Elric’s Origin Story: where servitude meets royal obligation
approximately +2.7k words // tags: OC x male reader, Cinderella genderbent x reader Prince, malepov, no mentions of y/n, I primarily use you/yours (though perhaps in future x reader fics, I may make use of [name] instead.
Uhhh, very old draft. A few months old atleast. I had it in my notes, then forgot, then…life hit. BUT IM FINISHED WITH SCHOOL FOR NOWWW so I got to write a little more these days HEHEH ENJOY
I realised I only really shipped him with Erevan before (random fact: Erevan is originally not a prince, so what I usually wrote was from an AU lol) BUT I kinda wanna yk…delve into x reader more…so why not! fun-fact: bridgerton inspired me to write Elric at all <33
Elric always knew not to expect much.
His mother, Duchess Cordelia, of the House of Colborne, always made it clear that affection came with conditions, validation through accomplishment, obedience, silence and tireless usefulness. Kind words given scarcely, only so much for a child to keep trying but never taking ahold fully, like baiting a small creature, only to keep them engaged.
Elric’s father was within physical reach, but inwardly with a certain sense of distance. There, but not really present. He eventually lost himself to drink after his mother’s death (which, one might argue, wasn’t coincidental).
Since the death of Cordelia, her sister, Ruth, high on the noble hierarchy herself, had taken over the household, bringing along her set of twin children; Prudence and Temperance.
Elric would not dare utter it out loud but name-picking did not seem to be Aunt Ruth’s forte.
While Ruth’s time was spent hosting lavish parties, managing the servants through the housekeeper, and seeing that her children were raised ‘properly’, the tasks for Elric were never-ending and constant, the greed and pomposity she displayed never emptied.
Whereas he, from scrubbing the dishes until his hands were red and sore, from polishing shoes till one could have supper out of them, from carrying steaming cups of tea on serving trays to vicious laughter, admirably, knew how to stay grateful. Even when his father had become a tippler, coming home in his cups.
Elric could be serving time in war, forced to fight the wretched wars of others. He could be a commoner, barely making ends meet while scraping coins for a mere bite of bread. He could be traded around like an animal, at the end of the highest bidder and most torturous soul alike.
But his life seemed to be carved in stone for servitude while he carried an unwavering sense of hope that, one day, he would not shiver underneath the thin linen of his bed at nightfall right before slumbering into an abyss lacking snappish complaints about the crude stitchings of gowns. The cruel faces with clogging pores from more and more face paint, to be noticed, to be admired, but not truly seen.
Oh, how he’d wish to be seen.
Within the walls of the manor he grew up in, he had heard rumors about you. Kindness was a rarity amongst royals, yet it seemed the royal prince of Eprovia, a tiny but prosperous kingdom, has plentiful and yet to give.
Today marked another period of showing up when the serving bell rang obnoxiously. He almost tripped over Parkin and Miette whilst hanging up damp garments, the mice whom he had befriended the first time Elric caught them scurrying off with a small portion of Beaufort cheese.
When Ruth had discovered Elric’s animal companions, she placed mouse traps everywhere, only for Parkin and Miette to be rescued and spared by him. Ever since he started stitching the mice tiny little linen cloths, they were loyal in providing him with company and serving as diligent helpers should something troubling occur. Their special form of friendship and empathy resulted in them being able to understand one another’s emotions and thoughts through nonverbal cues.
He proceeded with his duties by cleaning hairbrushes, readying the tea and overseeing gowns. The usual list of chores for Elric. One of them was reading out the announcements and invitations to Ruth and her twins.
“Hear ye! Hear ye! Noble Knights and Fair Ladies.” Elric did his best to match the enthusiasm radiating from the parchment, still, he was ever so tired from crouching to polish Prudence’s shoes for nearly an hour. There were still 11 to go, he reminded himself. “Your presence is requested at the annual Masquerade Royal banquet. Not only shall the feast and revelry be held in honor of His Royal Highness who is currently on the pursuit for a spouse!—“
He had to pause, briefly, not because the twin sisters Prudence and Temperance had stood up and squealed in merriment at the chance of romancing the prince, while his aunt gave a firm look of approval, but…something inside Elric stirred. A reckless, terrifying thought took root.
There was a flicker of hope in those eyes the shade of moss after rain. Something shifted. He can only try to convince himself as much as he wanted, but if there was even a chance…For once, he would choose himself.
After hours of rummaging through his father’s old finest clothing, he managed to find what he was looking for.
“There it is,” Elric muttered, gazing upon the attire of choice. Opulent, of good quality but something humble about it, still. A two-piece consisting of a light-blue threaded with gold, made of silk and brocade, a dream of embroidery, along with matching breeches. His heart pounded with the ferocity of the royal court in need for entertaining scandals.
What am I doing?
A sense of unease suddenly creeped up on him suddenly, along with a strange thrill that came with disobeying orders for the first time.
This is ridiculous. Utter nonsense. I must have lost my wits.
His eyes wandered back at Parkin and Miette who were watching him knowingly, while Elric tugged the doublet against his chest, tight, like a shield.
“This is a bad idea. The worst you two have ever had. You’ve…you’ve outdone yourselves, truly.”
His lips pressed tightly together as he studied his father’s old finery. Elric saw him wearing it once. The last time before his mother deceased. The last time he’s seen him lacking in bloodshot eyes and the scent of cheap liquor clinging to his undone tunics.
Not twice. Not thrice. Nobles wear their clothes like they wear their attitude; changing in irregular intervals with the next season’s fashion.
“They wouldn’t even notice, would they?” He wondered out loud, his hands curling around the faultless stitching. The suit bore only dust, practically powdered in it and a single minuscule loose thread.
The mice finally let out a high-pitched squeak, almost like a singing chatter, but it sounded more like an exasperated exclamation. Elric knew how to decipher it, based on their pitch and frequency. He knew what they communicated. They wouldn’t. Not even a little.
As the sun set and Elric’s cousins and aunt left in their pompous dresses for the occasion, he found himself seeking out one of the dressmakers House Colborne had close associations with.
He’s always been greeted and treated with a homely warmth he wasn’t used to when he came to commission the twin sisters’ gowns. Not only did she give him room to speak when he opened up about his plan, but she offered gentle reassurances, knowing that the second-guessing would get to him naturally. “It is not wrong to wish to be free, Elric”, she murmured, worn hands embroidering a matching pearl white mask to blend in with the other guests.
Later, Elric was led outside, adorned in the restitched ornate doublet and mask, the sight with which he was graced with rendered him speechless.
White horses stood at the gateway, fastened to the most beautiful carriage he’s ever seen. The chauffeur gave a simply nod, leaning against the wooden door of the hackney.
“This is…” Elric started, awestruck, but Guinevere only shook her head, eyes filled with mirth.
“I’m happy to be your fairy godmother tonight, Elric,” she affirmed gently, a hand of hers finding a retrieve on his shoulder, squeezing, a sensation that reminded him this was really happening. “You deserve it. To be someone else, experience the world you were meant to see, even if it is simply for a night.”
Elric blinked back the sudden moistness in his eyes, brushing a lock of sandy hair behind his ear. Before he could utter a single word, all too ready to express his deepest gratitudes, Guinevere cut in.
“Try to return by twelve. The guests will reveal themselves when the clock strikes midnight. You may stick out if you don’t.” A firm warning, but it almost seemed the dressmaker knew of something Elric didn’t.
He didn’t question it. For now.
When he found himself being led to the Great Hall at around seven in the early evening, he was almost blinded. Blinded by the luminous chandeliers, by the lavishly appointed noblemen and royals mingling, servants swarming the large space effectively, one goblet at a time. All these new and peculiar sensations and characters formed a potent cocktail of emotions, varying from intimidation, awe and a confusion that came with being thrown into the wild.
What made matters worse. He was being noticed. But he could not construe what they thought, faces obscured by masks of all colors and shapes and roles one can think of. Suddenly self conscious, his fingers twitched over the buttons of his doublet of whether his own finery has passed the season’s fashion, hence that may be the reason he was being ogled at so thoroughly.
Unable to ground himself, a goblet of untouched wine in hand, he made quick paste towards the courtyard.
The sight of the moon, and the fresh air had an almost instantaneous calming effect on Elric.
Whether he was thinking of a life consisting of no cruel mockery, his hopes being fulfilled, his animal companions able to live freely as they wished, the moon stayed throughout his musings.
Just there. No rejoinder but an acknowledgment of his existence, his deepest desires if he just believed in it.
A remark spoken from behind him broke the silence.
“The moon looks particularly marvelous tonight, don’t you think?”
Elric instinctively tensed. He hadn’t expected company but maybe he should have, since he has holed himself up out here, whilst deciding to take a leap and enjoy this evening. What an utter disaster.
Deciding to speak out in agreement, he turned around. The translucent shimmer of the moon did look quite stunning tonight, almost as if…
Expecting to gaze upon an unknown noble, his mouth opened…until he recognized the royal emblem that was embroidered on the man’s chest. He stared. Hard. Thank Guinevere for the mask that hopefully didn’t make it known where his eyes fixated on.
It can’t be…can it? But the descriptions added up, only royal members of the Crown were allowed to wear the emblem while not wearing any gear to indicate it was to be a guard…too old to be King, too male to be Queen, and the Royal Pair had only one son…
“Y-Your Highness,” Elric babbled, stumbling over the words with a new stream of anxiety coursing through his veins, followed by a quick and deep bow.
He had dreamed of being seen.
He had not imagined it would be by you.
Heart racing, he bowed far too late, far too deep.
The deep red wine in Elric’s goblet surged like a living thing, splattering all over you, the picture of a lieu du crime without injury.
He froze, the glass dangling from his limp fingers. Great heavens.
Gods above, what is wrong with me?
You glanced down at your splattered attire, then met his gaze again. The corners of your lips twitched in what seemed to be…amusement?
You made no effort to wipe away the wine.
Elric stood frozen, panic surging through his veins. He'd ruined the prince's clothes, and worse, embarrassed himself in front of the very person he aspired to meet. What must you think of him?
Probably that I'm some careless fool.
"'-I'm terribly sorry," Elric managed, stammering awkwardly.
He couldn't tear his gaze from the red stain, a reminder of his own incompetence. "I wasn't paying attention-"
You raised a hand, cutting him off. "You need not apologize." Not an ounce of irritation in your voice, Elric noted with wonder. You took a step closer, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "In fact, I find the stain surprisingly charming."
You held your chalice firm in your hand, years of princeling practice when you waved it a bit.
"I planned to step out for a breath of fresh air. It seems one can interpret 'refreshment' in another way entirely."
Elric stood dumbfounded. The prince had quipped, not snapped. It was refreshing.
Refreshing was the wrong word. He had spilt wine, wine for Christ’s sake, on the prince's fine garments, but he seemed more amused than furious. Was he truly that easy-going, or was the mask deceiving his reaction?
He forced words forth, trying not to gawk like a codfish.
"A thousand apologies, Your Highness. I was preoccupied with-"
He bit his tongue. With admiring the moon.
"With what?" You gently inquired, weaving your hand around that wasn't clasped around the ornate goblet.
"Go on." Now it started to sound more like a command.
Elric’s voice cracked slightly when he answered: "I was admiring the moon."
A confession slipped out before he could stop himself. Hadn’t Guinevere warned him about speaking too freely tonight? The mask hid his flush poorly; Parkin and Miette would be scolding him later with squeaks of disbelief.
At Elric's admission, you arched a brow silently, whereas your eyes drew to the moon.
"Most interesting. But I agree. It is something specifically bewitching about it tonight."
You paused, then added quieter. "Appearing silently, when our thoughts are most deafening."
Elric froze, his heart momentarily stilling. That... made sense. A strange, unexpected sense.
For a moment, it didn't matter that he was talking to the prince, an heir to Eprovia, sought after by every woman in the kingdom.
It was just two men beneath a starry night.
He swallowed, his throat suddenly feeling too heavy, constricting. "You... seem to understand."
You tilted your head slightly, then nodded. "I do." Your voice resembled a whisper now, as if sharing a conspiratorial secret.
"There's something liberating about being in disguise."
A brief silence, then you took another sip from your chalice.
"People see me as the prince, with more power than obligations, a chance to live a life by my side that is enriched with all sorts of fantasies which couldn’t be more far from the truth. But tonight, under this mask?"' You gestured to your own visage, concealed by bejeweled silk. "Well…That I am Prince is not untrue. But I simply am not just the royal heir, bound by protocol and propriety.”
You sighed and shook your head, a weary dismissal with another wave of your hand. "Deepest apologies. I fear I bore you with my musings."
Elric's fingers tightened around his empty goblet. Bored? Never. The prince was…warm, in a way that had nothing to do with wine-stained silk or royal titles. It was the quiet sincerity, the unguarded admission of weariness beneath all that poise. A rarity among nobles who spent their lives masking exhaustion behind powdered smiles.
He inhaled sharply through his nose before blurting:
"Your Highness does not bore me." The words tumbled out too fast, too earnest for courtly decorum. His face burned hotter than summer pavement under noon sun.
Miette would have words for him later (if she didn't simply gnaw on his ear in reprimand). But right now...
A beat passed where he wondered if he'd just committed treason by implication: I find you interesting.
Despite the flush on your own cheeks, you smirked at Elric's outburst, finding the lack of propriety more refreshing than the breeze cooling the wine stained fabric on your chest.
"No need to call me 'Your Highness," you said. "Not when we're both hidden by masks.” You introduced yourself by name, as though he hadn’t read it aloud on countless invitations and gazette posts. You paused, gaze lingering on Elric's flustered face for a moment. "What should I call you, then?"
The question sounded almost... casual. As if you genuinely wanted to know the name behind the mask, not just the spilled drink. Unaware that Elric wasn't even supposed to be here.
Elric's pulse fluttered at the request to be on first-name terms. The world narrowed to this moonlit courtyard, the quiet words exchanged under the cover of masks.
This was dangerous. Absolutely reckless. Ruth would hang him alive. Yet, he could not refuse.
"Elric," he answered after a moment, the name slipping out before he could second-guess himself. "You may call me Elric."
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