Iridescent, a Resplendent FanFiction (Multi-Shot)

Four

Harold's Perspective

Harold was livid. He was seeing red. His temper had flared heavy and hard, and there was absolutely no calming him down. The events that had just conspired not an hour before were beyond any reason. One moment he was a hair's breadth away from kissing Erart, and the next, the dancer was acting as if he were a human shield to protect Harold from the onslaught of special force soldiers that had just barreled their way into Erart's flat. He thought it was so charming that Erart's first instinct was to protect him, but Harold wasn't the one that needed to be protected. The Special Force team was after Erart, looking to arrest him of all things. To arrest him for kidnapping Harold. For treason. It was the most bullshit accusations that his father had concocted.

Yes. He knew his father was behind all of this. Who else could have orchestrated the whole thing? Who else could have corralled Special Forces to converge on Erart's flat in less than twenty-four hours? Usually, they took a hell of a lot longer to get together. They required planning and all that shit.

Erart should not have been attempting to protect him. It should have actually been the other way around. And he planned out getting Erart out of this whole mess. He wanted to ensure that this whole ordeal didn't remain on his permanent record. Afterward, Harold planned to beg Erart for his forgiveness, and if he should receive it, he was going to take him out on a fucking nice date. A real one with a nice dinner and stolen kisses across the table.

But first, he was on a warpath to get to the bottom of this. He needed to address this issue with his father, but unfortunately, that was a delicate thing to do with his father. He wasn't some teenager who had a bone to pick with his average Joe father. No, his father was the king of Dorthore, quite unfortunately. He couldn't barge in demanding answers. That would disrespect and dishonor his father. Even though Harold didn't mind doing that behind his father's back, he could never disgrace his father like that. Harold at least had some morals in life, and honoring one's father and mother was one of those. Honoring them to their face, at least. What he said to Eins when he was drunk or upset was an entirely different story.

Harold stood outside one of the back doors to the throne room, pacing vigorously in his designer suit. He hated that he had to wear the thing, now of all times. Physical vanity and appearances pleased his father. He would have preferred to storm in with his sex-tangled hair and Erart's sweatpants and t-shirt, but that wouldn't have been presentable in the least. It would have made him look like some homeless wretch that came to beg the king for mercy. Not that there was anything wrong with that, but he really needed his father to take him seriously.

Harold rubbed at his face with cold, sweaty palms. He couldn't erase the images of Erart being dragged from his flat from his head. When Special Forces barged in, they had pinned Erart to the floor, searched his person briefly, and dragged him from the flat in his robe and slippers. They hadn't even given him a coat. Harold burst from the flat after him, attempting to stop them. He yelled at them and cursed at them and did many un-prince-like actions as he followed them down the stairs out of the residential building. They corralled Erart into one of two large humvees waiting outside - they were the only vehicles that would have been able to get through this blizzard. Of course his father would send them.

Special Forces had to physically hold him back from attempting to rip Erart from their grasp once they got outside. After they had managed to get Erart secured in the vehicle, they attempting to usher Harold into the other, informing him that he was safe and that he needn't worry any longer. He refused, standing boldly out in the snow, his feet cold and bare. He ordered them to let Erart go. He told them that this was all one big misunderstanding, but after standing outside of the building in the cold for fifteen minutes while Special Forces waited for him to enter the vehicle, he'd realized it was a lost cause. He knew his shouts and orders were falling on deaf ears. They even looked at him with pity and sympathy. They knew this was all wrong, but they were loyal to his father. It was out of their hands. They only followed orders.