The Black Prince of Wales and How I (might’ve) Romanticized Him
Hey everybody! It’s been taking me quite a while to post the things I’ve been working on (preybirds, wings, legend of zelda), so after lamenting on my positively atrocious schedule, I thought to myself, “hey, why not post something from your personal work history? You know, just for fun!” So here I am. Yippee?
I dunno, I guess I was majorly inspired by a mootie of mine who’s posted work outside of the central themes of their blog (if you’re here reading this, you know who you are), and I really want to post my writing because- hey- this is a writing account! For my writing? I guess this is me making up for being slow to the draw, but honestly, I’m still on vacation, so I’m doing vacation things all day and sitting in a car or sleeping the rest of the time.
As for everything else, the goal is to have Preybirds chapters 4 and 5 out in the span of this week (did I really post chapter 3 all the way back in August? Oh dear…), and have the Wings Masterpost up before the year ends (everyone pray for me please). Yay. To my loyal fans… Preybirds soon… I pinky promise!
And now, for the context of what the title of this post could possibly mean, and where this is coming from:
I am a history nerd. I take pride where I can in knowing what I do, and always do my utmost to learn and suck down all the information that I can about something that particularly peaks my interest. In this case, I took major notice to one of the most- in my humble opinion- coolest figures in the history of England’s Medieval Age: Edward of Woodstock, otherwise known as ‘The Black Prince.’ I talked about him in this post here (where I actually got to see his tomb!), so I won’t go into too much detail on his history here, but Edward was essentially a major part of the 100 Years War between France and England throughout the 14th and 15th centuries. He was just 16 years old when he won his first battle against the French, and continued on to win many more battles throughout his time across the English Channel.
To put it plainly... I thinks he’s neat. Super neat, in fact, and to the point that I came up with an entire historical fiction novel about him falling in love with a French girl who disguises herself as a French knight to fight for her country. Aka, I put the ‘enemy’ in enemies to lovers with this idea because I love tragic romance and it spoke to me (and no this is not a self-insert!!!). I can’t really provide much more context because I never finished the novel… alright, listen. I was taking college classes at the time, and the amount of research I was doing to make sure everything was historically accurate to a ‘T’ was incredibly grueling. I do not recommend memorizing the millions of rules in chemistry while analyzing what the map of France looked like in the 15th century. That stuff was brutal.
Anyway! Now that we’re mostly on the same page, I guess… I hope you enjoy it? There’s nothing I love writing more than pouring as much emotion as I can into one scene shared between two people who are beginning to feel tethered to one another. I would love questions if anyone has any! It would make me very happy to talk about this old project :) the heart grows heavy with how many ideas it can hold sometimes, and this story is another of so many that hasn’t had its time to shine yet. That day will roll around sometime! In the meantime, storyboarding, storyboarding, and more storyboarding…
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“And you were never married?”
There is a pause, before Céline shakes her head.
“No.”
She means to leave it at that, but he speaks quickly after her, chasing more from her. It is a wonder if he took notice at all of her tone, or, more so, the singularity in which she spoke; the finality of her voice. Maybe he had noticed. Maybe he hadn’t cared. She feels an itch behind her eyes, wishing he would leave it well alone.
“Was there… a lack of suitors?” He watches her carefully. His poise is not so pointed, though, and a smile lifts his lips, his teeth flashing as he laughs in a short breath. “Or, maybe it is rash of me to presume so quickly that it is to do with suitors at all. As it would happen, I’ve become- well- well-learned, on the matter of your… boundless capabilities.”
Céline looks him in the face, and his mouth springs back to life, one of his hands raising as if to distill the ire in her eyes with a wave.
“I mean to say that you hold more complexities as the woman you are than many women I’ve come to know. Possibly even some men as well.” His tone lightens as he finishes, and a flicker passes through his gaze. “Had they perceived you too strongly in that regard… well… you don’t look quite the part, at least.” He means to tease her. Céline doesn’t feel teased.
“Are you truly so curious on the matters of my courtship that you would choose to align me with what you are in such a blatant manner? You have lost your shame.” She snaps, turning her head away.
“And what am I?” He leans closer, and she deigns him only a momentary glance. She can only do so for so long as he wears those smiling lips.
“A man.”
He feigns hurt, sidestepping to her side and pressing the back of his hand against his temple.
“To reduce me to the simplest of my cores… you wound me. I am much more profound than what you make of me.”
His performance deserves the eye roll she gives it, but his smirk fails to lose its smugness. She says not anything for a moment, and then, against better judgement, speaks again.
“And me?” His eyes are on her. She breathes. “What do you make of me?”
There is a beating silence, and Edward blinks. It is a noticeable pause, and Céline quietly scolds herself. She could not have hoped that such a question would actually find its way into his head and bring forth an answer worth hearing, one that was honest and would finally clean his lips of their grin. But that confuses Céline more. Why should she give care to any words he speaks? What provoked her to ask such a question? As shallow on the surface as it may seem, it was intimate, was it not? To show curiosity towards what a person truly thinks of you. Yes, it is intimate, and knowing it as so makes Céline wish for honesty even more. She can only pray his next words are not as teasing as his last.
“You…” He trails off, and Céline keeps her lips thin. He clears his throat, and she tilts her head in the slightest, catching sight of his back as he turns away and seems to ponder the lining between the bricks of the abbey wall. The quiet lasts, and the laugh forced from his throat sounds more like he is clearing it, and Céline almost does not catch the difference. He turns to her then, the mixture of strain and certainty on his face failing to prepare her for his next words.
“You fascinate me, Céline.”
His voice almost cracks at the end, lilting in a manner Céline has never heard from him before, as if he has just finished reading aloud a text in church that is particularly moving. She can attribute it to his accent, to the true nature of the tone used for his mother tongue, but that does not seem quite right.
His eyes are mellowed, his smile gone from under his mustache. Céline almost tries to squint to catch sight of it, but she chooses to look at his eyes for longer. She must. They seem deeper than they have ever been, the sun of the noon shading them a deep hue of blue. She stares into the swirling ocean of his gaze, and startles at the memory of their voyage from France, of seeing his eyes in the low light, dim and dark and like two pits of ink. She hadn’t seen much of the open sea, but she had felt the pull of the waves, and seen them in Edward’s eyes. She sees no roaring ocean now. That realization startles her more.
It is just the two of them in this little garden, and little it has become. Edward stands near the wall, but he may as well be stood within her chest. It certainly feels that way.
Céline breathes in deeply.
“… I suppose as any man could.”
Edward looks stupefied, as if no level of ridiculousness of any kind could amount to her. Céline regrets it, because she has chosen to play his game, and he has yet to make his move. And then, Edward smiles so big and wide. His eyes crinkle softly at the corners, and he looks back to the wall to laugh, as if finding that the bricks would share in his amusement of her. Céline watches his shoulders shake, and she flushes quietly. Edward laughs between his words, running a hand down his nape.
“Yes, yes. As any man could.” His grin persists, and she lets her gaze trail over the brightness of his face. He tilts his head, his eyes so full of mirth Céline can feel it draping over her, and can find not a thing else to say, lost only to a single line of thought lilting through her head: what a thing it is to be enamored.
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Super quick breakdown: Edward met Céline on the battlefield, hence the ‘boundless capabilities’ line. This is essentially Edward touching on the fact that she was a woman who took up arms, whilst despairing to know if she’s single (the dirty dog). Yup.
Evidently, I have an obsession with writing my characters in oneshot scenarios and leaving it at that. In the case of this story, though, I actually got more than halfway done with the first chapter! And then, I promptly threw in the towel (a temporary towel!) But yeah, this is quite short and sweet, and it really makes the most sense to me as the author since I know basically everything that’s happening in and around this story, but I really am proud of how I wrote this, and I wanted to share it.
Come to think of it, I feel as if I’ve blabbed more than there are words in this snippet. Oops. Well, if I’d said not a word of explanation, this surely would make no sense at all, wouldn’t it?
Either way, to all who made it here, thank you so very much for reading! If anybody is curious, maybe I’ll post the draft of chapter one. In fact, maybe I’ll start posting more of my private writing portfolio? I have… so. Much. Stuff. We’ll see.
