what ten(nine)-year-olds do alone // open

[Mimi]

“If my virginity is such a precious gift, I think I’d rather hoard it to myself.”

Rian peremptorily set his arms over his chest, resolute in his decision as he sat cross-legged and tucked safely away in the little enclave at the royal garden’s edge. Tall, green hedges speckled with fragrant reds, whites, and blues hemmed them in from all sides save a small opening to Christian’s left where, occasionally, they could spy the sparse traffic of slippered feet shuffling past. The smell of roses and peonies wafted over on a gentle breeze, unnoticed by any of the three little men as they discussed life’s quandaries. They quieted down a moment as someone walked by – two ladies of the court murmuring and sporting lacy fans.

Darin sighed, leaning back against his elbows as he stared languidly at his master and playmate and then slowly over to the boy’s doppelganger sitting eagerly at the young heir’s side. A burning sensation began crawling across his skin, and he shifted on the dewy grass uncomfortably, shading his eyes against the pulsing sun. The lazy afternoon found the entire castle in a state of lethargy as the female servants fanned the king in the throne room and the ladies in waiting prepared a cool bath for the queen, and he couldn’t understand why Rian had insisted upon meeting outside today of all days. No one would’ve bothered them inside the castle; it was too hot.

“Virginity? What’s that? It sounds nice,” Christian quipped, inching closer to his brother as though the thing Rian was talking about was a physical manifestation that Christian could pick out with his eyes if only he sat a little bit closer…

“Why are we talking about this? And aren’t you two supposed to be having some lesson or other? Latin, I think.”

Darin straightened, giving both boys a disapproving glare. Heat waves made their images shiver and shift, but Rian’s determination remained unequivocal.

“Because. I want us to make a pact.”

“A pact,” Darin repeated, letting the word roll around his mouth as if that would help him see Rian’s underlying intentions.

“A pact,” Rian affirmed with a satisfied nod of the head.

“What’s a pact?” Christian interjected, his tongue lolling out in a rather dog-like fashion as he sat back on his haunches, and Darin imagined dog ears popping out of his head.

Rian pointedly ignored his younger brother, pushing Christian away with an irritated huff before focusing on Darin again. “A chastity pact.”

Darin did a momentary double take and gave Rian a dubious look. At first he thought he heard wrong. Then he remembered that this was Rian and gave an exasperated sigh. “That’s… impossible.”

“No, it is not.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

“Shut up. I own you.”

“His Highness owns me,” Darin corrected.

“No, you’re taking an oath of loyalty to me in a fortnight.”

“… I’m not doing it.”

“You have to because I command it.”

Darin sighed a third time, knowing he’d give in eventually because he always did and also aware that if he didn’t, the blond-haired brat before him had complete authority to behead him. There was a moment of silence; another breeze rustled through the overhanging leaves, and Darin thought about how good it felt against his dry skin.

“…Will you please return to your Latin lesson if I do? You know your father will punish you if you don’t. Remember last week?”

A dark shadow fell over Rian’s face, and he went rigid at the mention of the king. Darin almost felt bad for him.

“What? What happened last week?” Christian crawled over to Rian’s other side, intently staring.

“Shut up. Nothing happened. And yes, so let’s get on with it.”

Rian pulled a knife from seemingly nowhere and, before either bystander could protest, pressed the blade into his palm. Blood stained the handle as he pulled it away and dripped onto the grass like red-colored dew; he’d cut too deep. Christian gasped and lunged for the weapon, but Rian was too quick, and the younger boy landed in a patch of exposed dirt.

“Br-Br-Br-Brother! Wha-What are you doing!”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake, shut up, Christian!”

Rian casually tossed the knife to Darin who caught it deftly in his left hand but with a sharp intake of breath. “Careful!”

He grimaced looking at it. “This can’t be… sanitary.”

Before Rian could tell him twice, however, Darin pressed the blade likewise into his palm with a quiet gasp. Rian quickly stole it from Darin’s hand and pulled Christian forcefully up from his position still supine on the greens.

“N-N-Na—“

Rian jammed the blade into Christian’s palm, and the boy gave a sharp cry.

“O-O-Ow! Bro-Brother, th-th-that hurts ,” he whimpered, nearly crying but resisting because he knew Rian would beat him if he did.

“Shake,” Rian demanded, extending his bloody hand first out to Darin who dismally grasped it.

“I.”

Darin sighed.

“I,” Rian repeated forcefully, listening to Christian in the background as he nursed his wounded hand.

“I.”

“I, Darin Gaviston.”

“…Darin Gaviston.”

“I, Darin Gaviston.”

“…I already said ‘I’.”

“Just do it.”

“…I, Darin Gaviston.”

“Swear.”

“…Swear.”

“By the staked Reginien heads on the castle walls.”

“…”

“BY THE STAKED REGINIEN---“

“By the staked Reginien… heads on the castle walls.”

“That I.”

“That I.”

“Darin Gaviston.”

“Darin Gaviston… hurry up.”

“Will keep to the Silian male code of chastity and honor as set forth by His Highness the Crown Prince.”

“Will keep to the Silian male code of chastity and honor as set forth by His Highness the Crown Prince.”

Satisfied, Rian released Darin’s hand and moved onto Christian, a looming figure over the curled up body of the second-in-line. Darin rolled his eyes and wiped his dirty hand over his trousers, leaving in its wake a streak of dark red.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered, frowning as he listened to Christian’s stuttering attempt to emulate Rian’s bass voice.

Another five minutes later, Darin was leaning back into the grass again with Christian reciting the last few lines in a warbling, tremulous way that said he was going to burst into tears any minute and Rian practically yelling at him to “be a man”. That is, until –

“Shit! Go, go, go – someone’s coming!”

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