There was a moment of silence, which made Fennel feel awkward. Oliver had just said something strange, and he wasn't sure if he was thinking too hard about it.
Did it mean the bard had feelings for him? Or was it something else? The prince felt his mind racing again, as it always seemed to do in tense situations.
He turned around and wiggled his copper ears as he looked down the hall. "It's getting late."
"Yes, it is," Oliver sighed.
"I need to get back to my room," Fennel said. "Thank you so much for taking me out today."
"No," Oliver said, shaking his head. "Thank you for going with me. You were so wonderful to my mother. I appreciate it."
Fennel nodded, then began to walk down the hall.
It was less than 24 hours before he would be crowned king. The time had passed fast since his father's death. He wasn't even fully over the grief he felt from it. He missed his father's blaring laugh and intense aura.
Fennel knew he was nothing like his father. Would everyone really accept his rule?
When he stepped into his room, he jumped back. He didn't expect Queen Anise to be seated on the edge of his bed.
She folded her arms against her chest and furrowed her brows. She was giving him a death stare.
"M-Mother?"
"Fennel," the queen began with a look of displeasure. "Where did you run off to today?"
"I-I went to town with Oliver," Fennel admitted. "I wanted to explore the city before the coronation."
"It's unsafe for the future king to wander the streets alone."
"I wasn't alone."
"You were," she said, glaring at the prince. "You may have been in the company of the bard, but without the royal guard, you are risking your life for a frivolous frolic. You must think level-headed and avoid situations which may put you in danger."
"I understand."
Fennel lowered his head. He disliked disappointing his mother and knew it would be a possibility when he went out with the bard, but he took any opportunity he could. It wouldn't be long before his free time would be greatly limited.
"I'm glad you understand," the queen said. "Tomorrow, a personal guard will be assigned. Do you have a preference?"
"I don't," Fennel replied.
"Then Miles will choose."
"That's fine."
Queen Anise picked up a large, black leather box with red trim from the bed as she stood. She stepped toward her son, holding it out for him. "This was your father's. I would recommend learning how to use them."
In a rare act of affection, she leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. She smiled and gently patted the top of his head.
"I'll always love you, Fennel," she whispered. "You are my precious son. I'm proud of you, but you are now a man and must become a true leader."
Fennel smiled at her. She nodded and left the room, shutting the door behind her.
He was glad she had shown him affection. When he had entered his teens, it was rare to even be graced with a hug from his mother, so those rare moments meant a lot to him.
Fennel took a seat on the bed and placed the box beside him. He stared at it, unsure of what it contained. He remembered seeing the box in their bed chambers, but he had never asked or seen what was inside.
Curiosity was getting the better of him. He unmatched the bronze lock, then slowly lifted the lid. He was surprised by what was inside.
The box contained two steel katars, which were made with fine craftsmanship. Fennel was sure the most talented blacksmith had to have constructed the weapons.
He flicked his fingertips over the point, then flinched. They were extraordinarily sharp. He could see his father inflicting quite a bit of harm with such tools.
Fennel had always thought his father had fought with a sword. During ceremonies, King Felix always had a long sword. He was surprised that reality didn't match the image he had in his head.
He wondered how many men were killed by the weapons within the box.
Fennel was confused as to why his mother suggested he learn to wield the katars. Part of his education had included practicing combat with the guard by using a longsword, so he wasn't completely unfamiliar with using a weapon, but he remembered the sword being unwieldy and difficult to use with his weak arms. He never had the strength to beat the best of the guard in a sword fight.
He remembered his father always being disappointed in his ability to wield a weapon. Perhaps the daggers would make things easier.
The prince took them out of the box after he stood. He held them by the handle against both his hands, noticing the blade was close to his fist.
It seemed rather dangerous to have to get up close to an opponent to attack.
Even so, he tried swinging it. His eyes widened when he found he had no difficulty with the weapon. It was smooth and graceful. It was a huge contrast to how he felt when he held heavy swords.
Perhaps it would be for his own good to master the weapons.
He placed them back in the box, locked it, then pushed it under the bed.
After quickly changing into his sleeping attire, he crawled into bed. He closed his eyes.
His nerves were a wreck. There was so much going on once he woke up the next morning, but he had difficulty drifting off to sleep.
The images in his head weren't of the coronation or his most dreaded selection of a wife, but of the bard.
"Of course I'm thinking of him," Fennel whispered to himself as he placed a hand over his heart.
Oliver flooded his thoughts far too often. The feline wondered if his mind, heart, and body would be tormented with longing for the rest of his life. If he had to live with such a secret buried deep for decades upon decades, he may go insane.
The prince would have a wife, and be no doubt forced to copulate for children, so an heir would be born to the throne, but he was sure all he would be able to desire would be Oliver.
Queen Anise mentioned falling in love over time, but it seemed so unnatural when he had developed feelings for the man so quickly. How was he supposed to fall in love with someone he didn't actually want when the person of his affection was so close?
Mother and father slowly fell in love. Maybe it would be possible for him, too.
No. It was impossible.
Fennel tried shutting his eyes tighter and counting pigs in his head, but slowly those pigs morphed. Instead of pink, round pig snouts, their heads were replaced with Oliver's.
He was counting the little piglet-Oliver abominations to fall to sleep.
Sleep was not going to come easy to him.
Tears began to flow again. He was overwhelmed. Not only would he be king, but he wouldn't be able to be with a person he loved.
There were some aspects of his life that were unfair. He couldn't complain to anyone, nor could he change anything. Tradition was important to the crown. There was no way to alter his fate.
He felt stuck.
His life could be worse, but he still cried. He had cried a few times in the past few days, which made him feel like he was still a child, unable to rule an entire kingdom. He couldn't even rule over his own feelings.
A few hours passed. The only light was from the moon and stars, which shone from the windows on the opposite end of the room.
His copper ears perked up when he heard a noise. He thought it was his imagination, but he couldn't fall asleep.
Fennel crawled out of bed and walked to the door. He pressed the side of his face against the door and thought he heard the sound of shuffling footsteps.
He sighed, then opened the door.
The prince was surprised to see the bars standing there in his own nighttime sleepwear.
"Oliver?" Fennel asked in a whisper as he tilted his head.
"Sorry," Oliver whispered back to him. "I just wanted to see you. I finally finished the lyrics for the song and couldn't fall asleep."
"I couldn't sleep either."
Oliver nodded and softly smiled. He moved his hand, his fingers brushing up delicately against Fennel's face. "You're gorgeous under the light of the stars."
Fennel blushed, but sighed contently when he felt the bard's fingertips against his cheek.
"Oliver," Fennel began shyly. "I may be able to sleep if you're next to me."
Oliver quickly moved his hand away and placed it over his mouth. He would love nothing more than to curl up next to the prince and to hold him while they both drifted off.
In a way, he felt like he had an auditory hallucination. There could be no chance Fennel had suggested such an arrangement.