"Oh, gosh, you're the Prince!" Marc squeaked, one of his hands covering his mouth. Color drained from his face as he realized the truth. "Oh, gosh, I broke into the Prince's room- I'm going to jail-"
The Prince looked at him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "What? No...?"
Marc slowly blinked, staring up at the Prince. "You're not going to throw me in jail?"
"Why would I? You really didn't break any laws."
He held back his thoughts, trying not to upset the Prince. "Um... permission to speak freely?"
"Of course."
"Well, um, with my place here, I've sort of grown accustomed to the... royals and people of governmental status... abusing their power when people like me make a mistake. I had assumed that you would be like your... um."
The Prince's eyes softened at the scribe, who was nervously fidgeting beneath him. "Like my father."
His eyes strayed from their previous focal point, now fixated on the individual stitching of the Prince's suit jacket. "Well, yes."
The Prince sighed, moving the object he had pressed against Marc's neck. He stuck it behind his ear, revealing it to be a wooden paint brush. "Thankfully, I grew up to be nothing like my father. I, for one, don't jump straight to threats and imprisonment at the slightest hiccup." The Prince stood up, extending his hand down to Marc. The scribe looked at it for a second before taking it, being lifted up by the Prince. "My Grandmother always says I'm more of a lover, anyways."
Marc's face instantly lit up bright red. Not knowing how to respond, he just awkwardly smiled and nodded.
Neither realized that they hadn't let go of the other's hand. The two just looked into the other's eyes in silence, unmoving. That is, until the Prince gave him a soft smile. Marc blushed heavily, moving his gaze down only to see their hands still held together. He quickly pulled his hand away and went to tuck it into a nonexistent pocket, resulting in him nervously sliding his hand along his leg. There was a moment of silence. "I should go now, Prince- uh,"
"Just Nathaniel."
Marc internally scolded himself for not knowing the Prince's name. "-Prince Just Nathaniel- uh! Prince Nathaniel."
Prince Nathaniel laughed with a smile, making Marc's heart melt. "You can just call me Nathaniel."
Marc made a small smile, nodding along. "Erm, goodbye, then."
Nathaniel made a small "Oh," gesturing for him to stay there. He walked to the double doors, opening one and sticking his head out. The guard stationed outside his room looked at him, waiting for instructions. "There's someone throwing rocks at my window from the garden. Could you get them to stop?"
The guard nodded and marched off. Nathaniel waited until he turned the corner before looking at Marc. "Coast in clear."
His smile grew without control. Walking out of the Prince's bedroom, Marc gave a small bow and a thank you before running off into the halls. Nathaniel's teal eyes watched him disappear round the corner, a grin tugging at his lips.
Removing the paint brush from its place tucked behind his ear, Nathaniel walked to his desk. Taking off the chain necklace around his neck, he used the key attached to it to unlock a little wooden box. Inside that box was things he held dear, such as a small book of quotes from his Grandfather, a little trinket from an old friend, and now that paint brush.
Secretly, he hoped that they would meet again.