The Prince and the Thief
Once upon a time...
in a faraway land...
there was a young prince named James. James had every luxury a boy could ask for. His home was the castle where the king and queen ruled. His father had married the princess of a neighboring kingdom to stop a war and forge an alliance. A year later, they’d had their only child.
James was taught all the skills a prince should know, everything from combat to politics, from tactics to negotiation. He grew into a handsome young man, with hair like spun gold, and eyes like chips of ice. Though because of how spoiled he was, he was arrogant, cocky, and he could be so cruel.
When he was eighteen and it was time to start looking for a worthy woman for him to marry, James found his way into the bed of one of the serving girls, and within the month, she was with child. The king and queen were overcome with the shame of it. They enlisted the help of a local witch, only known by the letter M. M took one look at James and nodded. “I know what to do with him. Entrust him to my care, and raise the girl’s child as your own. It has royal blood. It will be a suitable heir.”
And thus, James was disowned.
The witch took him deep within the woods to a tall stone tower. When she touched the base, a door appeared in the stone, and she led James up the spiral stairs into a wide, open room towards the top. There was a single window through which James could see the outside world.
“You’ve shown a callus attitude towards the world around you. You have been cruel and without good judgement. Until you can learn to love, truly love, and be loved in return, without pretense or lies, you will be free. Until then this tower will be your home. It will take care of you, but it will not let you free.”
When James attempted to protest, the witch fixed him with a sharp look that froze him in place. “Do. Not. Test. Me,” M said quietly. And then she was gone.
For the first few weeks, James railed at his prison. He tried everything he could think of to break out: prising bricks free, lowering himself through the window, breaking open the wall. Nothing worked. If anything, the tower seemed to mock him.
When he finally got bored and started to resign himself to his new fate, he started noticing things. The cupboards constantly restocked themselves, as did the water barrel. The basin in his room always had clean linens and cold water for washing. The bed didn’t make itself, but the sheets were clean every week by Sunday evening. As he started to read the books on the shelves, the ones he didn’t like would vanish and more would appear. When he began to worry that he would become weak, he discovered a training ground in the basement of the tower.
By the end of the first year, James had a system in place, a routine. He rose with the sun and cooked breakfast. He trained all morning then washed, ate lunch, and read all afternoon. After reading a book on chess strategy, a chessboard appeared by his window, and he would have an evening game against himself as he ate his dinner.
For a year, James lived alone with only himself to talk to.
The morning of his nineteenth birthday, something changed.
James had just risen when he heard shouting in the wood below. He looked out the window to discover a young man running towards the tower. As James stared, the young man began to climb the tower, Realizing he wasn’t going to fall, James hid in the main room to see what happened.
The young man landed lightly on his feet as he came through the window, and James could see he was slender and strong, with a mop of dark black hair and vibrant hazel green eyes. He wore a dark cloak, a simple dark tunic, and there was a rough sack slung over one shoulder.
“What are you doing?”
The young man jumped and spun around, clutching the sack to his chest as James stepped out from his hiding place. “Who are you? What are you?”
“What are you doing in my tower?”
The young man looked from James to the sack in his arms. “I’m... hiding.”
“From what?”
“From the sheriff.”
James chuckled at how defensive the young man was. He would easily defend himself and his home if he needed, and god, how much he craved being able to talk to someone. “I was about to to make breakfast. Are you hungry?”
Still wary, the young man sat down at the table while James made them scrambled eggs on toast. They ate in silence, regarding each other.
“What is your name?”
The young man stared at James for a moment and seemed to decide something. “I’m Q.”
“I’m... James.” It was the first time James had introduced himself without his royal title.
Q stayed the morning, accepting the invitation to clean up before leaving. “You don’t have to go,” James said. “You... could...” He trailed off, realizing the stupidity of wanting Q to stay. He wasn’t trapped here. He could come and go as he pleased.
“There are people counting on me.” Q looked around the room, clearly thinking. “Maybe I could come back sometime.”
James didn’t think he would see Q again when the younger man left, and it was six months before Q returned.
Sometimes, Q would arrive with a sack full of food, other times with what James could only assume was stolen goods. Those times, Q wouldn’t let the pack out of sight. After a year, he stayed the night, the tower creating a guest room just for Q. The next visit, James asked if Q wanted to spar, and they spent hours in the training room until they both needed to wash up.
Two years into Q’s visits, they were sitting by the window, James eating an apple and Q staring off over the trees. “Why do you live here?” Q asked as the sun started to dip beyond the horizon.
“Why do you steal?” James countered.
Q chuckled softly. “My family has always struggled to survive. The king’s tariffs take nearly everything we have, so I steal from the rich to help my family and my town.”
“The tariffs are supposed to help the people, build the kingdom-”
“Taking money from the people does nothing but hurt us. They take more from us than they do from the rich. We are kept poor and trapped by the laws of the land.” Q’s tone had turned bitter and angry. “We couldn’t afford a doctor a few years back, nor could we go to the local healing woman. My brother died, and couldn’t do anything. So I steal to care for my family.”
The rest of the evening passed in silence, and Q left before James woke the next morning.
At sunrise on James’ twenty-second birthday, Q returned. They didn’t speak about the previous discussion, and James wasn’t sure where they stood. But somehow, Q had found out it was his birthday and had brought a few books and whittling tools as gifts. James cooked them dinner, and they danced by moonlight. Q retired to his room before James could work up the nerve to kiss him. For once in his life, James was unsure, shy.
It was another three months before Q returned, and this time, it was bad. An arrow was buried in his shoulder, and he was pale. “P-poisoned tip,” he croaked before collapsing in James’s arms. James rushed him to his room, stripped off Q’s tunic and looked at the wound. He broke the shaft of the arrow and fetched all the medicines, water, and cloths he could find.
“Don’t let him die. Please don’t let him die,” James whispered to himself. “I don’t know what I’ll do if Q dies.”
He looked horrible. Q was turning grey, and the skin around the wound was turning black. James bathed the wound and slowly pulled out the arrow, staunching the sluggish flow of blood. “No, no no no. Please,” James begged. “I-I love him.”
The words seemed to hang in the air in front of him, and he looked down at Q. His eyes were open, but they seemed glassy. “James...”
James was kneeling by the bed, and he held Q’s hand. “What is it?”
“I keep coming back... because I love you too.”
“Stay awake. Stay with me, Q.”
“Call me... Call me Simon.”
Tears leaked from James’ eyes as Q’s eyes closed, and for a long moment, he knelt by the bed and sobbed. A small breeze brushed his face, and M was there, standing behind him.
“You have learned,” she murmured, touching a hand to Q’s shoulder. “He is not gone yet. I can heal him.”
“Please,” James whispered. “I don’t want to lose him.”
“Will you be true to him? Will you help him and stay by his side? Do you swear on your love for him?”
James nodded. “I swear.”
M placed her hands on Q and chanted softly. She drew the poison from him and healed the wound. “I’ve done what I can. The rest is up to him. Tend to him.” And she was gone.
Q woke three days later in James’ bed with James fitfully sleeping in a chair in the corner. “James?”
James startled awake. “Simon?”
“How did I...”
But James was sitting next to him in a heartbeat, pulling Q into a relieved, passionate kiss. “I thought I had lost you.”
“I thought I was done. I was dying.”
“I found a cure. You’re going to live.”
Q was strong enough to leave after another three days, and this time, James went with him. Those three days gave James time to explain everything he never had, to tell Q about the curse, about his mistakes. About his loneliness. That their love had broken his spell and that, if Q would have him, he would be Q’s for the rest of their lives.
That last night, they danced again by moonlight, and this time, it ended with a kiss.