Even though he still had tears spilling from his green eyes, he shyly looked up at Oliver, biting his bottom lip in an attempt to halt the quivering. He felt both a mixture of embarrassment and relief.
If there were anyone in the world who didn't mind seeing him cry, it would be the gentle bard. Though that didn't ensure he wouldn't be judged for his weakness.
"I'm not judging you right now," Oliver assured him in a soft tone.
"Are you not?" Oliver whispered as he stared into the thoughtful yellow eyes looking at him. "Surely seeing someone in my position sobbing is quite revolting."
Oliver sighed. He placed his free hand over the prince's other hand. Unsure how to comfort him, he attempted with a reassuring squeeze to the hands resting underneath his own.
"I'm overwhelmed," Fennel finally admitted after a moment of silence.
"I don't doubt it " Oliver began. "It would be normal for anyone in your position to feel overwhelmed. You have a lot happening. They aren't small things. They are life altering."
"I never expected my father to pass so young," Fennel whispered, looking down at their hands.
"He was a very young king," Oliver agreed.
Oliver heard the sound of footsteps. He glanced behind his shoulder to see a maid quickly walking off. He sighed.
He wasn't certain, but he assumed Fennel didn't want to be seen crying by anyone.
"My prince," Oliver whispered. "Could we go somewhere to talk? You can vent all your frustrations."
Fennel sighed. Eventually, he nodded in agreement. "On a condition."
"What may I do for you?"
"I want to hear you play that song you played on the hill again," Fennel requested as his eyes gazed back up.
Oliver felt his chest flutter again. The sensation was becoming quite common when be was around the prince. It was a getting rather problematic, as he was starting to realize what it indicated.
"I would be honored," Oliver smiled warmly as he stood from his seat, taking hold of one of Fennel's hands. "Let's go."
"Yes."
Oliver had left his lute back in his room, so that is where he led the smaller man. He led him inside to the bed, letting go of his hand, urging him to sit.
He went back to the door to lock it, in case a maid had the bright idea to barge in. He didn't want Fennel to feel uncomfortable if someone overheard his frustrations, especially a maid, as he knew they tended to enjoy gossip, from what he had observed the previous day outside the throne room.
"Thank you," Fennel whispered.
"It is my pleasure," Oliver said in a soothing tone, picking up his lute, then taking a seat next to the feline.
He placed the lute on the bed bedside him. He would wait for the right moment to play.
Fennel's ears were folded down completely. He felt miserable, but somehow he felt better with Oliver around. They hadn't known one another for long, but just from their brief interactions, the prince realized he could trust him.
As a friend. A good friend. Maybe a best friend someday. Nothing more.
The thought made Fennel's heart ache with forbidden longing.
"I really can't cope," the prince sighed.
"Then you need to not cope alone," Oliver teased, attempting to cheer him up. "I'm stuck here now, so I can be your personal punching bag when things are too much."
"You'll grow sick of it," Fennel frowned, flicking his fluffy, copper tail onto his lap and then nervously picked at the fur.
"You shouldn't do that," Oliver warned. "If it becomes a habit, you could end up with a bald spot."
"That's ridiculous." Fennel couldn't help but laugh.
"I assure you, my prince, it's not." Oliver smiled at him.
"Are you serious?"
"Oh, yes," Oliver laughed. "Back in the slums, there was an old drunkard who would pick at his tail after binges. One day, he had picked a spot so badly we could see it yards away."
"Did it grow back?" Fennel's eyes widened in disbelief.
"No," Oliver replied. "It damages the pores and hair follicles permenately if picked at enough. The children would throw rocks at him. They called him Sir. BaldTails."
Fennel looked down. He stopped picking. Instead, he stroked it.
"That's better," Oliver nodded. "Don't be King BaldTails."
"That's a terrible joke," Fennel groaned.
"It sure is," Oliver agreed. "But the story is real."
"Did you ever write a song about him?" Fennel wondered.
"Not exactly," the bard laughed. "I sometimes would sing about him to the kids because they hated it, but no, no actual songs about him."
"You should pen one someday," the prince suggested. "He would be a man of legends."
"Where am I supposed to perform this masterpiece?" Oliver asked.
Fennel thought about it. He had no suggestions. He shrugged his shoulders instead.
"The ball?"
"I would die," Fennel laughed.
"Meanwhile, your mother would have me locked in the dungeon."
"No," Fennel said, looking at him. "You forgot by the evening of the ball, I'll be the one in charge. My word will override hers soon. You'll never be locked in the dungeon."
"Do you really want me to?"
"Maybe."
"If it is my king's request, I will make it happen," Oliver grinned wickedly.
"You're terrible." Fennel smiled at him, shaking his head. "But this isn't the king's request."
"How is it not?"
"Because when we are alone together, I'm just Fennel Satnuro."
Oliver's heart was about to beat so hard that it would fly out of his chest from the innocent comment the feline made to him. He was sure it would fly across the room and splatter against the wall.
He was also sure his feelings were completely one sided, but he couldn't have been more wrong, as Fennel's heart was beating just as fast.
The two felines were so blissfully unaware.
There couldn't have been two denser young men in the entire kingdom.
"I will do my best to remember," Oliver said in response, attempting to keep composed.
Fennel placed his palms flat on the mattress behind him, leaning his body back and using his arms to support the weight of his body. "Sorry you were the one to find me crying."
"No, don't apologize," Oliver responded, shaking his head. "What's ailing you?"
"I don't feel I am ready to take up the responsibility of the crown," Fennel frowned. "My father was an amazing, strong leader. His veins did not have royal blood, but his efforts in bringing peace to the kingdom caught the attention of the royal family, so he was able to marry into the position."
"I didn't realize."
"Yes," Fennel said, closing his eyes. "He was strong, brave, intelligent, and had a royal aura even without the bloodline. As I'm sure you're aware, he is known to be the strongest leader the kingdom has had."
"Those are tough shoes to fill," Oliver observed. "I'd imagine it would make anyone's heart race."
"He grew ill unexpectedly," Fennel sighed. "Albert, the royal physician, thought he would be healthy enough to make a swift recovery, but he grew weaker by the day. I just..."
Fennel paused. He took a deep breath.
"I didn't learn enough about the position of king to be thrust into it at my age."
"Though that may be true, don't you have many loyal members of the court to guide you?" Oliver asked, gazing at the young man sitting near him.
"Yes, but father barely needed guidance," Fennel moved his arms, flopping back, lying on the bed as he stared at the intricate ceiling tile. "I don't think, even with my mother's assistance, I shall be half the king in comparison."
Oliver offered a gentle smile. Following the prince's example, he too laid back on the bed. Mere inches apart, the bard turned his head, his yellow eyes fixed on the red-headed man next to him.
"Have faith."
"I've been trying."
"Everything will work out as the creator intended," Oliver reassured.
"The royal ball is also an issue," Fennel groaned, resting his arm over his forehead.
"You seemed excited when the Queen mentioned it in the courtyard."
"It was an act," Oliver revealed. "She is the one excited about the ball. She wishes for me to betrothal a noble woman. I am to pick a future queen that night, and I have no clue how I am to vet a complete stranger."
Oliver's heart sank. He realized he had no chance with a royal, let alone the future king, but he didn't know if his heart could handle composing a piece to play at a royal wedding between Fennel and an unknown woman.
Maybe if the stars had aligned differently on the eve of his own birth, he could have been born into a noble woman's body, so he could be allowed to hold the man he was quickly falling for.
But he wasn't. Oliver was a man. He was also a bard. He was a simple man who had few aspirations before meeting Fennel. Before, all that mattered was the world of song.
Now, all that mattered was both the world of song and Fennel.
Oliver made a bold move. He took hold of Fennel's hand and closed his eyes. A mixture of surprise and relief washed over him as the prince didn't pull away. Instead, the young feline royal intertwined his fingers with the bard's.
Oliver could melt. He wanted to melt beside the young man lying next to him. Even so, a simple gesture would have to do. It wasn't as if he could provide a more intimate touch to a prince.
Fennel appreciated the bard had offered his hand in comfort. His heart was heavy, but butterflies swirled in his stomach. The small action was enough to bring him some sense of peace, even with the stirring emotional burden thrust upon him.
For the longest stretch of time, the two young men laid together on that bed, relaxing with their eyes closed and hands joined.
It was a moment that felt right.