#hers: bo

[loveurn]

everything from the buds of flowers in the castle gardens to last peek of purple as a ship passes the horizon. everything between, everything that touches and breathes around you, that is our kingdom, that is your kingdom. 

bo was six when he learned about duty, about ownership and about the love that he can put in a land - in his land. he was young but he fondness with which his father spoke about the things around them, with his hand gripped at the balcony and his mother holding him closer to her dress - it’s something he’s committed to memory. it’s something he’s sought to replicate. 

his father was a kind man, a generous man and a fair ruler. a beloved ruler and such titles followed his son in succession. bo was loved by his people - adored really, despite not knowing what he could do or what he already did for them.

there was pressure in that, a desire to be as intelligent as his father strove to be, as merciful and as intentional in everything he did for the sake of their country. every minute every second was spent with the kingdom at the forefront of his mind and at the same time - it never felt that he or his mother were second. sometimes it seemed as if they were the very first. bo wouldn’t fault his father if that was the case but marveled at how he managed it. how he’d want a few extra minutes in the morning to recount his last sparring session, or even how his horse riding lesson had gone. now that he’s older now that he’s more involved he can see how busy the mornings are, how even a moment taken to give a few extra kisses to his mother is time.

but his father’s never denied him the time and his mother blossoms from the first memory he has of her. she blossoms in a way that the kingdom’s citizens talk of her as if she’d married yesterday. it’s a marvel.

the queen is as loved as her king, maybe more because of what her duty entails. she doesn’t have to do much, his mother. she doesn’t have to do much because of status, no one expected much but a few smiles and appearances from a queen. then again, she didn’t have to do much for those singular smiles and appearances to capture the hearts of everyone around her. bo’s mother was a graceful woman, but her presence commanded much - it was that presence that commanded his father when they’d first met. she stands tall, smiles gentle but talks firm, and every word out her mouth is poised, it’s almost unsettling. sometimes his father would ask if she has little sprites in her ear telling her how to always say the right things.

she’s clever, beautiful and oh so loving. 

the habits of going down to the ports early were developed from his mother not his father. despite being a kingdom with a bustling fishing industry and ports and canals galore, his father is a homebody, his mother harbors the love for the sea, for the culture around it. his mother was the one going down to the pier to talk with the fishermen, with the merchants on the harbor, trying her hardest to hide her royalty up until she couldn’t. it was this, something that was so natural that bred loyalty in the people. it was his mother, taking the forefront of protecting the rights of those on the sea because of what she’d seen and what she’d been through, without obligation. 

bo admires his mother in ways he can’t explain but he tries to take as much as he can from her. the diligence from his father, the curiosity and the strive to be better, as well as making it effortless, natural, from his mother. it’s almost a weight, trying to balance those traits with the things that make him who he is but it’s worked out well so far.

he carries the weight well, he’s always carried it well that he didn’t wonder just how heavy it could be. as he hears people talk about his mother and his father, such talk has started to shift. shift to where it’s not only him in the equation, but it includes joy. it’s inevitable, their relationship becoming the talk of the town and the favored gossip among town. the more serious it became, the more the talks escalated. 

‘you seem worried.’ 

it’s very hard to hide from his mother. bo’s found places around the castle as well as around town to hide and sneak around when the weight starts to show. it hasn’t happened as of late, he’s taken the responsibility with open arms and no regrets. still, he needs a break and he has far too much pride or duty to his father to say such, so he uses the moments when he’s not needed to sneak off. sneak off and look over the balcony in the east wing. the same balcony he’d used to trace to corners of the kingdom as a child. the same balcony his parents would bring him to at the end of the day.

she’s gentle with her approach but she doesn’t leave room for denial. 

“the people like her.” the words are small, he’s still sorting through what brought them about as he says it, as his hands curl over the balcony.  ‘is that a question?’

it’s not. it couldn’t be. all the talks about joy since they’d decided to make their relationship more official, have been pleasant. more than pleasant actually. they have a lot of pride, his people, but never so much that they’ve excluded others. his mother wasn’t of their kingdom, so when she’d arrived she’d expected hostility, even among that she showed curiosity and kindness. joy, with no obligation and no expectations had shown the same. she was doing such when he’d first met her, immersing herself in the parts of their culture that fascinated her. an effortless desire to learn all she could and she’d started learning more, about the life here, about the language and the people without being asked to. 

“a lot comes with this.” ‘as i’m sure she’s aware.’

bo knows that she’s aware what a relationship with him means, he knows and it’s been a source of apprehension for him. his parents have let him shoulder that burden silently, just as they’d let him indulge in the pleasure of it all. 

‘if you’re worried darling, you should talk to her. for heaven’s sake do not be like your coward of an uncle.’

royalty are known for being either overbearing or unbearably cowardly. his father’s brother had attempted to call off an engagement with worry that the woman he loved would hate being a queen. he didn’t wish the burden on her and it’s only through his father’s reality check ( and a very long-winded lecture ) that he’d pursued her and married happily a year later. 

he hadn’t been quite this worried, it’s safe to say he’s not sure what he’s worried about. that she’d reject it? she’d have rejected it already. that they’d reject it?

bo’s had thoughts, of what to do or what would be best if for whatever reason the people had decided to oppose them. he’s had no romantic interests prior to this so he had nothing to base it off, and his parent’s example was picture perfect. the pressure he had, he’d lived with since birth, the pressure that’d be on her, the obligation, even the idea of where this relationship would go, those aren’t light subjects. if anything, bo is constantly reminded that he’s still a prince and to accept him would be to accept the burden, a new title for her and a new way of life. the more he thinks about it the more he realizes what that would entail.

when a prince takes an interest in someone, the masses are already envisioning that person as future princess and a future queen. that’s just how it is. 

“is that fair?” ‘men, you lot always try to bear a burden on your own.’ his mother, thank god for her. her words, as gentle and light as the hand she places over his own, do exactly what they’re intended to. ‘it’s only fair after you ask.’ the weight doesn’t lift exactly, but he’s once again reminded why his father married her. ‘you have an outing planned tonight yes?’ he doesn’t even get the chance to look scandalized at her knowledge because she’s barking laughter as a response. 

‘oh please as if you could hide it.’ she has a point. ‘talk to her, and i do mean talk, don’t sweep her off her feet first your father would always trick me like that. level with her and understand that it may not go the way you hope but - i’d say you putting this much thought into this shows you’re taking steps in the right direction. your father wouldn’t have you raised a coward.’ yes he can definitely see why his mother has the entire kingdom wrapped around her words and her smile. 

“i will talk to her mother, don’t worry.” how she’s managed to instill confidence without him having to spill but a few words of a his worry, it’s remarkable. but she wouldn’t be who she was if she couldn’t. bo’s reassurance is the claps of his hand over her arm, and a pull of it into the loop of his arm to escort her back inside. evening colors are starting to descend over the horizon and he does need to get ready.  

‘between you and me darling, i do like joy quite a bit. it’s always fun seeing you this flustered about something as simple as a conversation. you’re definitely your father’s child.’

there’s something about his mother’s amusement that reminds him so distinctly of joy and makes him excited that he is about to get ready to meet her. and it makes him rather thankful that he is his father’s son, if these are the women they are blessed with. worries subside for the moment, for the seconds that he listens to his mother’s laughter, chatter and opinions in his choice of clothing and its replaced with newfound determination. to get to joy to hear her own laughter, see her own smiles and listen to any and everything she’s willing to give him, and maybe discuss all that he’s willing to give her.  

[loveurn]

fall.

thank you for exo’s winter albums. // @principalles  

for the amount of times he’s been in the room it’s been full of lessons. the castle has its fair share of rooms and chambers, parts that even in all his time growing up bo probably never bothered to venture to. he wasn’t particular curious as a kid, more so about the kingdom he lived in than the stuffy and too-big walls of the castle. where his parents would often wonder where he could sneak off to during lessons and get lost, bo much preferred sneaking out and into the town.

it was a different kind of mischief. it translated into studies sometimes, the days spent crammed in the study with his eyes drifting to windows, to wonders of the kingdom he felt lucky to call his. not by royalty or by blood and allegiance but just by the fact that he lived here. bustling bakeries, cranky morning crewmen, a horizon that seemed to extend into forever.

so while the study was full of the time that he spent at the desk, learning and absorbing all he could just for the chance to get a pardon to go out to town. or the opportunity to accompany his father on diplomatic trips or his mother or morning walks, the study is full of memories of learning all he could about the place he loved. some lessons weren’t as fun, history was a bore no matter who taught. 

for so long he’s kept his associations of the study with a multitude of lessons, the droll of heels scuffing across the floor, the tap of batons on the podium and voices echoing economics and culture alike. it’s rather dreary despite bo knowing it was necessary.

fine arts was always a bit of a reprieve and dance - well dance was as bothersome as any other etiquette.

spring days spent trying to trick his feet into cooperating when his heart preferred he frolic through the garden, splash about in the lake. and don’t get him started on his dance instructor. a woman past his mother’s age, stern and well-versed in her craft. she meant well but it was often hard to focus, his only obedience as the promise of freedom after the two hours were up.

looking back, bo could almost kiss madame hautecourt for her lessons, for this is the only time they’ve started to come in handy. not at diplomatic galas, not as the balls he’s both held and attended where the moves are expected, customary. not even at festivals where things are loose, livelier. 

right now, he’s all but forgotten about madame hautecourt’s voice, low and sharp piercing for him to listen. he’s forgotten about the way history words seem to mesh together after enough time has passed. all he can think of, and all he’ll probably remember is the sound of laughter that’s so sweetly bouncing off the walls, giggles that are muffled into his chest with each step he takes.

summer starts to bleed in through the drapes, the yellows and oranges of the afternoon bouncing off the otherwise boring mahoghany decor, and marble walls. the room’s probably never looked like beautiful before.

‘swear you’ll catch me?’

though, he’s sure it’s all joy’s doing. 

“promise you won’t fall.”

they’ve been at it for around an hour - or two. he’s lost track. the sun might be setting soon, but he looks at her and thinks he finds it each and every time. it’s the only good thing to come out of the ball his mother’s thrust upon them. etiquette aside, dancing was something his country held near and dear, a very particular style that he’s taken upon himself to show joy in her time off. 

bo’s spent hours, recounting steps, placements, movements - in this very room with the madame. but each time his hands fall on the small of joy’s back, each time he tickles the sweetest sounds of amusement from her, he goes blank, years of knowledge falling to the drain and the dopey smile that crosses his face. he spins her out and she’s regarding him with a look, one that says she’s got something up her sleeve. he wonders about it, as she slips from his grip and moves about the dance floor. they’ve cleared the majority of the furniture to leave the room open for practice. 

‘i thought that was the point of the ball?’ “what is?” when she looks back there’s that same glint in her eye. the same one she’s been giving him when she slips out intentionally from every dip or spin he tries. the one where she’s stepping behind and around him, the dance turning into a makeshift game of tag before bo’s bold enough to catch, or smart enough to just watch. but joy’s just smiling, but an arm’s width from him. until it’s a forearm’s distance, and then a a shoulder’s, and she’s leaning forward into his space. ‘falling for the prince.’

she has this uncanny ability to make even the silliest of expressions, the smallest of mistakes something so endearing, so enthralling that he’s hoping she messes up again. just so he can watch how her cheeks blossom pink and even the shy smile makes her eyes sparkle in the afternoon light. all of her does, sparkles, glows, in a way that he wants to sit back and watch. watch as she practices the steps in earnest, pushing him away when insisting that he’s distracting. then there’s the way that makes him want to get as close as possible.

like now. 

where his hand fits again behind her back and tugs her as close as she’ll let him, as close as it takes just to feel the intake of her breath when his hands fold over fabric.

“the point of the ball, is freedom.” ‘freedom?’ joy’s words are but a whisper, a gentle parting of her lips. bo’s smile is immediate. “to do what i wish, with whom i wish. should she accept.” her eyes flutter, her lip peeks from the nip of her teeth. bo’s heart is in shambles and in flames all at the same time. ‘let’s say she did. what would you want to do?’ 

his eyes map out the moment, the familiar dust that’s now matched with a daring gaze, bold eyes that refuse to leave his own. even as his eyes wander, the curves of her cheek that his thumb aches to trace, the smooth of her skin that’s always inviting something gentle and worthy to grace it. a vision of beauty silhouetted by the sun’s ray, filtering, dripping onto the same skin he aches to kiss, to brush, to touch. eyes that betray there own determination in how they close the closer he comes, the deeper the breath she takes, the closer she presses on the tips of her toes.

“what i want to do is this...” he’s closer.

and his lips lower, to her cheek, then to her forehead and he’s stepping out into a lift, relishing instead in the sounds of her laughter as they move once again across the room.

“everywhere. and anywhere. so that everyone else knows who i have fallen for. and why.” with every lift, and every turn, with every pull of her close enough that the laughter is smothered, airy hiccups of it only shown in the rise of her shoulder and her chest against his own. every stolen breath as he moves, swift and practiced. every laugh, treasured, every burst of warmth when her fingers curl into his shoulders, trusting and full of the same excitement that spurs him to keep moving.

‘i would’ve thought everyone already knew.’ “oh? consider it my excuse to show you off then.”

he holds her tight, the dip just an excuse to keep his face buried in the crook of her neck, his smiles muffled there and all the joy and disbelief that she’s in his arms at bay. he wants to be so many things, tender in the way that she’s touched his heart, in the way she eases the deepest of emotions from him. and then he wants to be as consuming. she just holds tight.

‘even if i don’t get the dance right?’ her own words whispered by his ear, breath tickling his hair. laughter is pulled, puffed into spaces, fingers squeezing as he pulls back, kisses placed everywhere he can land them. “especially if you don’t get the dance right.” on cheeks, on cheekbones, under her jaw, on her temple, the tip of her nose. “i’ll just keep you in my arms all night long.” and exactly where he’s been itching to, fitting her lips against his own with all that he hopes to say, to wish for and all that he’s felt. 

when he’s pulled away the sunlight is a faint orange on her skin, darkening into dusk, much at how the gentle warmth between them shifts into something deeper, molten. joy doesn’t say anything for the few seconds after, but she’s smiling something sweet and tempting for hi to dip down again.

‘is that a challenge?’ “it’s a promise.”

so he does.

[loveurn]

“a ball?”

he’d heard his mother right, because there was no way to ever mistake the queen’s words. they were absolute yes but his mother had a way of speaking that captivated all. soft-spoken but firm, commanding. she knew her intentions and above all she learned to speak well. it’s one of the first things passed onto bo as he grew up. he picked from books, from lessons, from meetings with stuffy dukes and duchesses but above all he’d taken from her. it was inevitable but it’s also his biggest selling point with the kingdom, the people having fallen in love with her long before the king would ever admit he had.

bo’s father was stubborn like that. quite new as well if he recalls the tales he was told. and boy do people love to tell tales. of his mother here for a conference while her sisters were clearly here to woo and catch the eye of their famed king who never spent more than a glance. things were harder in those times, his father had to be strategic in his choice, figure out the future of a country he was still learning to run with one meeting.

one meeting is all it took his mother asking the simplest of questions, concerned about commerce and industry, as well as the threads and the colors unique to their kingdom. she always had an eye for fine things, so royal life suited her well. just like the ring he’d placed on her finger but a few weeks later, just like the crown that sat atop her head before the end of the year.

it was a tale for bars, diners and bedtimes alike.

things aren’t as difficult now and his parents have become more than open to losing tradition. they haven’t readily interfered with his love life, that’s to say he hasn’t had one before now. so the prospect of a ball is lost on him. but the queen’s paying him little attention and instead giving her all to directions about what colors should go where, angles for curtains to hang and changes to menus. he hasn’t seen her this animated since, well since the last ball. she’s quite meticulous and he’d heard an earful when he decided to head out the country for business right before it. all in good faith.

but she talks, orders and effectively ignores his question.

“mother.”

‘your majesty which color would you like for the carpet?’ ‘bo, my darling which do you prefer the browns or the creams?’ “mother.”

she’s pointedly not listening as she points to the cream one and the servant scurries off obviously not wanting to be between the two of them. as if there’s anything to be between. bo gets along well with his parents, too well. signs of their relationship can be shown in even the most formal of meetings, in strolls through the kingdom and even royal ceremonies. he carries some of his mother’s spunk, the two of them laughing at a particularly pompous guest and while the guards and his father may fuss at them - it’s all in good fun.

his father’s never been able to hold a stern look when watching his mother anyway. and that breaks even their most trained guard from his position, it’s quite a sight. 

but his mother is a force and she’s maneuvering easily through the ballroom, answering questions and throwing orders to parts of the room he’s not even sure she can see. she’s clearly had the ballroom renovated for the occasion and bo can’t understand it. balls in their kingdom are not held very often, festivals yes but balls are different. tradition states that they’re for the young heirs, for bachelors, to open their doors and allow the young and the eligible to present themselves before them and the royal family. hence why they haven’t had one.

she’s pressing two sets of clothing against his chest, clearly ignoring his looks of confusion and asking another servant for her opinion. said girl is giggling as bo’s obvious attempts to get her attention and bo is catching the jacket shoved in his arms again.

“mother, a ball? pray tell for what?” the queen, in all her grace and poise pauses at that. bo notices absently that they’ve made it to the study, where she’s been shuffling through his father’s old gear, the king who is signing papers at his desk and making no motion to involve himself. the hush that falls over the giggling servants has even bo pausing in his insistence.

‘bo, darling. you must know what balls are for?’ “mother I don’t need you inviting eligible women to the palace.” ‘he must think we’re fools don’t you think dear?’

his father once again makes no indication to wanting to have anything to do with the conversation. bo does see a hint of a smile on his father’s face and that’s - well that’s concerning. but his mother is back to shifting through the chest, holding up a variety of garments to place in his hands.

‘darling we’re holding this ball for one purpose and one purpose only.’ “which is?”

when she finally stands up she’s holding a jacket bo’s only heard tales of. it’s cream and gold, the very suit jacket his father had worn on the night he’d declared his love for her. bo remembers being younger, much younger and his mother draping it over him as she told the tale, bo running around the palace with this grandiose idea of being as bold as his father had been that night. maybe not about love, but in other things. he gets his fearlessness from his father.

‘this ball, is simply for you to announce to everyone what they already know.’

it almost feels like he’s being chastised, or perhaps, teased. it’s definitely teasing because the queen is grinning, cat-like and bo must’ve spaced out because when did his father enter the frame. but the king is watching bo with the same quiet fondness, one he carries different from his mother. he’s going between eyeing the jacket before speaking up, his hand around his mother’s shoulder.

‘it’s also to get everyone off my back about who my son is courting so they won’t send their daughters here just for them to return home in tears. i have no intention of explaining again that our prince is already courting.’’ ‘and boy has he been courting. all these questions about the young lady that the prince is making starry eyes at in the riverside coffee shop.’

they’re definitely teasing.

“oh no.” ‘oh yes.’

“i have to talk to her about it-” ‘i guess you’d better talk to her then.’ “it’s a lot to take in,” it’s not an engagement, but a declaration that it’s in everyone’s best interest to respect the relationship and his decisions. engagements are grander, they last longer.

still, it’s a switch in things. it’s one thing for people to see him smiling at her, following her around with the fondness he couldn’t hide. but it’s another for it to be official, for press to have a reason rather than just speculation. though, bo holds some faith that ever since the day out in the gardens, that it’s been something they’ve both been sure of.

‘oh she’ll be fine, she’s got her head on right.’ “mother have you been spying?” ‘i don’t need to spy when i have you as a son.’

that’s fair.

‘now go on, go tell your belle and let me do my work. also while you’re at it please get her measurements for me. or better yet have her drop by for a fitting at the tailor.’ she’s urging him out, ridding his hands of the garments previously thrown into them. ‘also put on something better please this outfit is a little washed out, i know you’re meeting her by the beaches today.’ “mother.” ‘see you later.’

she is a force indeed.

but perhaps, that’s the exact reason he’s fallen for who he has.