The Tale

My papa did not like me. He called me his bastard son.

My Ma died when she gave birth to me... or so I have been informed. I miss her. Papa did not bother spending time with me and he would always tell me how ridiculous my hobbies were. I drew a lot when I still lived with Papa and he criticised my talent a lot. "Drawing is not for the royal," he would say, "just sit and look like you actually want to be here." But I did not want to be there and Papa could not understand that. I wanted Mama; Papa was too busy with his new wife who had already given him five children. I was unworthy, he said. Unworthy of the throne, misbehaved.

It was in the late summer of 1669, after my fourteenth birthday, that I decided I had had enough, so I ran. I ran with all my might in my brand new suit that I had just gotten for my birthday, and I did not care if it got dirty. I was bored of the place I had referred to as home for so long. Bored of Papa. I wished to find someone who could treat me the way I wanted to be treated. Never had I enjoyed much the luxury of being a prince, so I did not think about how I was giving that up as I ran off the premises. I wanted to be a boy "a real boy " and be able to draw whenever I wanted and however much I wanted to. I wanted people to appreciate my talent, unlike what Papa had done all those years, and to praise me for my hard work.

I remember running for hours. I could tell by how much the sun had shifted since I left Papa and the others. I wondered if anyone had noticed my disappearance but that worry was soon gone as I continued my travel in the real world.
Everything around me looked absolutely beautiful. The sunset only made my surroundings look much more amazing and I was already looking forward to waking up to dawn, to watch another day start anew.

And that was when I heard it.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a horse approaching, and on that horse sat the most beautiful gentilhomme I had ever seen. He had long, blonde hair down to his shoulders and wore a monotonous outfit: white undershirt with a black vest on top, tightly bound around his firm body. His brown cotton trousers fit his legs perfectly and created creases around his bulge. His boots, black, shone in the evening light. My heart raced at the sight of him.

"Bonsoir, monsieur," I had said, almost sounding too eager, confused by my suddenly heated face. He nodded at me in response, and revealed a nearly blinding smile.
"What are you doing out here on your own, son? It is late, should you not be with your family?"
Family. The word stung, even when it came from his pretty, luscious lips.
"I have no family," I told him, not feeling remorse at this partially white lie. "They died when I was just a newly born, monsieur." My heart ached at the thought of my dead mother. Though I had never met her in person, I had still known her, somehow. I had grown inside her womb and gotten familiar with her love to me from all the nights she had lain in bed, caressing the skin under which I lied. I began to miss her again.
"You look famished, boy!" exclaimed the stranger. "Let me get you something to eat."
I looked at him and grinned in reply, setting myself upon his horse. My hands wrapped around his broad waist and sweat lingered in my armpits. And then we rode off into the sunset, me and the golden man.

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Masterpieces

#1 - by Luz ♥️