“I suppose I am now requisitioned to being a napping spot.” Prince Ernst ❤️❤️🥺
I suppose I am now requisitioned to being a napping spot.
A/N: Set after Ernest’s diagnosis in s2e6.
Ernest’s legs felt like jelly as he gently lowered himself to the plush pillows of the couch. His eyes focused on nothing in particular, just one clear space on the wall opposite; dreary, meaningless, just like his life from hereon, he supposed.
He did not indulge himself too much—Leopold had warned him of the… diseases these women carried—but he was not stupid. He knew all it took was one time.
One time.
It did not even have to have been recent, the doctor had said. Symptoms came on depending on the person. Fast or slow. Nature took its course either way.
His father would tell him it was shameful of a prince to be riddled with such a disease. Leopold would claim it was embarrassing for him as a man. Albert would feel sorry for him and worry for his future as a husband and father.
And yet Ernest could only think of Harriet.
Of how he had been so close, and yet now he was the furthest he’d ever been.
The pillows seemed to swallow him up as he let himself sink deeper, shoulders slumping immediately. His brows drew together in a pained frown and he brought his hand up to instinctively chew at his knuckle.
A sudden presence at his side had him jolting, readying to get to his feet at the possibility it was someone he must bow to or otherwise try to maintain as much of his dignity as he could. Nevertheless, the presence came to sit beside him before he could make much more of a move, and when he realised it was you, he relaxed a little.
“Hello, Princess.” He tried a smile.
“Evening.” You shuffled to get comfortable and curled your legs under you, glancing at him before turning your gaze to the exact spot he’d seemingly become enthralled by.
The silence was quite peaceful, and Ernest knew it would not be the same if anyone else had walked into the room besides his little cousin. You, he found, were a lot like he’d been at your age, which was perhaps why you got on so well. You adored Albert, of course, but Ernest knew it was him you came to if you were upset and couldn’t find Victoria, and him you’d run to first thing in the morning—while he was still in bed, mind you—to beg for fencing lessons. Which he was all too happy to give. Coburg had very different views on women becoming involved in the art of fighting, or perhaps it was just him. Either way, you always practiced in a part of the garden you knew your sister or anyone else capable of demanding an explanation could not find you.
He was due to go home soon, and though he had initially believed it may give him time to process the news he’d been told, he currently felt more at peace than he had in the days since his diagnosis, staring at that blank spot on the wall
“I could play something for you, if you like,” you spoke up softly, and he turned his head to look at you. “I’ve been practising that piece you’re teaching me.” You offered a warm smile, and he instantly mirrored it, albeit weakly. He put a hand on yours and squeezed lightly. Bless God for giving him someone who knew he was troubled yet did not burden him with questions.
“Thank you,” he said, “but I am quite content to sit here with you, if you are.”
You nodded and settled again. “I am.”
An hour passed by, with nobody disturbing you save for servants silently setting mugs of warm drinks on the coffee table beside you, by which time you had dropped off to sleep, leaning heavily into Ernest’s side. He quietly thanked the servants before carefully arranging you so you did not wake with a cramp in your neck, resting your head on a pillow in his lap. It wasn’t the first time you’d fallen asleep on him; really, he felt quite honoured to be considered an appropriate resting place, and so he would not complain. He had no younger sisters, and he had missed out on more of your childhood than an older cousin ever should - this was simply making up for lost time.
He was unsure how long had passed when Albert walked into the room. He blinked rapidly, only just realising he had been on his way to sleep himself, and rolled his shoulders back.
Albert was carrying a book, likely coming in search of a quiet place to read for an hour or so in the rare evening he had free of royal duties. He rose an eyebrow when he noticed his brother and you.
Ernest shrugged lightly, tightly smiling in an effort to steer off residual exhaustion he would make use of when he went to bed that night and did not wake until lunch the next day.
“I suppose I am now requisitioned to being a napping spot,” he said.
“Ah.” Albert came to sit at the edge of the couch in the small space your curled legs had left him. He leaned over, pushing some hair from your sleeping face. “Is she alright?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He sat straight again, though his eyes did not leave his brother. “And you?” When Ernest glanced his way, he dipped his head a little in sincerity. “Are you alright, brother?”
Ernest took a while to process Albert’s words, wondering if the cogs in his brain would become stiff as time wore on and his symptoms increased. He hadn’t asked.
Eventually, however, he took a deep, clearing breath, a reminder that his heart still beat proud and strong for now, and returned his gaze to that spot on the wall. The thumb of his hand at your cheek gently brushed along your temple, a soothing motion he remembered someone doing to him long ago, and he relaxed into himself.
“I will be, Albert,” he said decidedly. He thought of Harriet. “Yes. I will be.”
Victoria Masterpost
