The Atrocious Bard and The Little Princeling | Golden Guard X Reader

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The prince saw freedom, raw and wild. The rebel glimpsed a softer child.

- Passerine2007

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"Hey Hunter," you called out, sitting cross-legged on the soft, plush carpet and gazing blankly at the dusty old box spread out before you. 

The only response you received was a long-suffering sigh. You didn't even have to look up to see the familiar scowl tugging at his lips. You could hear it in his voice.

"What?" he grumbled flatly with his eyes never leaving the report on his worktable. 

He was leaning over it with his usual obsessive focus, his elbows propped on the desk, fingers curled into his hair, and forehead lightly pressed against his knuckles. You could tell by the slight crease in his brow that he'd been rereading the same line for the past ten minutes.

The wooden box sat heavily in your lap. You absently ran your fingers over the lid, tracing the faint scratches along the surface as if they were familiar lines on an old map. You opened it and took out the book inside.

You slowly turned a page. You must have read this a hundred times already. 

"The wilds grow cruel when the sun falls fast,
But I shall run with the fading light.
And though I may wander through shadows vast,
My heart will linger in the sight of white."

The last poem she ever wrote. Your mother. She loved writing poems. She was the one wo taught you how to be literate enough to speak your own poems. 

You leaned back on your hands and looked back at Hunter. You waited just long enough for him to think you might drop it before you spoke again.

"...Do you ever think about your parents?"

The soft scratching of his quill halted. His hand stilled mid-stroke and was frozen just above the parchment. 

The room suddenly felt too quiet.

"Why do you ask?" he muttered without turning around. His voice was guarded as if he were wary of where this conversation might lead.

You shrugged, trying to keep your tone light despite the heaviness of the topic. "I don't know. I guess I just wonder sometimes. We're always running around, doing this and that, but we don't really talk about... you know, family stuff."

Hunter was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the paper in front of him. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than usual. "I don't... have much to say. I never really knew my parents."

You leaned forward slightly and rested your elbows on your knees as you watched him. "Not at all?"

Hunter shook his head, still not looking at you. "No. Belos, he was the one who raised me. My real parents... they were gone before I could remember them. I was found by Emperor Belos, and he raised me since then."

"What is he like?" You asked, tilting your head slightly, your curiosity piqued even more. You knew the answer already. The public face of the Emperor, the so-called 'savior' of the Isles was common knowledge. But you were asking about Hunter's version of Belos. The only version that mattered.

Hunter frowned and his grip on the book tightened with the pages crinkling under his fingers. "Why are you even asking?" he replied defensively.

You didn't flinch at the bitterness in his tone or the sharpness in his words. You just waited. Patiently. Which was rare because you weren't known to be associated with the word patience.