Anything you desire, my sir // BYLER
part 1
A quiet knock woke William up, making him smudge his sleepy eyes. He yawned and sat up in his bed.
His room was luxurious to the point you could mistake him for a king. Walls with gorgeous tapestries of white and gold, massive bed with beige silk sheets, toys, so many art supplies any painter would kill to live here.
He walked to the door and opened. There he was. The beautiful boy with curly black hair, long nose and lashes thick like a pretty maiden. The palace’s jester. Will’s jester. “Good evening, my kind sir. I heard you were asking for me.”
It was another night of those when William ached to not feel lonely and locked away. Another one where he called for the jester just to see the stars in his eyes looking right at him.
“Yes, I needed a reference for a painting but I have run out of ideas. So I lingered in thought and realized why not paint the most brilliant entertainer of all?"
The jester’s name was Michael and even though the prince couldn't call him by his name, he would in the privacy of the night.
“That is very generous of you, my kind sir, how can I even accept such offer?”
“By staying in my corridors and letting me paint you, of course.”
The jester briefly blushed at the words and tucked a curl behind his ear. “Yes, my sir. May I come in?” The prince nodded and let him enter the room. Couple of paintings of Will’s were already there, up on the walls.
“Sit yourself on the chair,” Will gestured to a wooden hair with golden ornaments. Michael did as he was told. His brain on autopilot and his cheeks still in pink from the whole interaction.
William sat on the opposite of him, on his bigger and fully golden almost cradle like chair already with his brushes and paints ready. He smiled at the jester and began painting.
Slow steady strokes of color filled the canvas, eventually turning from lines to an image of a boy. He focused on each part of his face as if he was creating Michael from scratch. He was dear to William more than any other, but that was just power of close friendship, no?
“How was your day, Michael?” the prince asked. The jester almost fell off the chair as he heard his name. “Sir, you cannot call me that,” he whispered as if there wasn't enough air in his lungs to properly speak. “Michael, there's no one around and besides we both know you prefer to be called that by me, isn't that right?”
Moment of silence followed and then simple response came. “Anything you desire, my sir.” Simple, yet enough to rush blood into Williams cheeks and make him hide behind his canvas like a scared mouse. Michael still saw. William cleared his throat and spoke. “So how was your day, Michael?” he asked again.
“Good.” William looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Alright, it was dreadful. I despise dancing for your pig of father. He makes your mother so unhappy, the kingdom slowly starve and yet he keeps on forcing me to dance. I would rather see you on the throne.
The prince burst out laughing. “Never heard you speak of him that way. But I agree yes, I'd be a better king day or night.”
“Indeed you would, my sir.” “Please, when we’re alone don't bow down to their ways and just call me William.” “Alright..William.” The name sounded sweet on his tongue, like a melody he was specifically waiting to hear for so long. He tried to compose himself but his brush strokes got a little shaky.
“Hows the painting coming, my- I mean, William?” he squirmed in his seat. “Great. But Im afraid I'd have to keep you up all night to finish it.” “I would never mind doing such thing for a prince, keep on painting, please.”
So he did. Hours passed in the dark and he kept on adding such details, you would think the final product was a photograph or a mirror for this handsome young man. Each curl, freckle and wrinkle in their place.
By five in the morning the painting was all finished and Michaels jaw nearly hit the floor while he stared at a carbon copy of himself. “Wow..” he let out almost involuntarily. “My dear god, you've got such talent I haven't got words to describe..I..I love this work.”
I love you, ringed in Williams head. No, I don't.
“Thank you, it's yours to keep if you want, Michael.” “I would love to but it seems only right for the painter to display his work and anyway wouldn't it be too egoistical to hang a picture of mine? Perhaps I should hang up a painting of yours, William.”
“That would mean the world to me,” he let out without thinking. “Why would it?” The confusion in Michael's voice was evident. Awkward silence came and washed over them until William could even try to speak. “I appreciate you dearly as a friend, William. To be fully honest, you're my only.”
The jester blushed once more. “You're my only as well. I'm very glad to have such gentle soul in my life.” William had to try hard not to sob at such words. He held Michael deep in his soul like treasure, hoping friendship was the right box he would fit in.
“Thank you for your words. Its so late, the sun is getting up, my lord, I've kept you up all night! I apologize sincerely.”
“No need. Ill get some sleep now. Thank you for painting me and being so kind.” He walked to the door and disappeared in the darkness of the halls.
