We Are Lovers ཉ MikaYuu

we are (not) heroes

ུ

⠀⠀⠀Mikaela's heart drummed within his aching chest as he watched the woman before him, too, get upon her knees and bow down to him. The blood coursing through his veins are pounding painfully, and he can feel his hands begin to collect with loads of perspiration.

⠀⠀⠀They had called him their king.

⠀⠀⠀Gulping down the growing lump in his throat, Mikaela shook his head and hands simultaneously as if saying no. "I think you have the wrong person. I am a slave of the Western Kingdom, and I have never once been king."

⠀⠀⠀"No, no," the woman shakes her head. "You are the one... I know it has been a decade since you've even been close to home, but I— everyone in the village— used to visit you all the time. Even after ten long years of governing ourselves, I could never forget what our king— prince, at the time— looked like. Your father would be so proud."

⠀⠀⠀Father.

⠀⠀⠀It hasn't once occurred to Mikaela that he had a father. If that was the case, did he have a mother, too?

⠀⠀⠀His skin began to crawl— a rising itchiness coursing through his body just at the thought. No, he tried to tell himself, there was no way he had a family; after all, if he did, he would've remembered them for sure. But the thought of it made him feel a sensation of discomfort and emptiness, as if there was a missing part of him he hadn't realized until now. This woman was his light— the sun that would dawn upon the mysteries of his life and show him who he was... who he was before being a slave for all eternity.

⠀⠀⠀But then, there was that part of him that didn't believe in such a fantasy— him, a king? He could not fathom such a life of royalty. All his life, or at least from what he could remember of his past, he was born to slave away his life with labor. It was likely that her assumptions were false, and that the missing king looked similar to him. And it wasn't like Mikaela wanted to own such a high, almighty title. After all, he wouldn't have his noble by his side if he left to rule a shattered kingdom.

⠀⠀⠀"I-I... I truly do believe you have the wrong person. I have been a slave all my life. I was never once a prince, nor will I have become a king," Mikaela stutters, though his chin was held high as if he felt confident in himself.

⠀⠀⠀Her face turns bitter like she's offended. The hands at her sides twitch involuntarily, and Mikaela sees it is her trying to hold back from being impolite and demanding. "I've held you in my arms before. I will always remember those vibrant blue eyes you have and the paleness of you skin. I never forget a child I hold in my arms— and that doesn't change for you. You were a prince whether you believe it or not. At a very young age, our kingdom was destroyed by the East, and you were captured. I don't know what happened to you after that— and frankly, I do not want to know what horrible things they did to you— but I know for certain that you are the king our kingdom needs."

⠀⠀⠀Mikaela doesn't want to believe her. He was never captured— he was born a slave. There was never a time in his life that he's ever been treated as royalty, and he was never a prince.

⠀⠀⠀But that itching feeling comes back to haunt him. Mikaela can sense the trembling of his hands and the buckling of his knees. He has never felt so weak— so fragile. A distant memory comes flooding back to him, and it is one he recognizes as a dream he has had from time to time in his younger years in life. Mikaela can envision the vast, open fields of emerald-green grass; tall and swaying in the wind. Beyond there is a never-ending ocean, water glimmering as the sun's rays dance upon the surface. Dew from a rainstorm the night before is still evident.