Of Kings and Queens

A pitch have yet to be written, as the plot-planning is not 100% finished, but I couldn't stay away from writing the actual story itself.
This story is about war. And with war comes hate and love, blood and tears, passion and fear.

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19. Sir Donnovan

Sir Donnovan, Vi'Altea

dies Solis, XV Iulias, 02:45 PM

 

The only light that touched their bare torsos came from smaller cracks in the curtains. Sensational touches would bloom where skin met skin.

“Isn't this a bit early?” the guard asked from where he was pressed against the bed underneath Sir Donnovan.

“No,” the young Sir answered quickly as his lips hungered.

The more enthusiastic they became, the more difficult it became to keep it low, as they moved together on the expensive silk.

“Ease your worries,” Sir Donnovan spoke quickly between kisses. “We won't get caught... no one will come here.” He sat up and smiled down at the guard, whose name he barely remembered.

“They all believe me to be out and hunting with Prince Theodore.” He caressed the panting man's face, before slowly moving his hips, whereafter a hot feeling would flourish in his thin pants.

After bending down to kiss the slightly bearded chin of the guard, a loud creaking was heard, and very bright light lit up the room. They both quickly turned their heads, and froze when they saw that the bedroom door had been opened by a maid carrying clean clothes.

Sir Donnovan could hear his heartbeat, but it wasn't because of the intimacy with the guard.

There was a myth, that your entire life would pass by your eyes when you die. His just right did.

The maid didn't say anything; she was as silent and frozen as the two lads were.

The guard pushed Sir Donnovan off of him, and was the first to move as he jumped off the bed and took quick steps up to the maid. She threw the clothes at the ground and lifted up her skirt when she ran out of the room, followed by the guard.

The young and petrified Sir sat on the bed, clenching the sheets. His mind had gone blank; he didn't know what to do or say. He didn't even blink once as a tear fell.

He turned his gaze at the ceiling. He would ask the Gods—pray—if he thought it would help anything, but it was they who created him, sadly it seemed that Dæmonium had gotten a bigger say than Fortuna had.

With an eerily expressionless face, he stood from the bed and put on his clothes again. A large, golden-framed mirror stood by his closet, and standing before it, he fixed his dark hair and violet jacket. Without a single glance at the other man's clothes, which he had left, Sir Donnovan walked out into the hallway.

The guards passing by seemed calm and greeted him with a smile, although the corners of their mouths glided downward as they noticed the dull expression he bore.

Could you please request the king for an audience, and then bring me to the throne room?” he asked as he stared off into nothingness.

He would rather come peacefully than be dragged violently by the guards. Had he been able to think straight, he probably could have thought of an escape.

The guards looked confused at him and one another, before standing on each side of him.

 

As they made it outside of the Donnovan Manor, he felt the rain blend with his tears. He took a deep breath and wondered where that guard was, and what he had done to the maid, if he had done anything at all.

 

Inside of the tall, bright throne room, sat the king on his throne and the maid was standing right next to him. She looked unharmed, and Sir Donnovan felt it hit his heart a bit to see her like that. He wasn't one to partake in violence, but the fact that the guard hadn't even hit her once was disheartening, although he shouldn't have expected it. It meant nothing, they meant nothing, the sir had stated so from the very beginning.

The king, and every other person in the room, looked at him as if they tried to tear him apart, and tears started to flow in thick streams, leaving itching trails over his cold skin.

Sir Donnovan knew the procedure; he had seen it enough times to know what was going to happen. And it scared him.

It had even worried himself slightly, how calm he had seemed, but as he knelt before the throne, it dawned on him. He had just right sealed his fate; the gallows.

His sight was blurry from tears, and he sobbed with his gaze at the stoned floor. The heartbeat was breath taking, the fear was hot.

“Sir Arden Donnovan of House Donnovan of Vi'Altea,” the king said and his name echoed in the room. “The maid has told me of your crimes, and instead of trying to flee, you come walking in here yourself, at your own request. Why is that?”

“I don't know, my King,” Sir Donnovan snivelled and kept his gaze at the floor that was wet with tears and rain.

“You have always been loyal, to me and my sons. You're a good man and knows right from wrong. This is why you've come here, this is why you're allowed to request an audience.”

Although he could hear the bitterness in the king's voice, his kind words made Sir Donnovan feel only the slightest bit better for a few seconds.

“The guard, Arthur, was last seen by the horse stalls. It is expected that he has left the capital, and I'll be sending out wanted posters.”

As the king went quiet, everyone else did as well and Sir Donnovan used the silent moment to say his apologies, although they weren't much louder than mumbles. There was a lot to apologize for, despite his only crime was his sexuality. Most of what he said was to Prince Theodore. As young, they had gotten into plenty of troubles; playing with weapons, “borrowing” things from older brothers, pulling pranks on several ladies of various ages. They even once had to cancel a festival due to them. Some of the memories gave him a smile, but the tears washed it away.

“Sir Donnovan, it saddens me, but I must give you your sentence.” The young sir looked up to the king's words. “When the sun rises tomorrow, you will be hanged for all of my kingdom to see.”

His head fell heavily as a couple of guards stepped up to him. His entire being was hurting from the fear of tomorrow's sun. With shaking hands, he covered his face and cried into his wet palms.

“Guards, do be gentle with him,” the king said as his last words, and the guards abided.

One of them to Sir Donnovan's left, gently poked him with the wooden end of the pike, and he got up on shaking legs.

 

His breathing was choppy, as he was guided to the prison. They hadn't put him in chains yet, as they trusted his loyalty, but it was more because he was too fearful, that he didn't run.

 

Walking through town, everyone glared and whispered, and the words he heard was cutting into him like knives. “The spawn of Dæmonium,” some said. “He deserves exactly what he's getting,” others would say.

“Arden!” An entirely different and familiar voice said, and his gaze shot up from the ground and out at the crowd.

Curly blond hair bounced around as Prince Theodore came rushing through the crowd, rudely pushing everyone in his way aside.

He almost made it to Sir Donnovan, when the two guards would block his way with their pikes crossed. As the prince looked at the two guards with a wrinkled brow and a scowl, Sir Donnovan looked at his friend with a happy smile but sad eyes. He felt something between happy and disgusted. Happy by seeing Prince Theodore, disgusted by himself.

“We're very sorry, but Arden Donnovan is to be escorted to the prison, where he will spend the night before being hanged,” one of the two guards said with a straight face, from where he looked down at the short prince.

Sir Donnovan felt his words like a hit to the heart. He had been surprisingly happy with hearing his first name from Prince Theodore, but it was painful to hear the guard say it. He had been stripped from his title.

“I do not care for father's orders! I'm a prince, you are obliged to do as I say!” Prince Theodore was shouting at the guard, with the scariest grimace Sir Donnovan had ever seen his childhood friend wear.

They were duty-bound to do as he said, but only to a certain extend. Prince Theodore could not cancel the hanging, but he could hinder it for a bit.

“If you want to keep your job, let me talk to Sir Don- … Arden,” the prince growled with clenched fists.

The two guards looked at each other, exchanging glances before pulling their pikes back, letting Prince Theodore jump at his friend with open arms.

“Arden, I've heard everything,” the prince said with tears starting to show.

It was a surprise for Sir Donnovan that tears could still fall after all his crying. As they embraced underneath the rain, Sir Donnovan's cries became clearer and louder, as he didn't care for keeping his pride, for this would be his last time feeling Prince Theodore. It broke both of their hearts.

“I'm so sorry,” Sir Donnovan whimpered into the prince's shoulder, standing with a slight bend in his back, as Sir Donnovan was quite taller than his friend.

Prince Theodore pulled away and held the dark-haired sir's face.

“You have nothing to be sorry for!” Prince Theodore cried, corners of his mouth turned downward.

“It's truly amazing,” Sir Donnovan said with a slight smile. “Your curls still show, even when they're wet. I never got to tell you just how precious you are to me.”

“Arden don't... please don't talk to me like that...” Prince Theodore couldn't look at his friend. “I'll talk to my father! I'll make him change his mind!”

The prince moved his hands to his sides and clenched them again, looking down where the rain blended with his tears.

Sir Donnovan's smile vanished again, and he pulled the prince in to a hug.

“You know just as well as I, that he won't change his mind, unless you are willing to have the citizens and Hennadon become mad at your family.”

He probably was willing, but that's another reason why the citizens of both kingdoms were happy he wasn't the heir.

“I'm sorry, my prince, but we need to escort Arden to the prison,” one of the two guards said.

“Goodbye, Theodore. Please don't come to the hanging,” Sir Donnovan spoke with a calm voice, although he stuttered out sobs.

As Sir Donnovan followed the two guards, a third one had appeared and was now holding back the prince, whom was screaming and shouting, trying to writhe free with a painful expression filled with tears.

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