"Prince Fennel, darling," the woman purred. "I hear you are to become the ruler?"
Fennel shuddered. He had only met the princess a few times in the past, but each time she would harass him and send a barrage of questions in his direction.
Princess Callie Estein was the daughter of a grand Duke from the neighboring kingdom of Eldoria, to the west. While the two kingdom's shared a history intertwined in war and political struggles, his father had signed a peace treaty the year Fennel was born.
The prince never cared much for her grating personality. It was a personality trait that surely hindered her journey in the acquisition of a husband.
The copper-eared feline would even want to marry a stranger before he would ever offer a proposal to the woman.
"That is correct," Fennel confirmed.
"This means you require a wife?" Callie questioned as her long, thin tail swooshed back and forth.
"The Queen has said as much, yes."
"Hm, perhaps-"
"I must politely decline," Fennel said before she could even finish the sentence.
"The nerve," she scoffed. "Perhaps you will reconsider later."
The Queen raised her hand, an indication for the chatter to cease.
Immediately, the princess shifted in her seat with a frown across her features. She glanced at Fennel and then smiled gently. If she couldn't have a king, her thoughts wandered to the imagery of a wedding to a handsome member of the royal court.
How beautiful she would be in a showy wedding dress, with a handsome feline at her side. Perhaps she could woo the lovely man beside her, she pondered as she became lost in her daydream.
Oliver simply smiled at her, oblivious to the thoughts the young royal had in her head. They were thoughts he also would not allow to manifest into reality, even if he were aware.
The table was filled with members of the court, and high ranking royals enjoyed the breakfast that was brought out.
The Queen and Duke Louis had a casual conversation as Fennel and Oliver ate in silence. The silver-earred bard was engrossed in the words of the two senior royals, but Fennel's mind was elsewhere. He couldn't focus on the conversation, so he decided to keep to himself.
The feline was able to choke down a pastry and milk before his stomach began to churn. A lump in his throat formed, and he began to feel quite nauseated.
He needed fresh air, but it would be rude to leave the table before the Queen dismissed them. He couldn't help it, though. He needed to leave. He didn't think his body could tolerate any more.
"Mother," Fennel began. "May I please be excused?"
"Fennel, dear?" She asked with concern. "Are you alright?"
"I need fresh air," Fennel sighed.
"Of course," She nodded. "If it gets worse, please see Albert."
"Thank you," Fennel replied as he stood from his seat.
"The funeral proceedings will begin in two hours. Please appear in the throne room before the start."
"I will," he responded, then left the dining room.
Once he made it to the brick sidewalk of the royal gardens, he let out a lengthy sigh. The feel of the gentle breeze across his cheeks was helpful to take the edge off his nerves.
His green eyes darted around. He wanted to be alone, as the social interaction he would soon be forced into would feel suffocating enough. If he could spend the next two hours sorting through his thoughts, it could make the obligations for the day easier to handle.
There was a particular spot in the garden that only he knew of. At least, that was what he liked to tell himself.
Throughout his childhood, when he felt frustrated or sad, he would hide away at the very spot.
There Fennel sat, his legs extended out, on the grass behind the hedges. His body had grown, so unlike in his childhood, the only way to obscure himself was to take a seat.
He leaned his head back against the castle wall, while his hands picked at single blades of grass. One at a time, he picked them up from the lawn and counted each one.
It was a relaxation technique. He took a deep breath as one was picked, then exhaled as he tossed it to the ground. Once he closed his eyes, the process repeated more times than he could count.
Eventually, he heard voices approach. He was thankful he wasn't seen behind the thick, green shrubbery.
Around an hour passed. When he looked up, he could see Oliver looking up at the sky from the other side of the hedge.
Fennel didn't want to socialize, unless it involved an interaction with the bard.
Not giving it a second thought, the copper-earred feline reached a hand between the shrubs and grabbed the bard by his ankle.
Oliver let out a scream. He didn't know what had happened. He wondered if he had been caught by a zombie.
He looked down to see a hand around his ankle. "W-what?"
"Shhh," Fennel shushed him in a whisper. "Come back here."
Oliver turned around when the hand released him. All he saw was a tall shrub. He raised a brow.
"I'm behind it."
"Behind a shrub?"
"Yes, just hop over it."
Oliver chuckled. The young prince was a surprise. It seemed he had a childlike wonder to him still.
The silver-haired man moved closer and ran his fingers through his hair. He wondered if Fennel had scaled the shrub earlier. It felt weird to jump over one in a royal garden. It wasn't exactly something the royals would be caught doing.
Was it protocol for a prince to practice his acrobatics in a royal garden?
Once Oliver climbed over it, he realized the young prince may have had better stamina than he did, as he found it quite difficult to 'jump over' the shrub.
It was anything but graceful, as the end of the black robe got caught in it.
Oliver sighed and tugged on the fabric. Once it was freed, he took a seat against the wall next to the royal.
"You did well," Fennel whispered.
"I did it with the grace of an ox," Oliver replied in a whisper.
"Perhaps, but you still did it."
"Why are you back here?" Oliver turned his head to look at him, his voice still hushed. "This is a strange spot to sit."
"It's my favorite spot," Fennel replied. "Nobody comes back here except to manicure the lawn."
"Why are we whispering?" The bard asked.
"So nobody finds us."
"Why would you not want anyone to find you?"
"It's nice to be alone," Fennel replied, his gaze still forward.
"Are you hiding from someone?"
"No, I'm not hiding," Fennel sighed. "I just don't want to be found."
"Do you not like people?"
"I don't like crowds," the feline corrected.
"Ah," Oliver nodded. "Crowds can be terrifying."
"It's a lot, especially today," Fennel added.
"You are not wrong," Oliver agreed.
"I'm going to have to talk in front of a crowd," Fennel complained.
"Are you nervous about it?"
"Yes, I don't know how my father handled it."
"Your father had to practice," Oliver told him. "Even kings struggle with public speaking. It's a daunting task. We are all the same on the inside."
"I don't feel ready," the prince muttered. "I wish I had your confidence."
"I don't have much of that," Oliver laughed.
"You don't?" Fennel sighed. "You seem very confident to me. At least, you have every reason to have confidence."
"I don't," Oliver replied. "I had never interacted with nobles before I met you. The most I have done was play for those I was familiar with inside of my mother's brothel."
"Your mother owns a brothel?" Fennel's eyes widened.
"Yes," Oliver confirmed. "In the slums, money and resources are difficult to come by. We do what we can to survive. She had an interest in music. In fact, she was a bard herself. So, she allowed me to play for tips."
"Then why did she own a brothel?"
"It's hard to survive as a bard," Oliver replied. "It's only profitable if you can get recognized by people in the higher quarters. In the slums, it's impossible to earn a living on the tips the poor can provide."
"It sounds like a rough way to live," Fennel groaned. "I admit, I have never ventured to the slums myself."
"Maybe we should go tomorrow," Oliver suggested. "Wouldn't it be wise for a king to see the struggles of all the people under his rule?"
Fennel didn't have much time. The next day would be his only opportunity to visit the area without the watchful eye of the royal guard. He was a bit scared by the prospect of interacting with the lower class of people, but if Oliver were one of them, perhaps they would have been good people.
But he had heard about the areas having a problem with crime. It made him wonder if it was even a good idea to think about visiting.
"Don't worry," Oliver eventually said. "You don't need to worry. I have clothes you could wear to mask your appearance as a prince."
"So, I disguise myself?"
"Essentially," Oliver chuckled. "To be honest, I just want to be able to tell my mother the good news about my position as court bard. This would give me an excuse to visit."
Fennel nodded. He was still unsure, but it sounded exciting. "Okay."
"Really, you'll go?"
"I am supposed to focus on preparing for the coronation tomorrow," Fennel said. "But this seems like an opportunity I won't have again."
"This is wonderful!" Oliver smiled brightly.
Fennel's cheeks flushed when he saw the excited smile. He couldn't help but smile in response.
"I know you're nervous about it," Oliver grinned. "I assure you, it will do more good than harm."
"Maybe," Fennel said, looking down at his lap. "I want to meet all kinds of people, since I will be king. You do have a point."
Fennel took another deep breath, then slowly exhaled through his mouth. He repeated the process several times.
He was still scared. He was nervous. His heart was beating rapidly. He had too many things on his mind.
"Oliver?"
"Yes, my prince?"
Fennel gazed up at the man and frowned.
"Fennel," Oliver nervously said his given name.
The silver-earred bard placed his hand over his mouth. The name rolled off his tongue like a beautiful melody. It was perfect.
"That's better," Fennel smiled.
"H-How may I help you?"
Fennel took a deep breath. There was one thing earlier that helped put his mind at ease, but he wasn't sure he had the right to ask. Even so, he had trouble preventing himself from holding back.
"Please hold my hand again."