Archive of Our Own

“You don’t have your own horse?” Felice asked as she led them into the stables.

Wille shrugged. He’d only been here for a few days, and this was the first moment that felt like everything might not be completely shitty at Hillerska. He’d known Felice forever, (although they’d never been especially close) but it was good to have someone to talk to who wasn’t suffering from an excess of whatever brain chemical turned you into a raging asshole. Wille had spent some time talking to Felice the night of his initiation party, practically tripping over her and another girl when he’d left to get some air and some space from August, and it had been…nice. Normal.

She didn’t seem like she was just trying to get in good with a royal, didn’t talk to him like he was something to ogle and praise. She was just kind of…cool. The girl with her that night (Sara, he thought, maybe) seemed normal, too. It was refreshing, and Wille desperately needed a friend who didn’t want anything from him.

He and Felice had gotten to talking about her horse, and Wille had admitted it had been years since he’d ridden, but he missed it, a bit. There was something about it, about being in control of something stronger than you, and being at the horse’s mercy at the same time, that was thrillingly different than the rest of his life. Horses didn’t give a shit if you were royalty or not.

Once he’d grown older, though, Wille had been all but forced to take up rowing instead, like Erik. It was a more masculine sport, a greater showing of strength and power. And really, Wille liked being out in the boat, liked the way it flew across the water, liked the way his muscles ached after actually working towards something instead of being handed it; he just fucking hated being under August’s thumb for yet another part of his life.

Felice had immediately offered to let him ride her horse, as apparently she barely had time for it, and Wille had tentatively agreed to at least take a look at Rousseau.

“I’m supposed to do rowing,” Wille explained, only half paying attention as he took in their surroundings. The stables were nice, he liked the atmosphere of it—the usual smell of horses and hay and shit, but joined with the scent of older wood, of the polish for the equipment, of the leather of the leads and saddles. It was nice, reminded him of his childhood, when he’d been small enough they’d considered letting him take up riding as a primary form of exercise.

Felice shrugged. “You can’t do both?”

“My parents wouldn’t buy me a horse if I barely had time to ride,” Wille explained, although it felt more complicated than that. Like horses were more of a girls’ sport, and he was supposed to represent masculinity in his public roles. He wasn’t supposed to be soft, and horses were soft. Taking care of something was soft.

“Why not? Mine did.”

Wille stifled a laugh as she smiled at him, apparently at peace with whatever her feelings towards her horse (or her parents) were.

When they reached Rousseau’s stall, it was to find him already out of it, being untacked and brushed. Felice smiled, almost in spite of herself, indulgent.

“Hey, Sara, we just came by to see Rousseau.”

Sara looked up at them, shouldering Rousseau’s saddle and putting it off to the side. “Oh. Hi.” She frowned. “I didn’t know you were coming, I would have held off riding him.”

Felice waved her off, and Wille stepped forward to answer. “I just wanted to meet him, honestly. It’s been a while since I actually rode.” He smiled at her tentatively as he brushed his hand along Rousseau’s mane. “I’m Wille, not sure if you remember me from the other night?”

“Prince Wilhelm,” Sara said, still not smiling. Like she thought she was really supposed to call him that. “You don’t have your own horse?”

“Wille is fine.” He smoothed his hand down Rousseau’s side, glad when Sara nodded approvingly as Rousseau snorted but didn’t move away. “I don’t ride enough to justify it.”

“He likes you,” she said, half a smile on her face.

“Everybody likes Wille,” Felice replied, grinning as she took a brush from Sara and ran it across Rousseau once before handing it back.

“My brother doesn’t,” Sara said simply, not an ounce of venom in it, just stating a fact. Wille didn’t really know what to do with that. “He says the royals are an empty spectacle leeching off everyone else.”

Wille snorted as Felice sharply said, “Sara!”

“I didn’t say I agreed,” Sara replied, shrugging. Wille thought maybe he liked her, a bit. Felice sputtered, looking like she was still trying to figure out how best to kindly tell Sara off.

“It’s fine,” Wille said, stepping back as Sara came around Rousseau to keep brushing him. “I welcome all perspectives on my privilege.” Felice rolled her eyes, even though Wille wasn’t entirely kidding—he was pretty much required not to argue about anything political or relating to his family, and it’s not like he wasn’t aware that he was in a different social class even than some of the richer kids at Hillerska. He knew his family was in a position they’d done nothing to earn except have the right bloodline, which felt…arbitrary, at best.

“It’s still rude,” Felice muttered. “Anyway,” she turned to Wille, “Sara rides sometimes when I don’t have the…time. But you could, too, if you want?”

“Yeah,” Wille readily agreed. “If Sara doesn’t mind sharing.”

“It’s my horse,” Felice replied, brushing off the polite deferral. “She’ll still get time with him, I’m barely here.”

Wille decided he would have to ask about that another time, why Felice even had a horse if she was so eager to outsource his care and time. It was probably complicated, though, everything was complicated with people like them, with people like their parents.

“As long as we could keep it, uh, quiet,” Wille said, wincing a little. “I don’t think the Queen would like it much.”

Felice nodded and Sara followed suit after watching Felice nod. A smile broke out over Sara’s face. “Not like I talk to the Queen so often,” Sara said, laughing.

Wille hoped it wasn’t clear on his face that he was almost envious of that.

After that, he made time every so often to come to the stables, usually only for quick rides, with Sara hanging around to take over the care portion, grudgingly accepting Wille’s help sometimes. She didn’t seem nervous around him, the way people usually were when they were reluctant to let him in on more normal chores or activities. Rather, she just seemed to want the time with Rousseau; she clearly didn’t like it when Wille’s help made things go much quicker, resented it when he came by too often, not making much of an effort to hide it once they’d gotten somewhat comfortable with each other.

Really, Wille should have taken the hint and stopped coming by, although Felice seemed glad that riding her horse was giving him some small joy. And it was—Wille liked being out with Rousseau, in the evening when no one else was around except Sara, feeling the air brush quickly past his face, the strength of Rousseau below him, the thrill of it when Rousseau ran or jumped or thought about throwing him off. It was freeing, and as the rowing season ramped up and he got into the swing of his classes, there wasn’t much other time when Wille felt free.

“You don’t like me much,” Wille said, finally, after he’d brought Rousseau in one evening to Sara’s mildly annoyed expression.

Sara shrugged as she started to untack Rousseau. “I just think you could afford your own horse, if you want to ride so badly.”

Wille swallowed a laugh, since there was no sign of amusement in her voice. It was just…people didn’t usually talk to him like that. He almost wished Felice was here, just to see the look on her face. “I guess I could.”

Sara gave him a quick glance before going back to focusing on what she was doing. “I can’t, so Rousseau is all I have.” She faltered. “Felice likes it that I can take care of him for her, it was all working well before you got here.”

This time, Wille did laugh, a short bark of laughter before her confused expression killed the sound in his throat. “I’m not trying to take him from you. My Mamma…” He hesitated, unsure if they were even friends or just acquaintances who liked the same horse.

“The Queen?”

“Yeah.” Wille decided that whatever they were, telling Sara something about himself was likely to just be met with disinterest or understanding, and not judgment. Or at least, probably not. “She doesn’t like when I ride, not anymore. She—she wouldn’t get me my own horse.” His voice got softer, as he admitted, “This is all I have, too.”

Sara looked at him for a long moment, then nodded, turning back to Rousseau. “You can stay,” she said, and Wille felt somehow, ridiculously, like he’d just passed a test he wasn’t aware he’d been repeatedly failing all of this time. “Tight pants, right?”

Wille stared at her, bemused. The conversational turns with Sara could be abrupt. “What?”

“For riding. The tight pants make it less masculine, or something.” She gave Wille a look. “Simon thinks that’s why fewer guys ride at our age.”

Wille swallowed. That was…a little oblique but basically accurate, and Wille didn’t want to admit that. He flailed for a change of subject. “Simon?”

Sara nodded. “My brother.”

“Your brother who hates the monarchy?” Wille asked, grinning. Sara had talked about her brother a lot, but never mentioned his name before now. Simon. Wille liked the way the name felt in his mouth, although maybe it was just that he liked the way she talked about him in general, with pride in her voice. Wille was fairly sure no one spoke about him like that.

Sara nodded again, smiling fondly. “Yeah.” Her smile faded a bit. “It’s odd, not being in school together anymore. He still goes to Marieberg.”

“Didn’t want to be in school with all of the elite assholes he so dislikes?” Wille asked, mostly joking. Well, half joking.

“Hillerska is expensive,” Sara said, shrugging like it didn’t bother her. “And I do like it here.”

Wille had enough social graces to not linger on the topic of tuition cost, again redirecting the conversation. “Because of the horses?”

Sara smiled, but it was all for Rousseau, less for Wille. She rubbed Rousseau’s nose gently. “Partly. And the girls are nice.”

“The boys aren’t,” Wille muttered, slight jealousy zipping through him. There were parts of boarding he liked, people like Felice and increasingly Sara , but it still wasn’t what he wanted, wasn’t where he wanted to be. Everything at Hillerska was about appearances, looking and acting just so, and underneath the proper facade was more often than not a rotting and broken foundation. Wille wanted to escape this kind of life, not immerse himself in it even more, especially without the lifeline his brother provided him at home.

But fuck, he wished he could like it here, wished he could be one of the boys who reveled in their money and their traditions, instead of feeling stifled by it.

Sara finished with Rousseau and led him back into his stall, mostly ignoring Wille, which was fine, since he was stewing in his feelings. He was dreading the moment Sara left and he’d have to go back to Forest Ridge, out of reasons to stay by the stables. She pulled her phone out of her pocket, finishing her task quickly.

“I’ve got to catch the bus,” Sara said, apologetically. “Can you finish putting everything away?”

She smiled when Wille agreed, and he returned the smile gladly. The number of people who would ask him to do something as mundane as finish cleaning up—when it wasn’t for show, like the terrible initiation, or the dishwashing punishments August sometimes liked to dole out—was very small. Wille had practically been brought up to think things like this were below him, and maybe that was why he liked it, why lifting the equipment back into place was so satisfying. There was no one around once Sara left, just him and the horses and the feeling of doing work that wasn’t symbolic. Wille just hoped he wasn’t confusing where anything went, certain Sara wouldn’t hesitate to tell him if he’d fucked up.

He must not have messed up, though, because the next time he saw Sara, she smiled at him like they really were friends. And hell, maybe they were.

The next time Wille went by the stables, it was Friday evening after a really long day of classes kicking his ass. He was exhausted from rowing practice that morning, and demoralized from school, from the way that he still didn’t really have any friends to speak of. People sat next to him, of course—people wanted to be seen with Wille, to claim him as their friend—but the camaraderie felt skin-deep, like if he were to renounce his position as Prince, no one would give him the time of day anymore.

Fueled by his exhaustion, his enduring wish he was anywhere else but here, and the fact that he wasn’t acing his tests (despite the wink he’d gotten from at least one teacher as they told him to keep working but not to worry, which actually might have made it worse), Wille was having a shit day. The only thing he thought might help was going to the stables—breathing in the air that felt so much more alive than the dusty air of the Hillerska halls, feeling the thrill of the wind slapping across his cheek, the comfort of the horse breathing against him.

When he got there, it was just getting dark. Wille wandered through the stables, running his fingers lightly against the wood. He liked the feel of it under his fingers, the way it felt warm and cold, the way he could feel the little knots and splinters, much different from the cold walls of his room. He found Rousseau’s stall empty—unsurprising, since he knew Sara usually spent extra time with the horse on weekend evenings. He left the stable, walking towards the arena.

Sara was there, jumping Rousseau over low bars, trotting around in a wide circle. Wille stood leaning back against the wall that bordered the arena, watching her. He was almost jealous, the way Sara looked with Rousseau, like she belonged there, like she was really listening to the horse and he was really listening to her, like they were working as one unit. That was the way it was supposed to be for people who could really ride, who were really meant for this. As much as Wille liked having the access to Felice’s horse, he wasn’t under any impression that he was that good with Rousseau, or that this was something he could excel at.

Wille was objectively better at rowing, and besides, it was all just an excuse to show that he was physically fit, just in case something ever happened to Erik. Wille shook his head, unwilling to follow that train of thought. Erik was at home, and fine, and the expectations that Wille would be ready and able to be King someday were needless precautions, just another unnecessary weight pressed onto his shoulders.

Wille was good enough at school, good enough at rowing, good enough at hiding his emotions the way he was supposed to until he was alone. He just wished there was something he could be excellent at, something to give him purpose beyond the things he’d been unwittingly born into.

Sara noticed him after a while and led Rousseau over to where he was standing. “Hi,” she said, sounding a little winded, like she’d been running and not just Rousseau. “I didn’t know you were coming.” He moved away from the wall as she started to dismount. “Do you want to ride?”

Wille shook his head, even though he desperately did want to ride. He didn’t want to interrupt her, didn’t think Rousseau would appreciate it if he was suddenly saddled with someone much less in tune with him. “I can wait until you’re done,” he said, knowing full well that it would be too late and Rousseau too tired once Sara was through. Still, even just standing here was better than retreating to his room alone to stew. “If you don’t mind my hanging around here.”

Sara shrugged. “Of course not. You’re the Prince, you can go wherever you want.”

Wille hesitated, but it didn’t feel like an insult, more like she was just stating a fact. “Right. Great.”

With that decided, Sara turned and rode away, going back to what she’d been doing before. Wille leaned back against the wall again, half watching and half getting lost in his thoughts. He was roughly torn out of his thoughts when someone else entered the space. Wille was expecting to see Felice, or another one of the girls, but the person walking in wasn’t someone he recognized at all, their hood pulled up to obscure their face in the dim lighting. Wille carefully maintained his position against the wall, trying to seem like he was leisurely leaning even as his hackles rose.

“Sara! It’s late!” the newcomer called out, shaking off his hood, and then Wille was certain he didn’t know this guy. He would have remembered the mess of dark curls framing one of the most lovely faces Wille had ever seen. His stomach curled in on itself, his pulse jumping up. The guy hadn’t even acknowledged Wille yet, and Wille was already vibrating with nervous energy—pathetic.

Sara waved from across the arena, but didn’t stop what she was doing, leaning down and whispering something to Rousseau instead of replying.

“You’re keeping Mama waiting!” The guy rolled his eyes, muttering something Wille either couldn’t understand or just couldn’t hear well enough. “Shit,” he said louder, walking towards the wall where Wille was leaning.

Will straightened his posture, barely conscious of why he was doing it. Wille was usually good at meeting people, because people usually fell all over themselves to be likable, and he had to try considerably less to be impressive and just hold onto his polite demeanor. But this guy just leaned back against the wall next to Wille, not even saying anything to him. It made Wille feel a little angry, and a little bit desperate, like Wille had to figure out how to get his attention. He just didn’t fucking know what to say when he wasn’t being deferred to.

“How long has she been out there?” the guy asked, looking over at Wille carefully.

And fuck, this close up Wille could see the depth of brown in his eyes, the way his tongue darted out to lick his lips, leaving a little wet sheen that Wille desperately wanted to rub his thumb against. He curled his fingers into a fist, trying to stem that insane impulse. The guy smirked a little when Wille didn’t answer, like he knew he was having some kind of effect, just standing there. Wille thought he might hate him.

“Um, not sure. A while,” Wille said eventually, looking down at the ground, scuffing his shoes against the dirt. His eyes flitted back up to the guy’s face almost immediately, like he couldn’t stand to look away.

“Figures.” The guy sighed. He peered at Wille again, looking him up and down in a way that made Wille shiver. “So you’re the prince everyone’s talking about.”

Wille swallowed. “Are they?”

His question was met with laughter, and the smirk on the guy’s lips increased. “As if you don’t know. Every magazine’s been reporting on your change in school like it’s national news, and Sara can’t shut up about how bad your riding is.”

Wille frowned. “My riding isn’t that bad.”

The guy—Wille had an inkling now that this might be Simon, Sara’s brother, and he was fully prepared to tell Sara off entirely for talking about Simon as much as she did and never mentioning that he was gorgeous—laughed, and Wille liked how laughter looked on him, the way his eyes crinkled with it. Simon looked away for a moment, watching Sara with a look somewhere between fondness and annoyance. When he looked back at Wille, his expression was curious, but guarded. “You’d think someone of your caliber of upbringing wouldn’t be stuck here watching Sara go in circles.”

“Well, we share the horse,” Wille said immediately, “I was just waiting my turn.”

Simon smiled uncertainly, and Wille felt caught between mortification and elation—he wanted so badly to stop embarrassing himself by saying things that were obviously laughable, but he liked putting that expression on Simon’s face. Wille was suddenly sure that he would do or say unthinkably stupid things if it kept Simon smiling at him. Christ, he was fucked.

“I’m Simon,” he said after a moment, looking to Wille almost expectantly.

Wille’s cheeks felt hot, he was sure they were red, his only hope that the dim lighting didn’t make it too obvious. “Wilhelm.” He laughed, feeling self-conscious about introducing himself when Simon clearly already knew who he was. He almost wanted to extend his hand for a handshake, just to see if Simon would take it, to see how Simon’s hand might feel in his. But that was…weird, the thought behind it bordering on wildly inappropriate. “But you know that.”

Simon nodded. “Nice to meet you.” He looked back over at Sara, who was continuing her jumps as though no one was here waiting for her. “Sara! Come on!” He gestured to her, and Wille found himself noticing how Simon’s hands moved through the air, wondering how they would feel on his skin. Simon rolled his eyes as he turned back at Wille. “She doesn’t want to come home,” he complained. “This school is corrupting her with its fancy classes and its horses. She’d probably live in the stables if she could.”

Wille snorted, fairly certain Simon was joking. This wasn’t quite like any conversation he’d had with anyone at Hillerska, and the unfamiliarity of it made his anxiety spike. He wished he had a playbook for this interaction, or like…a drink, or something—something to loosen him up. He shifted his stance against the wall. “Honestly, the horses are better than the prefects.”

Simon laughed, looking startled by it. “I thought you’d be honor bound to defend this place.”

Wille shrugged and Simon turned his whole body so his side was against the wall, considering Wille closely. It almost looked like he was considering reaching out, almost as if he was going to go for that handshake, full minutes too late. Wille tried not to think too hard about how badly he wanted that, just to see how it felt, even though he suspected Simon would keep one of those little shocking buzzers in his palm before he touched a royal directly. Wille still thought it might still be worth it.

“You’re different than I expected,” Simon said carefully, the ghost of a smile on his face.

“You too,” Wille said, shifting uncomfortably, his eyes dropping to the ground and then just as quickly back up to Simon’s face. He realized that probably sounded insane, since it wasn’t like Simon was a public figure the way he was. “Uh, Sara talks about you a lot,” he amended quickly.

Simon nodded slowly. He was still looking at Wille with this careful smile, still had his whole body turned towards Wille. “Only good things, I hope.”

Wille smiled back. He kind of wanted to run his fingers through Simon’s curls, kind of wanted to press him back against the wall and see how it felt to be flush together, if it felt like anything. He had a suspicion it would feel like something, could imagine the pressure of another body against his, of the way Simon might give him that little smile, or something better, and Wille ached with how much he wanted to test that out.

He was trying to figure out how to respond, trying to. figure out if Simon was flirting with him or if it was wishful thinking, trying to think of anything to say other than can I press you against the wall and see how it feels to roll my hips against someone who looks as beautiful as you?

“True things,” Sara cut in, bringing Rousseau over and finally dismounting. She looked tired, messy, but exhilarated. Wille was almost jealous, except that he thought talking to Simon might actually be more exhilarating than galloping on any horse could be.

Simon rolled his eyes. “Great. Can you get ready to go now? Please? Mama’s already going to be pissed you made her wait.”

Sara waved him off, walking Rousseau back towards his stall. “Be nice to Wille!” she called behind her, and Wille felt his face grow even hotter.

Simon watched her go, then turned back to Wille, his smile a little more pronounced. Probably because Wille looked like a fucking tomato, his cheeks burning.

“I can help with Rousseau,” Wille offered, starting to push away from the wall, “so she won’t be later.”

Simon shook his head. “The food’s probably already gone cold, the damage is done.” He didn’t say he wanted Wille to stay, but he didn’t make any move to leave, either. Wille settled back against the wall.

“Hopefully your mama won’t be too mad,” Wille said quietly, thinking about how angry his own mamma would be if he was late to something preplanned simply because he didn’t want to go. It wasn’t something he had to guess at, he had experience, and it wasn’t fucking pleasant. Even though he wasn’t that close with Sara, he’d do a lot to spare her that kind of quiet anger.

“It’ll be fine,” Simon said, speaking carefully again, like he could read Wille’s thoughts. Wille really, really hoped he couldn’t. “Mama won’t really even be mad. She’s happy that Sara likes it here.”

Wille nodded, relieved. “Why don’t you go here, too?” he asked, cringing when he remembered that Sara had mentioned it being a cost issue. He just…was suddenly possessed by the idea of Simon in school with him, in classes with him, where Wille could look at him every day, could maybe work his way up to touching Simon’s hand the way Wille now desperately wanted to.

Simon smiled uncertainly before shrugging. “I like my school.”

“This is a good school,” Wille argued, unsure of why he was arguing, when it wasn’t like he could sponsor someone else’s tuition. Well, his parents could, but they almost certainly wouldn’t—no diplomatic gain from helping out one random kid.

“My friends are there.”

“We could be friends,” Wille said before he could think about it. Simon’s eyebrows shot up and Wille quickly backtracked. “I mean…you could probably find friends here.”

Simon looked like he was going to say something in response, but Sara showed up in the doorway at that moment, casting a shadow across them and catching Simon’s attention. Wille tried very, very hard not to feel any annoyance—Simon wasn’t even here for him, he was here for Sara—but he still sort of wanted to shut the door, lock them in and her out, at least until they’d finished their conversation.

“Ready?” Sara asked. “I thought Mama was waiting.”

“Yeah,” Simon said, sounding almost regretful. Wille wanted so badly to believe it was regret in his voice as he pushed away from the wall, walking towards Sara, who had already started down the path, like she’d been the one waiting instead of the exact opposite.

Wille scuffed his foot along the ground again, almost reveling in the way the dust covered the whites of his shoes, even though he knew he’d be the one cleaning them later to avoid looking like a mess. It was worth it, the tiny seconds of rebellion, to keep him from losing his mind in this place.

“Hey, Wille,” Simon called quietly from the doorway. Sara was already far enough gone that Wille couldn’t see her. Wille felt himself go impossibly redder at his nickname out of Simon’s mouth. Shit, he really was in way too deep from just one conversation.

“Yeah?”

“I sing,” Simon said, hesitant but somehow also firm, like he was overcoming his own uncertainty. Wille respected the hell out of that. “At school, with the choir. You should come see us, next weekend. Maybe we can still be friends, or something?”

“Okay,” Wille said, smiling more widely than might be appropriate, his insides jumping around erratically. Simon wanted to be friends, or something—and Wille would not spend far too long thinking about that phrasing, wondering what it could mean, wondering if he had an actual shot, whether or not he could actually take that shot. “That would be nice.”

Simon grinned, and then he was gone, racing after Sara. Wille was left by himself, surrounded by the smells of dust and wood and horses, watching the space where Simon had stood a moment before like he was going to reappear. Wille wasn’t even sure he could go to an outside event like a concert, although he supposed Sara could take him, if he got August’s permission. Or snuck out, which certainly wasn’t out of the question—fucking August over was just a bonus of getting away from Hillerska. Tiny rebellions, unimportant things.

Simon sang. Wille already was a goner for his speaking voice, for the way it lilted as he spoke; he would probably die from hearing Simon sing, but it would be a good death, completely worth it. Wille pushed himself off the wall, walked out into the night air. He thought for a moment about chasing them down, asking Simon if they couldn’t see each other sooner, regardless of how much he was certain Sara would tease him for that.

Instead, he opened his phone, swiping through Instagram until he found Sara, looking through her followers until he found Simon. Wille took a deep, shaky breath before clicking ‘follow,’ hoping that it wasn’t too presumptuous, that he wouldn’t look too eager. He only had to wait a moment before Simon followed him back, and Wille let out another breath, barely aware he’d been holding it. He stared at his phone as he walked back towards Forest Ridge, something stirring inside him that he wasn’t sure he’d felt before. He was finally excited about something, about someone, finally looking forward to something after feeling his life drag meaninglessly for months.

Next weekend couldn’t come soon enough.