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Amir tried to make it quick.
He plunged his sword into Rupert’s heart with a precision far beyond his age. Rupert had given him everything he’d ever been told he wanted. Everything he’d ever been told he needed—the throne, the kingdom, the victory. Amir could give Rupert nothing. He could do nothing but take his life and his future.
The blade made a horrifying squelch as it entered and exited Rupert’s flesh, yet it was only one singer in the most terrible choir Amir had ever heard. His wails, Rupert’s cry, and their fathers’ screams of triumph and defeat rammed against one another in a cacophony of despair.
As soon as the deed was done, Amir dove into the dirt. He couldn’t even catch Rupert’s head before it fell, hard and heavy, against the earth. That added failure filled him with shame. And rage. And a million other things he couldn’t describe. Rupert, his Rupert, deserved a more dignified death than this.
But no. All life and destiny would give him was a cruel competition and a patch of dirt.
“I’m sorry, Rupert,” Amir choked out, cradling him, holding him so tight he might strangle him to death first. Rupert’s blood soaked into Amir’s clothes and drenched his hands with red. “I’m so, so, sorry.”
His chest heaved, rejecting air as if rejecting the reality he had plunged them all into with one thrust of his sword. He gently stroked Rupert’s face, tears falling heavy and wet onto Rupert’s soft skin. Never again would they find such a safe place to land.
Rupert said nothing, could say nothing between gasping breaths. With all the strength he had left, he lifted a hand to Amir’s cheek. It was cold. Cold like a man already dead. Amir grabbed it desperately, holding it against his face as if it were his lifeline, as if he were dying.
Rupert’s thumb clumsily caressed his lips. He looked into Amir’s eyes for the last time, a look so strangled with the despair of death– yet so filled with care for the boy he was willing to die for.
And Amir understood.
How could he not have seen it sooner?
So there, in a cursed place inside of a cursed place, Amir whispered the words like a spell.
“I love you too, Rupert.”
As if it were finally satisfied, Rupert’s body went still. His breathing ceased, his hand went limp against Amir’s cheek.
And he was gone.
Someone was screaming. Their fathers, maybe. Perhaps their mothers. Perhaps everyone. And they should—the whole world should cease, every person and creature should lay down their arms and scream, scream for all it’s worth, because Rupert was dead.
Amir found he couldn’t make a sound.
For a moment that lasted both a second and a lifetime, he stayed there, clinging to Rupert, trying to absorb any love and strength he had left. Trying to give his own love and strength for wherever Rupert was headed.
Amir could only hope that wherever that was, it was peaceful.
He finally let go of Rupert’s hand. It slipped from his cheek, leaving a bloody print on his face. Gingerly, he lifted his body from the ground, ignoring the way his legs shook beneath him.
He walked past the trees of their fathers, past their sorrowful mothers, past his sword still slick with blood– and out of the Hollow. The air was not fresher, the world not brighter. Not even as the grass around their campsite made itself greener, as if it knew it was the last place Rupert had been happy. And loved.
Amir laid his body down there. Dandelions and daffodils and wild flowers of dozens of colors sprung up around him. Amir wished he could hear Rupert’s laugh, see his eyes revel in the pure goodness that this magic could wield.
A rustle in the woods ahead of him caused Amir to start. Porridge clicked happily, running over as best as his baby dragon legs could carry him. He didn’t wake to a better world, as Rupert had hoped. It was only after he tackled Amir that he noticed the blood that stained his skin. And he knew. He saw Rupert, surrounded by flowers and soaked with red, and the dragon knew.
Amir braced himself for attack.
But Porridge didn’t strike. His tongue, rough and warm, licked away the tear stains on Amir’s cheeks. He clicked sadly and curled around on Amir’s lap, head resting on his tail, gaze falling upon Rupert.
The dragon knew.
So Amir sat vigil with the dragon Rupert had convinced him to love. Porridge was a stabbing reminder of Rupert’s goodness, yet there was still comfort in his warmth. He was the only one who had ever known, seen, and loved Rupert like Amir had.
He bent over Porridge carefully, and planted a soft kiss on Rupert’s forehead. It would never be enough, but it would have to be. This is how it was fated to be. There could only be one prince.
And somehow, Amir would have to live with that.