The Gift of War [bxb]

Love Poems

Who fell first, Ryan or Nusrat?

And who's fallen harder?

...

"But, why?"

"Why what?"

"Why am I so... favoured by you?" Ryan breathed, suddenly feeling light-headed from his heart beating a little too hard against his ribcage.

He wanted to know, he needed to know. Had the prince been feeling what he had been feeling?

"Well," He could see the older man hesitate. "You're my..."

Ryan drifted closer without thinking, staring into the brown eyes that seemed to glow golden whenever they stared back at his blue ones.

"Please..." His voice was getting raspy, and he felt like drinking a gallon of water at once.

"You're my assistant, of course I have to help your... friend." Nusrat finished, a bright, lopsided grin overtaking his face as he patted his shoulder.

Ryan blinked.

"Right." He responded lamely, everything from his heart to his voice drooping.

"Ah, speaking of assistant, I need your assistance in this," Nusrat picked up a sheet of paper from his table. "I need you to proofread it for me."

Ryan nodded and took the paper with haste, anything to distract himself from his trembling hands and tremulous heart.

He skimmed through the paper.

"This is a poem, my lord." He pointed out dumbly. The title read, "Blue".

"Yes." The prince confirmed. "Go through it, and tell me how it is, and how it makes you feel."

How it makes me feel?

Glancing at the older man quickly, he looks down at the words on the paper, written in neat, uneven letters.

Now gentle sleep hath closèd up those eyes,
Which waking kept my boldest thoughts in awe,
And free access unto that sweet lip lies
From whence I long the rosy breath to draw.
Methinks no wrong it were if I should steal,
From those two melting rubies, one poor kiss.
None sees the theft that would the thief reveal,
Nor rob I them of aught which they can miss.
Nay, should I twenty kisses take away,
There would be little sign I had done so.
Why then should I this robbery delay?
Oh, they may wake, and therewith angry grow.
Well, if they do, I'll back restore that one,
And twenty hundred thousand more for loan.

"My lord, this is..." Ryan gulped. "It's beautiful."

"Is it?" Nusrat hummed, looking a little absent minded as he ran a hand through his inky hair. "And how did it make you feel?"

Ryan hesitated. In truth, he had no idea how the poem made him feel, except that he was strangely breathless without even having spoken it out loud. How his heart thudded louder after each word so lovingly spelt, and how his eyes felt almost closing in subdue, lulled by the thought of the prince writing them down.

He was not sure if he even wanted to know.

"It makes me feel... lonely." He admitted under the man's impatient eyes, after pondering over it for quite a while. "It makes me crave."

"Crave?" Nusrat questioned, taking a step closer to him. "Crave what?"

"Love."

They stared at each other, dark eyes meeting the deepest blues, neither wanting to be the one to break their moment.

Until, Ryan regained himself and cleared his throat.

He swallowed before speaking, "It seems the prince loves this person a lot." He handed the sheet back to his master. "That person is very fortunate." He finished, a little insincerely.

"Is that all?" Nusrat asked, his face devoid of all emotion, but Ryan could see a tinge of disappointment in his eyes.

He wanted to take it away, blow the light back into those pools of darkness.

"I... Yes, my lord, that is all I have." Ryan bowed his head, chewing on his lip. "All this time you've been battling with words to write a story, when this is where your true passion lies."

He dared to smile at the prince. "It is beautifully written, my prince."

"I see." The prince responded, his demeanor tight all of a sudden.

Ryan had the sneaking suspicion that he had said something wrong, but he couldn't figure out what.

"My lord, I-"

"You may be excused now, Rafael. I shall see you tomorrow."

The voice left no reason for negotiation.

It was unfair.

That the prince would act so caring towards him in one moment, and dismiss him in another. That the man would ask him to read his atrocious creations, and then write wonderful poetries about love and hand them to him.

Keeping the growing wretched feeling in his heart from his face, Ryan bowed and left.

...

The poem/sonnet in this chapter is 'A Stolen Kiss' by George Wither. It originally used the pronouns 'she' but I modified it to be gender-neutral. It is a simple, yet beautiful, rhythmic poem, perfectly fit for this chapter.

And with that, happy new year!