A/N: To all my lovely Beans, Stars and Bakers, happy valentine's day. It's been nearly eight years since I've typed my first word here on Wattpad, and yet again this year, I spend it locked away in my ivory tower. The mind indulges in a world that doesn't exist. Romance is an interesting subject. It is at such a point in my life that I realize how apart of it I am from the very thing I write about. 

Still. 

Enjoy.

___________________

Prince Leroy,

     I've only ever written political letters to subjects residing in the embassies of other kingfoms. This would be my first attempt at a sentimental (or not) letter and I'm still not entirely sure what should go into this. For starters, I'd read several examples of historical letters sent in the past but they all seemed to involve some form of 'missing' the other.

     I must make this clear: I do not miss you. Neither do I wish to meet you any time sooner than five years later, should you still be alive (a mere possibility, considering the nature of your kingdom).

     Should you be curious, I've sent along with his letter a photograph of my training grounds. Having given your words some consideration, I have decided to take my combat lessons a little more seriously. Perhaps in some near future, we would duel on the top of a hill, at the setting of the sun, in the midsummer breeze.

Signed,

Vanilla Julian White

___________________

It was in the raging heat of August that the southern kingdom of fire and blades dispatched a group of informants on an intel mission to the north, riding through the tropics and cutting through forest and hills and mountainous regions rising above birch and pine and into the clouds above till they arrived at the peak of an arctic tundra—sheets of ice and the pale, silken nature of snow cloaking the land in a gentle hush.

The winds were still upon their arrival, quite as though the coldest of all biomes, having hindered the growth of trees and other greens of flowering nature, was now eager to welcome the only other spark of life that could, for all intents and purposes, warm the very tips of its fingers.

King Julian of the north had so graciously arranged for a pleasant reception to welcome even the informants of a rival kingdom but had, due to political and public reasons, restricted the matter to one of a smaller scale. Informants were, after all, usually sent for private and investigative reasons and therefore necessitated the exercise of restraint.

Vaughn Alekseyev, royal tutor to the once bright-eyed, bushy-tailed Prince Julian and current first advisor to the now grown-up, refined version of the latter, had been waiting at the front gates of the palace for more then fifteen minutes. Having checked his watch at least five times in the past two minutes and glanced over his shoulder to ensure the rest of the reception remained in their exact positions without a single strand of hair out of place, the advisor could not help but entertain the thought of cancelling the entire welcome ceremony.

"Has his majesty, the king received news of the south's timeless distaste for punctuality??" He'd turned to the master of the household standing at the bottom of the stairs behind him, expressing utmost displeasure for their current circumstance. "Yet again, they've exceeded his expectations of consistency."

"But Sir Alekseyev," whispered the master, a pair of binoculars to his eyes. "Surely you understand how eager his majesty awaits for news from the south?"

A little too well, unfortunately, thought Vaughn, tight-lipped and impatient.

Upon a gentle breeze, he caught the lingering scent of firewood; heated musk or molten tobacco, latching onto the back of his nose with the ability to sink any sailing ship and pull, with it, down to the depths of the ocean that was in flames.

"It's them, sir! They've arrived," said the lady clerk to the deputy master chief clerk of culinary operations, who had the fortune of possessing a better pair of binoculars than the master of household himself.

Vaughn was doing instant checks on everyone's attire all at once, sweeping hair aside, straightening ties and synching in aprons all whilst ensuring his waterfall of ash locks had been pulled neatly into a low ponytail behind his back. The last thing he expected to see was the southern king himself riding on the back of a non-fading, jet black stallion, leading the rest of his supposed informants... who all turned out to be part of his royal court.

"Those aren't informants," hissed Vaughn Alekseyev to himself, ignoring the master of household who'd attempted to correct his use of 'those' by repeating 'they, sir, they' under his breath. "This is absolutely ridiculous! Unheard of! Appalling!"

And just as the advisor was beginning to dub the start of his 'very bad day' a 'horrible morning', the supposed dispatch group came to a stop before the wondrous ice sculpture of Oscar Wilde's The Happy Prince and dismounted their horses. The barn clerk gestured at once for his staff to escort the stallions and mares.

"King Leroy," Vaughn did not bow. "Your majesty. I'm afraid there has been a fair bit of miscommunication and we have unfortunately prepared a small scale reception that would not have been thoroughly offending had we received the correct—"

"Where's Vanilla?"

AWAY!!!! AAAWWAAAAYYYY!!! Vaughn was not simply alarmed by the unwarranted, sudden appearance of the southern king—he was scandalized, horrified, attacked, gobsmacked into outer space and back. Away was his word for cancelling, for eliminating, for deleting a certain human being's existence from his universe.

The last he'd seen of King Leroy was when the latter was still a prince, young and fiery, charged with an energy that he continued to observe even now, crystallised in the intensity of a single flame—a candle.

At present, the child had grown into a fine young man twenty-one years of age, built offensively perfect and clad minimally in a royal cape for riding and inside, a mere dress shirt that had its top button shockingly undone. His pants and shoes weren't even proper for traversing the lands of a biome as harsh and merciless as the one they lived in. King Leroy was, overall, illegal in the kingdom.

"Hey, he asked you a question," General Xander Jaxon, chief guard of the south battalion stared straight into the eyes of poor Vaughn Alekseyev and looked just about offended that the latter was wasting his time thinking.

"He? You said," the northern advisor could feel the blood in his face drain. "Is that how you address your king?"

"He's a kid," was all Xander had to say before his King turned to him with the most appalling finger-gesture Vaughn had witnessed in his entire life. The chief guard had the gall to return this very gesture. They were joined by Sir Jeremiah Reyes, the only decent human being from the rival kingdom Vaughn could actually get along with, only because he understood the importance of being polite.

"Apologies for the short notice, Sir Alekseyev. I had intended to send a second correspondence before our departure but concerns of being intercepted have been rising as of late. The dispatch team had been a guise from the very start, and we couldn't risk bandits or rogues knowing of the king's absence or his exact whereabouts and travels. We are terribly sorry for the inconvenience. We can only hope this crate of freshly harvested black truffle will please you sufficiently. It is home-grown."

Leroy Cox was never known for having a bottomless pit of patience. For some reason, the king had expected to see his beloved pen pal the moment he'd dismounted his horse. "You talk. I'm going in."

All at once, the rest of the reception burst into a flurry of restless concern.

"Not so fast, you little—I mean," the advisor corrected himself just as the southern trio turned to him all at once, raised brows bearing an uncanny resemblance. "Your majesty. King Leroy, I'm afraid you'd have to be escorted to the drawing room. King Julian is currently occupied and having his condition monitored by the royal nurses. He'd arranged to have his monthly medical examination just today as, well, he certainly was not expecting your very presence. I'm sure he would have personally received you had he did but again, his majesty was unaware."

The double emphasis was necessary.

Even more so when a creature like Leroy Cox exercised no respect for rules, regulations or proper royal conduct expected from him. Candle eyes narrowed.

"He's ill?"

"Well," Vaughn was careful. "No. Not ill, no. His majesty has simply been rightfully concerned about his growing body, as should every other human being be. These monthly medical examinations ensure that he is in the pink of health."

"Okay." Cue the most underhanded head-start as King Leroy weaved his way past the tiny reception and up the front steps of the palace, striding past the double doors as though he owned the place.

Vaughn had been the first to react, attempting to chase after the chaotic flame whose riding cape, indeed, provided a much needed air of confidence attributed to every member of the royal family. The northern advisor was unfortunately stopped short by the head of butlers, who had much to say about the King's dirt-caked boots tarnishing the just-polished marble floors.

Jeremiah had sighed before reluctantly going after his king, merely acknowledging this as part of his job while chief guard Xander, tired of dealing with the 'kid's shit, headed off in the direction of the royal barn just to ensure the horses were doing alright in the climate.

This was only the start of a highly-anticipated, grandiose afternoon of snowflakes and candles.

=====================

King Leroy had just about asked more than three passing maids for directions to the northern king's quarters. He hadn't quite known if his childhood sweetheart had his medical examinations conducted in his bed chambers but he simply assumed that he did; and even if he didn't, then, well, he was going to wait in his quarters anyway.

"Where does he sleep?" A perfect question that often led to much enthusiastic pointing, which was a nicer word for 'scared shitless'. That was, strictly speaking, what the royal maids had felt the moment he'd approached them down an empty hallway. Somewhere far behind, the footsteps of Jeremiah Reyes and Vaughn Alekseyev could be heard. Legend says they can be heard till this very day, frantically searching for a lovesick king.

He came upon a room at the end of a quiet corridor of which had the luxury of long, arching doors and the company of hushed attendants—waiting on the King outside his quarters with baskets and what appeared to be medical robes and instruments. To think his quarters would look so unexpectedly disappointing after minutes of walking around the 'stupid-ass palace', or so termed by King Leroy himself.

Naturally, the maids were experiencing the shock of their lives at the sight of the southern king, flaming red in everything that he was, heat stemming from the fire in his eyes and the sizzle, the spark in his every step. They all curtsied, in a frenzy, before one of them managed to piece together some form of a greeting.

"Y-your hi—majesty, King Leroy, what is the—we were not informed of... we're, yes, terribly sorry for the poor lighting."

This was all said very carefully in the middle of bowed heads and torsos bent forward, all striking Leroy as the perfect opportunity to do exactly as he wished—heard straight past them and for the door. And by the time they'd dared peer up at him, the king was already opening the door and invading the northern palace's most private of quarters.

"Your majesty! King Julian is not appropriately dressed for an audience!"

And appropriately undressed he was.

Leroy had walked in on a bare, silken back of snow—shoulders so supple and smooth that he could almost feel the tips of his fingers gliding on top of them and wandering a little further but the rest of it had, indeed, been left to his imagination for as soon as he'd taken his time appreciating a sinful silhouette, the attendants of the head nurse had hurriedly slipped the king's robes back onto his shoulders. It had been a moment of disappointment, relieved only upon the turn of a head.

"Goodn—Leroy? I... I mean," this all required Julian some time to process. The eyeglasses sitting atop his nose hid an ocean of pleasant surprise; waves, joyful in a dance. "King Leroy. What... what on earth is going on? This is news. I wasn't expecting you at all and, well, had I been, I would have certainly called for a grander reception a-and perhaps even received you myself but this! This is certainly, quite, illegal. To be invading the private quarters of a king, let alone the governor of a rival kingdom, would be a declaration of w—"

This all provided Leroy sufficient time to cross the room and close the distance, going in for the kill. A deep, long one that he'd craved since perhaps the very third of their letters exchanged.

It had been an odd feeling indeed. To long for the physicality of words, written by another. An immensely bewildered King Julian had, in the midst of the frenzied festival, lost his ability to control his limbs, melting under the heat of lips he'd so unfortunately had in his thoughts for the longest time.

"Oh!" "Oh goodness gracious." "Dear heavens!" "Skies, this is madness."

The attendants, along with the head nurse who had been conducting the medical examination, were both startled and stunned into a fainting spell. They were instantly faced with a dilemma: to leave on the account of privacy or to fly, fly to the aid of an intruder—a criminal in the quarters of their king, holding the latter in his arms and seemingly filling every inch of him with the fire that he was.

And as though this couldn't possibly get any worse, the grand creator above struck upon Vaughn Alekseyev the most appalling of circumstances. This was exactly what he was made to walk in on.

"War!!" He'd exclaimed nearly at once, outraged and quaking in his boots. "War is to be declared!!" And removed himself from the room, the hallway, the palace, the kingdom, the continent, the lands, the universe; erased his very own existence within his creator's grasp.

Everyone had so coincidentally thought the same as they quietly slipped out of the room and closed the door behind them.

It was halfway through the kiss that King Leroy had decided upon the redundancy of eyeglasses and their purpose at a distance that was none. This was a moment more than intimate, more than anything physical. He removed the frames from the bridge of his partner's nose and deepened the contact, tilting his head for more and guiding, with his hands, the other into something hungry—easing him into a trap.

How madly clever King Julian must have been to retain his ability to count passing seconds, sane enough to be doing so after noticing that neither of them had been given the opportunity to breathe. In fact, by the time they'd actually rose up to the surface of drowning flames, Julian had about counted to thirty-two.

Teary-eyed and positively liquified by the sheer heat of the moment, King Julian was a royal mess. The criminal had left him with wet lips slightly apart, in which soft, dizzied pants escaped from and an occasional, sweetened sound would make a deadly combination to the one who had been doing the undoing.

"I..." Julian peered up at him. "I'm inclined to enforce a blanket ban on... on invading people's rooms and greeting them with something as illegal as what you just did." The very words seemed to summon upon himself the forces of karma as half the robes slid off his left shoulder in a timely manner and the knot at his torso came undone.

King Leroy had to laugh, removing his cloak in a single motion and dropping it to the floor, sliding his hands further down his partner's waist and pulling him in for the embrace he'd so longed for.

"That's how much you missed me?"

_____________________

"Kisses must certainly call for a grand improvement in one's vocabulary and thus translate into a godly level of writing."

-The creator of this universe

P.S. they had sex.

______________________

It was not to Leroy's pleasure that he discovered the duties of a real king with real responsibilities. King Julian had graciously turned down the rival king's delicious offer of an afternoon in bed, doing precisely what it was they had not been able to do through letters and words alone. To be declined access to an entire pool of glistening cool water in the midsummer was one thing for a thirsty candle but to be made to watch as this pool of water was spent on others he'd deemed unworthy—the countless political meetings, running on throughout the day, requests from town mayors and proposals left right center—was what he deemed to be the greatest torture of them all.

Even the south-eastern Prince Honeycutt from Leroy's neighbouring kingdom had been invited over for teatime with King Julian. An entire afternoon, wasted on talk about strawberries.

God, they could be fucking.

This, he'd expressed over a private dinner with the king himself, having spent an hour in the kitchen preparing their meal beforehand. At the very least, this favour had earned him a look of pleasant surprise and therefore put his partner in a mood for romance and openness to being impressed. Fortunately, Leroy was quite the expert in this.

"Beef stroganoff has never been on the menu for a reason, and although I quite like the dish myself, chefs have been precisely afraid of venturing anywhere near it! I suppose it is, indeed, the fear of higher expectations, in which they think I should have. Well, they aren't wrong. This is delicious—the spin you put on it, I believe it's a white wine sauce, a creamy one... I'd never have thought of something like that."

The southern king responded with a snort, digging into a plate of his own. "Yeah, had to keep myself busy since you had a schedule that didn't include an afternoon of sex."

Needless to say, Julian was appalled.

"King Leroy!" He'd put his utensils down in shock, ears turning a shy shade of pink. "You are unbelievable. Is it not common sense to you that a king should put his royal duties and matters of public concern before his own private desires? Not to mention, your appearance at my doorstep was simply unplanned! A rude invasion of... of my property and medical examination a-and my very first moment of intimacy."

Leroy looked up from his dinner at this, cracking an expression on his lips that was a cross between a smirk and a smile. "Private desires?"

The poor bundle of snow resorted to adjusting the eyeglasses sitting atop his nose and looking away at once. "I have an evening meeting with the town council to attend. Excuse me." He rose.

His partner wouldn't let him off. "Your council works past five?" It was, already, eight in the evening. "They need a break."

Already, Julian was fastening a Prussian blue cape around his shoulders with a brooch of the royal crest. Nonsense entered through his right ear and out from the left, in which he'd found himself oddly used to doing despite less than a day of a certain candle's company.

"Oh I wouldn't want to bore you with whatever important issues we might be discussing. Take your time with dinner and I'll have the master of the household show you to your room when the time comes." He'd said this all in a quipped and teasing manner, quite as though it was a challenge he'd presented to the southern king.

Knowing the idiot, he was bound to give in to the temptation of anything dangled before his eyes. Within minutes of finishing his dinner alone, he was up and searching for the king who'd left him for the back state room by the east hall. The pair of guards standing by did not spare him a glance or a single inch of movement while he stood in the open doorway, watching his partner immersed in discussion, deep in conversation.

The talk was about the planning state of the kingdom's mid-autumn festival in September, a month away. A celebrated night of lanterns and candles, floating across the grand lake that, for the mere week or so out of the entire year, would not be frozen. The lanterns would go up, into the sky, and some, made of water-repellent paper, would be selected to sail the waters.

This was no tradition. Something started by the current reigning crown mere six years ago could not be termed in such a manner.

"Halve the number of lanterns, your majesty?" They sounded fairly surprised.

"Yes, they cause much pollution."

"But just two years ago and from the very beginning of it all, you were calling for more of them in the sky!"

"Well, there is no longer a need for that," the king declared rather calmly. There was a look in his eyes that would make those listening to him begin to think.

What was he doing, years ago? Struggling to recover a throne that was his, having had his entire home burned to ashes, lit up in flames, hiding out in the wilderness from rogues and assassins out for his head, those who'd done the very same to his family...

He hadn't the slightest impressions where this was going, being the idiot he was. Leroy Cox was no professional at connecting the dots, no matter how seemingly proficient he was at figuring others out. Things were complicated, when it came to Vanilla Julian White, a certain snowflake—delicate on sight but complex up close.

The southern king was not aware of the lengths his rival had gone during the time they'd spent most apart in heart and mind; the two-year gap in the letters they'd exchanged, from when he'd stopped hearing about three-book-libraries and feel-bad-owls or dick-head-vultures, King Julian had in his ocean, harboured the hope of a candle—lit.

Sending lanterns up in the sky and candles down the river were his way of guiding the spirit home, placing his faith on the likeness of their own kind. Flame to flame.

This was not within his realm of knowledge. It had been to the credit of his royal tutor and advisor, Jeremiah Reyes, and chief guard, Xander Jaxon, that he was able to survive, return, and reclaim his rightful throne. King Julian had funded much of this process, through private means of northern ice-sculpting—complete with its immortal quality—and exchanging them for favours worth millions of gold. News of Leroy's health and being had been, to him, words of spring.

"That concludes the meeting," the bespectacled bean was rising before Leroy's tragic attention span could find its way back on track, leaving him fairly surprised at how he'd settled things within his council so swiftly and with minimal ill-sentiments. "Thank you all for coming, you are dismissed. Have a pleasant evening."

Kings were usually the first to leave or emerge from the room in which they were in but Julian was no ordinary member of royalty. He'd waited, just as he'd learnt from the older Prince Honeycutt, till his entire council had made their exit before gathering his scrolls and making a grand exit.

This was exactly where they ran into each other.

"Oh! Oh, I'd... I'd assumed you'd be resting by now, in your quarters."

Leroy took one look at the pile of scrolls in the other's arms and lightened his load by removing half of it. "But no one's showed me where I'm sleeping tonight just yet," he seemed to be teasing, glancing sideways at his companion with a wink. He then stopped short, leaning against a marble pillar that marked the start of the hallway leading to the northern king's private chambers.

The little ball of snow, unable to defend himself against the countless advances of a raging flame, resorted to shy glances over his shoulder, past the royal cape around his shoulders. "Goodness, what an idiot. Weren't you the one who showed yourself the very way this afternoon? Head there. And hand me the scrolls, I have to be returning them to the library. We... We shall convene at midnight."

*

It was over a grand total of two-and-a-half-days in the north that the leaders of rival kingdoms saw the plateauing of their understanding of one another in a sense that, well, they simply had nothing more to say to one another apart from 'let's fuck' and 'you are unbelievable'.

Indeed, the medium of letters and written words never saw the potential of two partners in exchange becoming so oddly in sync. It felt quite as though they'd grown up together in the very same household, spending afternoons in the neighbourhood playground by the seesaw, on the swings.

"Winner gets to decide what's for dinner?" said the candle to the flake, a playful spark in his eye as they made their way uphill with their duelling rapiers for the second time in two days. It was their spar. Their dance.

"I don't plan on having braised chicken, chicken soup or French-boned chicken legs for dinner all at once, so."

Leroy was reaching for his forehead within a second of his hearing this, but the northern king had anticipated this and shied away at once, hours of combat lessons finally coming into handy.

"Winner takes all. You're having braised chicken for dinner the rest of your life," said the taller of the two rather lightly, passing it off as part of their daily banter. The kind of joke that he'd always wanted to make in the presence of his childhood sweetheart.

The response he received in return was one he had not anticipated in the slightest.

"I would not dislike that."

So this

"As long as it isn't the only thing on the table, then, well, I suppose I wouldn't mind it at all," said Julian as he turned to his companion, peering up at him as they arrived at the top of the hill—breeze in their capes; on the ends of their hair. Quiet.

The setting of the sun was never something so fearfully loud and awfully unromantic for the sheer number of roles it has played in every tale of love and magic, found often in books for the young and naïve. Yet here it was, thundering in the minds of two as each began to realize the weight of those words and what they'd truly meant.

is love

King Leroy had been the first to come to, searching downcast eyes of anxious waves, rolling in the thunderous storm.

"The rest of your life?" He repeated, laughing shortly in disbelief. He had to be sure... after all, this was no passing banter or temporary arrangement.

"Yes," rejoined his companioned with a nervous gaze that seemed, oddly enough, characteristic of a walking dictionary full of confident knowledge. "The rest of our lives."

"You're proposing."

"Yes."

"Marriage?"

"Y-yes of course, what else could I be proposing? A chess match?" Julian was flustered and the dust of pink on his cheeks wasn't enough to prove all that since, well, he could also very well be just... cold in the breeze. "I understand this is very sudden for you and, fear not, I am not expecting an immediate answer—"

"No."

They were kings; of rival kingdoms, different in every aspect of governance, social hierarchy, citizenship, weather, climate, people, and heart. One, so deeply lodged in a cycle of combat and war, so used to bloodshed and loss; the other, placing peace and stability before anything else, so used to solving issues in mere minutes of words and discussion, sharing the hunger for knowledge and truth.

King Leroy was not making this decision based on that. For all intents and purposes, the very existence of the person before him was the reason for his own. Should this have been a union between him and him, he would have, without a doubt or a flickering of his candle, swam in foreign waters—dark and deep.

Yet, the implications of unity bore a weight much heavier than the mere words of a proposal. This was no him and him; this was thousand to thousand, millions to millions. Two kingdoms into one.

"No?" Julian could not imagine what the expression on his face was at this very moment. "That's... w-well I certainly wasn't expecting such a... a decisive word but also, I. I mean, I..."

"We don't have the best relationship with every other kingdom like you do."

"Believe me, I've taken that into account. This includes all the wars you've fought, won, and lost, the one's you're currently in—a cold one, but a war, nonetheless—and the seventy-three future possibilities of hostile progressions I've calculated three years ago on your birthday, writing you that letter. I know what I'm doing, Leroy Cox."

He'd made him smile then. It was endearing, the way he spoke without realizing all the vulnerabilities he revealed in a single sentence. The candle leaned close, gently holding the sides of his companion's face and bringing their foreheads together in a moment of warmth.

"And you've been thinking about this for...?"

"Oh, not long," the snow could play. "Just four or five years."

This made for some quiet laughter that lasted for a moment or two before settling on a branch of a nearby tree. Frost.

"It's going to mess with your dynamics." He warned. "You know how many enemies I have."

Julian took the liberty to list a couple more. "And your civil problems. Poorly planned finances. Sub-par education. Frightening climate. Ghastly cuisine." Just for extra measure.

Leroy did not hesitate in rolling his eyes and showing him a gesture of indecency, as he so often did. "Got it all from my dad."

"It's not easy, inheriting any throne," his companion admitted on a note of objectivity, fiddling with the royal ruby brooch on Leroy's cape. "And yes, we've always been peaceful and rational in our decisions but look at me, breaking that status quo and setting my eyes on someone like yourself. I suppose it wouldn't hurt you to do the same? Make a rational decision for once—have yourself a favourable ally."

So this

The flame flickered once, fazed by the biting wind of an icy tundra, strengthened by their being on the top of a hill. He searched the waters for a sign of meaning but there was none and his candle flickered no more. King Leroy stepped back.

"I don't need you as an ally."

Those words would have offended any leader of a kingdom, any crown or throne; it was the kind of blade that no man clad in steel armour, beggar or king, could withstand and Vanilla Julian White was no exception. Rejection was hard and

Hardened he did, for the frost on the branches of the tree soon sharpened their nature and, turning into icicles of despair, crystalized into a harsh baring of fangs.

"Well then, forgive me for asking."

"Vanilla—"

"Your horses don't do very well in our climate. I reckon it's time for them to return home."

is love

How frightening it was, the sound of a breaking heart. King Julian realized then that it was no children's tale of love and magic, whatever book it was he existed in. They had been wrong about the shattering of glass, the smashing of windows or in his case, the cracking of ice.

It was a sound so soft that, had one not been listening for, would have missed it entirely. Julian himself thought that even if he had been looking out for something as foolish and magical as the sound he was hearing inside, he wouldn't have caught its timely entrance at all.

The sound of falling snow.

So this

King Leroy heard the sound of a candle going out and it was not a sound he liked. In the darkness, he stared. How lonely it was without a flame and how still the air had turned, stale and musty nearly at once. Alone, it smelled of hot wax and the remnants of a flame gone out; mere wafts of smoke he so desperately tried to hold on to before its disappearance.

They parted ways.

The northern king leaving first, past the palace gates and up the grand staircase, down an icy hallway and right into his private chambers, all whilst ordering a stunned and disbelieving Vaughn who'd received him at the door to send their southern guests home at once—and that a new law must be seen enforced by the end of the day; a ban on burning candles in the entire kingdom.

is love.

____________________

Dear Diary,

     What an awful evening I am having. The season is biting and I never did recall a winter so harsh and cold. They've come up with something to replace the lights. They're electrical now, or so it appears. They give off a glow without the natural side effects of heat. I can't say I'm surprised, you see. This is, after all, a kingdom of books and brains. Scientific discoveries of the luminous property of algae would certainly be within our field of expertise.

     Still, I don't remember it being this cold.

     It has been a while since I've last seen a burning flame.

Yours Sincerely,

V. J. White

______________________

Hey

     He banned candles? I'm getting Jeremiah to ship over a thousand tomorrow so look out for them.

     I would ban snow if I could but it's too hot here. Don't tell him about the pirates. We got them covered.

Leroy

___________________

Dear King Leroy of the South,

     His majesty will not receive the candles. I have ordered for them to be returned to their original lands and shall you once again refuse to cooperate, I will not hesitate to send them straight to Skull Island where your candles may act as reclaimed land.

     Regarding the pirates, I'm afraid our informants are far superior in every aspect unthinkable. They are skilled and highly intelligent, which would therefore mean that his majesty has been informed of every situation across lands and seas alike. If your majesty, King Leroy, should have the time and resources to be fighting against troublemakers at sea for five months, I suppose you wouldn't mind losing your thousand or so candles elsewhere.

     Do not reply. Do not reply.

Regards,

Sir Vaughn Alekseyev

First Advisor to King Julian of the North

_______________________

Dear Diary,

     Midsummer rings a bell. There is something about the trees bending in the wind that makes it so hard to concentrate in combat practice. The winds are odd and they smell of iron and anger. I have returned to the book I dared not complete at the age of fifteen. It is a series of three and there is a sparrow, an eagle, a vulture and an owl. I'm not quite sure if you know what I'm talking about.

     I have been re-reading it. And I'll tell you if I get to the end.

     I find it rather difficult to be reading in the moonlight. It has thus been necessary to shift reading time forward before the setting of the sun. Reading in the dark is, after all, harmful to the eyes. 

Yours Sincerely,

V. J. White

________________________

Tell me how he reads at night without a candle.

     Even for him, it's impossible. You're not going to let him ruin his eyes further than he's already ruined them. Take the candles.

     I'm writing with my right because my left is in a cast. The words are surprisingly legible. He taught me that word.

     The rogues were tough. But our neighbours made friends with them. Now we're kinda friends. Two wars down.

     Tell him to wait for me.

L.

__________________________

Dear King Leroy of the South,

Do not be foolish.

Sir Vaughn Alekseyev,

First Advisor to King Julian of the North

P.S. The candles are on Skull Island, you dimwit.

________________________

Dear Diary,

     The iron in the air grows by the day. I smell it at the stables and at the top of the hill; in the kitchen and the dining; before I sleep and the moment I wake.

     It is awful. I fear the worst.

     Yet, what could possibly be worse than the presence of a burning candle? Perhaps

     I do not know the word.

     I shall write to the advisor.

__________________

Dear Sir Jeremiah Reyes of the South,

     I hope your kingdom is doing well. I unfortunately understand that it isn't.

     The wars have taken a toll on your economy and thus, a toll on your people. I do not interfere with trivial matters of no importance, so you may understand the weight of this letter I am writing to you and your kingdom.

     It is unfortunate that I cannot beg you to stop this at once. The truth is clear; I do not wish for you to be on the losing end. And while the romantic historians may so cleverly claim all sides in a war to be the vanquished, I assure you that is nonsense.

     Do not relinquish a foot of land; no matter how parched, how barren and dry it is in that horrid climate of yours—you are to return victorious. Do you understand?

     You must win.

     You must.

Sincerely,

King Julian of the North

______________________

Vaughn,

Your king misses my king. If it isn't any more obvious than it has been for the past three years, then you need to wake the fuck up. I'm not going to be polite about this. I almost gave in to the sweet temptation of death earlier this morning but thanks to your stupid snow queen's order, I did not. Also because the enemy missed my vitals. He was clearly an amateur.

Un-ban the candles and your life will be easy. My king has been eating braised chicken every night for nearly five months and we're all going insane from chicken.

The war is almost over. I can feel it.

Jeremiah Reyes

P.S. He's still waiting for it to snow down South so he can ban the fucking weather.

_____________________

Reyes,

     I have personally never understood how you were a part of your kingdom but with this letter, I now do. You are as insane as your fellow men.

     Fortunately for myself, his majesty has retained his rational and professional self and experiences no such emotion as 'missing' another human being. You are clearly mistaken.

     I am delighted to hear that your fourth (or was it fifth?) war is coming to an end, or so you feel that it is. How cruel of your enemy to miss your vitals and spare your sad life, robbing you of your will to die.

     His majesty King Julian has not been as foolish as your king who eats braised chicken for dinner every night. We, up north, are given a vast variety: chicken soup, French-boned chicken, fried chicken—three ways, grilled chicken, and yes, sometimes, braised chicken as well. You see, Reyes. Our king clearly does not give a damn about your miserable leader who thinks snow crystals can form in a tropical climate like yours.

     Good day.

Sir Vaughn Alekseyev,

First Advisor to King Julian of the North.

________________________

Hey

It snowed.

L.

P.S. I banned it.

_________________________

Dear King Leroy,

     News of your numerous victories have travelled thus far up north. To banish the weather mother nature has blessed you with is the silliest thing any king would have done. Five years and you have not changed. What an idiot you are.

     My advisor has been providing immediate updates of your kingdom since the past couple of months for some odd reason, and from the information that he has gathered and the changing impressions of other kingdoms towards the south, I have come to understand what you'd meant by those words you'd said on the hill that midsummer afternoon.

     Perhaps you'd like to read to me the final page of the book I love. Until now, I have yet to summon the courage to turn it.

Yours Sincerely,

V. J. White

P.S. I think you'll be pleased to know that we've now un-banned candles. It appears that I, too, am guilty of the flaw that is foolishness. Do you still love me?

Come if you do.

_______________________

The smell of iron in the air had been replaced by the sweet fragrance of summer berries, low-hanging fruit dangling off the branches of the lone tree that stood at the top of the hill by the northern king's palace. Clouds rolled above a purple sun—a grand mix of red and blue, fire and ice.

King Julian had felt the impact of a third berry from above on the very center of his head but had been far too engrossed in his re-reading of sparrows and eagles and vultures that he hadn't noticed the setting of the sun and the vanishing of natural light, that which he had been relying on for the past couple of years for his reading. So be it! He needed no light. It hadn't been long since the candles were unbanned, either way, so it wasn't like he could order one to be fetched right away—

"You sure about that?"

Five years was a very long time, let alone a time between two existences who could never seem to forget the other no matter how hard they tried and without a single word exchanged. No letters like before. No waiting. No writing back.

Just thoughts.

How incredibly handsome Leroy had aged at twenty-six that, even with a dark eye-patch that had nearly half of his face covered, Julian could tell how absolutely charmed anyone would be in a single glance.

He'd closed his book at once and straightened up, hand on the hilt of the sword by his hip. "Ah. An intruder. Remind me why I haven't enforced a blanket ban on whatever it is you love doing."

King Leroy laughed, playing with a sword of his own, mirroring his companion. Closing the distance. "Because you love me?"

"Wow. How clever." He unsheathed his duelling rapier and in a longing, heated gaze, met the eyes of the southern king.

The latter himself had something of a glistening summer ocean in his eyes, reflecting the warmth of a light that had once been a candle, alone in the dark.

"Let's dance?"

And so they did; duelling at the top of a hill, at the setting of the sun, in the midsummer breeze.

Dancing

in the dark.

______________________________

A/N: After all, what is a Cuppie story without tears and angst and heart-wrenching pain? Ah, I've missed this tremendously. I really do miss writing Flight School. If you're still here, Stars, I am simply waiting for a new moon. I'll return very soon. For now, I am floating elsewhere. 

Thank you for spending a part of your day reading this. It's always brought me that little bit of company, knowing that I'm spending it writing for people who have an eternal relationship with words, the very thing I spend every holiday holed up in.

Cheers!

-Cuppie