In the distant past, in a land so far away it would put the distance between our earth and the sun to shame, there lived a gardener’s son named Reed and a young prince named Sage. They were sixteen - and in this kingdom, which we shall call Soleil, that is an ideal time to be married.
In Reed’s case, that would mean settling down with a nice girl he liked. But in Sage’s case, that would mean an arranged marriage with a princess he likely hated. Marriage, you see, was not done out of love - but it was a joining of two families at the expense of one’s progeny.
And Sage, for all his wit and wonder, did not have the power to prevent this, and knew that sooner or later he would be forced into a domestic life, and as the Crown Prince, he would have to rule his country - sooner or later. No matter the circumstance of one’s birth, there was no escaping an arranged marriage.
His father brought the topic up to him awkwardly, sitting at their ornate oak dining table. Sage stabbed at his rabbit-meat, bored, forcing himself to remain seated and silent despite the lingering urge within him to get up and run, out of his easy life and into the woods, where he knew he would be able to hide from any guards that his parents might send after him. There he could hunt rabbits himself, or pick mushrooms, and never have to see another piece of silverware or a lace corset.
“Sage?” his father was saying, and he jumped back into reality.
“Sorry. Sorry, Father, I was lost in thought. I - What were you saying?”
“It is the custom that - now that you are sixteen - you shall be married.” his father said stiffly. “We shall make sure to choose a bride you are... compatible with, so that the rest of your life may be bettered for it,”
He felt a lump in his throat. “Father, could we wait just another year? Only - I do not think I am mature enough for the responsibility of representing… a union… between two families. I would ask that you give me more time,” It was a rehearsed sentence, carefully chosen, and even though it would not change his father’s mind, the least he could do was hope.
“Nonsense. You are ready enough.” His father narrowed his eyes, scanning his face for any sign of anger. “And a finer young man I could not imagine.”
“I’m happy to serve my country.” Sage almost laughed - his father was awful at detecting sarcasm - and stabbed the fork directly into the rabbit with a quiet crunch. “I will... make ready, and you can be assured I will not forget,”
That was pushing it. His father gave him a look. “Your mother is the one who insisted, boy. It would be unwise to go against her wishes. I’m sure you’ll be just fine - the princesses of Morgan le Fay are, I’m told, every bit as equally intelligent as they are beautiful.”
“So they’re ugly and stupid?” Sage blurted, and then immediately shut his mouth.
You will choose a bride in one month, and you will like it, Sage! Do not push me on this matter!”
And he stood and stormed from the room, the metal of his boots tapping after him on the cold stone floor.
Sage breathed in and out, remaining as still as he could force his slightly-trembling limbs to stay, but his face was still red with embarrassment and anger. I am trapped, then! He hurled the fork - a piece of meat still embedded upon it - at the wall, where portraits of his ancestors stared down at him, pensive, angry, haughty, and most of all disappointed. He kicked the chair - it hurt his foot - and then turned at the knock on the door from the cellar.
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At this time of night? It must be Father, then, come to apologise.
The knock sounded again - two quiet taps. Someone nervous, then. Sage threw open the door, scaring the person on the other side, who jumped backwards and dropped the armfuls of white flowers he was carrying and immediately began scrabbling around to recover them.
“Oh! I’m sorry. I had you mistaken for someone of a more… lofty disposition. Please; do not let me bother you. In fact - I’ll help you - here, I’ll pick up your flowers,”
“Carnations,” the boy stammered, still avoiding eye contact. “Please, don’t let - don’t let me trouble you. I was merely startled, that is all.”
“No, I insist,” Sage insisted. I wonder what his face looks like - he’s been hiding it.
He grabbed a bushel, meaning to offer them to him, but the boy snatched them out of his grasp and turned to flee. Sage grabbed him by the collar. “Do I scare you so much that you would avoid looking my way? Please; if I am to be king I must know my subjects,”
He turned around. His face was flushed and his ears were very red. “My name is Reed and I am the gardener’s errand boy. Please just let me deliver these flowers - I must have taken a wrong turn.”
“This is the royal wing. If you meant to deliver flowers to the king or queen, then this is the right way.”
“W-What about the prince’s quarters?” Reed managed. Then he realised who Sage was and clapped a hand over his mouth, losing flowers in the process.
“They, too, are upstairs, but... why would anybody send me flowers? Unless-”
“They’re from the princesses.” Reed said. “Um - a secret admirer, one of the neighbouring princesses, has sent her regards.”
“Well, she certainly doesn’t know me very well,” Sage pointed out, studying Reed’s face. “I despise flowers. But I shall take them as a matter of courtesy, and you can thank yourself lucky I happened to run into you, Reed. Good night!”
“Good night,” Reed stammered, and Sage shut the door.
What an odd one. He is not a gardener, only the gardener’s son, and yet he is performing errands for his father. He must still live with him. He seems to be my age, if not older - it’s a wonder he hasn’t been engaged yet and moved into his own home.
Sage turned in for the night. His father’s words still hung in the air like smoke after a fire - in a month, I must be married. Well - he took a deep sniff of the white carnations - I shall be sure to choose whoever sent me these, so that our marriage will be a little better.
He undressed, but the cloudless sky seemed so inviting that he stepped onto the balcony in nothing but a nightgown. How pretty. It must be awful to be a star, though - so far away and cold. And they do not get to move of their own accord.
“Psst!” someone hissed, and he nearly jumped off the railing in fright. But he recovered himself and turned, only eventually catching sight of a young girl with brilliant green eyes and hair redder than a flame, clinging to the ivy below the king’s window. She motioned for him to move before letting go and landing with a thud.
She narrowed her eyes, glancing up and down at his gowned figure. “I’m sorry for troubling you,” she said at length, and began to scale the ivy again, this time heading downward.
“Wait,” Sage said. “Who are you?”
“Nobody!” she hissed, and seemed to be done with him, but after a brief pause she climbed back up the vines and hopped over the balcony edge. “I admit it. I was trying to climb into the king’s room. Only to see - to see what his son looks like. One of us is expected to marry him, you see. And I should not be happy to marry a vain prince, or an exceptionally ugly prince. A foolish expectation, but an expectation nonetheless. Only - he had no portraits of his son, and I do not see Sage’s room anywhere nearby.”
“Well, consider your search fulfilled!” Sage bent down to light a candle and bring it closer to his face. “The crown prince stands before you now, in all his - lack of glory. I hope you’re not disappointed by what you see, but I would understand if you were.”
She peered at his nose through the candlelight. “Your nose is crooked. But other than that, you are… not as bad as I had expected. Not a film-star beauty, but I do not see any outstanding flaws, thank Heaven. I should be content.”
“Wait,” Sage grabbed her. “Why has everyone I’ve met run away? Anyway - I must ask, was it you who sent the flowers?”
A light dawned in her eyes and she opened and shut her mouth like a confused fish. “I… Yes, it was I; I was curious as to how you would receive them. I see it has not been good.”
Sage glanced over his shoulder guiltily. The white carnations were lying in the fireplace. “I should apologise. My mother loves flowers, you see, and so I take it upon myself to hate them.”
“A spiteful prince,” she remarked, almost impressed. “I could almost like you. A pity, then, that you will undoubtedly choose one of my sisters over me.”
“Not at all,” he exclaimed, but she was already beginning to descend again. “I suppose I’ll see you in a month?”
“You shall,” she assured him, and was out of sight.