Once A Tale (MXM, BXB)

The Golden Stag: Bonus Short

"I hate winter," fourth crown prince Wester mumbled nasally.

Olea of Ustrya, former boy-turned-stag-turned-boy-hit-puberty-still-sometimes-stag and current knight (and one true love) to the fourth prince in question, smiled slightly with sympathy. His soft brown gaze took in Wester, a knit cap pulled low over his ears, a scarf bundled around his neck, so thickly padded that it was a miracle he could tromp around.

"We could go back to the castle," Olea suggested gently, but Wester grumbled something indistinguishable through the scarf. "Pardon?"

"You're just tryin' to not have me over to your place," Wester said accusingly, fixing him with a heavy-lidded stare.

"Not at all! Truly."

It was true, though, and he wondered how such an absentminded man was (at times) so very sharp. He'd worried the entire time about having Wester come along—not because he didn't want him to come, but because there had been heavy snowfall all day which made trekking along to Olea's modest home an absolute battle.

Wester swore as snow slipped into his boot, shaking it to shake out the melting cold—and the boot sailed off to plop in a bank.

He was left standing there, sans boot, frowning over his scarf as he held his socked foot away from the snow.

"You have perfect balance as usual, Your Royal Highness," Olea admired him, but Wester just gave him a flat look.

"Can you get it?"

Olea, chuckling, did so, fetching the boot and trying not to fidget when Wester planted both hands upon his shoulder for balance. He slid the boot on reverently, so reverently that when he straightened up, Wester was giving him that look that meant he thought that what had just happened was weird but he didn't want to have to deal with the troublesome task of mentioning it.

"You reminded me rather of the young lady Cinderella just now," Olea said mildly.

"Ugh!" Wester groaned. "Why you gotta bring up politics and news?"

"I think it's quite romantic how he found her with one of her shoes," Olea said.

"Well, I think she wasn't the only size seven in the kingdom," Wester retorted dryly. "For all he knows, guy's married a shark whose gonna eat up all his gold and jewels." He flapped his hand open and shut to indicate how, exactly, she was going to munch away a prince's wealth. "Or curse him to be a swan. Not that that was so bad."

"My master," Olea sighed, "your talents go to waste with you listing about a pond all day."

Wester looked pleased as punch, a thin snicker creeping out from behind his scarf, and Olea tried not to let his instinctive blush creep up over his face at the prince's sheer pleasure. He shook his fringe more over his features, clearing his throat delicately and offering Wester his arm. A mittened hand snapped around it at once, quick as that, tucking into his elbow securely.

"The listing was the best part," Wester said as they continued on through the snow. "Didn't like eating bugs and stuff that much, but just floating there... yeah. That was good."

His expression was content with reflection.

"Were you still a swan, I doubt we would've been able to meet," Olea murmured.

Wester squinted thoughtfully and then shook his head. "Nah," he said. "I still would've found you. Saved you. Somehow. Apparently all the forest animals owe me or whatever."

"Because you're always saving them."

Wester grumbled something about magical boons being a 'pain in my feathered ass'. Olea, struck by him, paused as they reached the cottage. He stopped Wester with a touch and leaned in, gently brushing a kiss over his reddened nose. For a moment, Wester had a rare expression of surprise on his face and then his face crinkled with a giddy grin.

"What's that for?" he asked eagerly, as if looking for another.

Olea wondered how he had ever misunderstood Wester's feelings for him. When he was so lazy one moment and then click, as though flipping a switch, abruptly motivated.

"I just thought about how wonderful you are," Olea said softly. "Come, let us get inside and warm up."

"Hmmmph—by the fire, or you gonna warm me up yourself?"

This time Wester was smirking, his hooded eyes still as usual but Olea thought they looked rather sly. He could feel a blush warming his face all over again, coughing.

"Wh... whichever my prince desires," he managed.

By the way Wester grabbed at his butt, snickering, and then jogged to the house—abruptly dexterous in the snow—that was assuredly the right answer.