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“So, are you actually going to give this one a chance, or are you going to finally stop being an idiot?” Steve asks, and Bucky can already feel his teeth grinding together. He doesn’t turn around, though, still staring out of the window to the gardens down below. They are in full bloom and he can see some gardeners at work, as they always are at this time of day.
He knows each of them by name, from old Mr Lee, the head gardener, right down to young Morales who was only hired a few weeks ago and mostly seems to run from one end of the garden to the other - leaping walls where necessary - taking messages. But as always, he only has eyes for one.
Steve is right to be annoyed; this is getting ridiculous. Bucky knows he’s being ridiculous. He sighs. It is written into the law that a person of royal blood may not marry a commoner. And he cannot place anyone in a position where they might fear to refuse him. There is no way for such a relationship to work. The differences in power between them are too great.
Clint is pushing a wheelbarrow between the lines of the roses. The day is hot and he must have been out there for hours, for he has already stripped to his shirt sleeves and the thin material, darned in places, is sticking to his back.
“You’re being a fool about this,” Steve says, as Bucky watches Clint lean down to pet the kitchen cat as she rubs against his legs.
“You say that as though you believe I’m unaware of the fact,” Bucky says, breaking his silence but unable to break his eyes away from what he cannot have.
“And yet you persist in doing nothing, insisting that you must follow the laws and you cannot impose, but you refuse to sever the connection either,” Steve crosses over to him and looks out. “Bucky, I’ve known you since we were too small to see out of this window. I’ve never seen you scared to act before.”
“I’m not scared,” Bucky says. He finally tears his eyes away from Clint to glare at Steve. “You know the law, and you know what the implications would be if I were to approach him.”
“I’ve never seen Clint do anything he didn’t want to,” Steve tells him. “I saw him in the stables the other day ready to punch a knight for kicking his dog. If he doesn’t want you, he won’t hesitate to refuse you. But I really don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”
“Maybe, but I can’t know for sure. I’d always be wondering if he just didn’t feel he could refuse,” Bucky says.
Steve sighs this time, long and hard.
“Prince Anthony is due any moment, Buck. Are you going to look at him, or continue with your heartstruck pining?”
“I’m not pining,” Bucky comments, but he looks back at Clint all the same.
Steve opens his mouth to respond, but the door to Bucky’s study swings open and the court herald steps in.
“His royal highness, Prince Anthony Stark of Bow Island,” the herald announces.
Bucky is loath to turn around, but he knows he must. Clint will still be there tomorrow - and the day after that. One day he might decide to quit the palace, but until that day Bucky will still have access to at least part of him.
“Prince Anthony,” Bucky says, smiling his clearest smile. “I was so glad you agreed to take tea with me. This is my good friend, as close as my brother, Lord Steven Rogers, earl of the South Marshlands.”
“Tony, please, Prince James” Prince Anthony announces. “Our countries are friends, and I would hope we would be, too.”
He is handsome; it seems that the portrait his parents had been sent was no lie, but Bucky does not consider that any great praise. In any case, no one ever quite manages to measure up to the face of the young gardener’s boy who had - not even knowing who Bucky was - offered him a rose so many years ago because he had seen that Bucky had been crying.
“Tony then,” Bucky says. “And there is no need to use my title either.”
“Better for the two of us to be honest with each other,” Tony says with a grin. “After all, I know my parents at least are hoping for a closer alliance.”
Bucky has had too many of these meetings for his wince to show, so he smiles politely.
At least Prince Anthony does not care for the stilted conversation that etiquette would insist upon. He talks quite freely, and that is a relief at least. But Bucky already knows this will not lead to marriage - for many reasons. He allows his mind to drift over to the vase of flowers that sits on the mantelpiece, refreshed every morning with flowers before he even awakes. Today it is filled with bright purple roses that remind him of Clint in the rose garden.
Prince Anthony must follow his gaze.
“Are those from your gardens?” Prince Anthony asks. “I noticed them as I arrived yesterday - the palace grounds are beautiful.”
“Yes,” Bucky says. “You should take a tour.”
“How about right now?” Prince Anthony says, springing to his feet. “If you and Lord Steven would be kind enough to be my guides.”
Bucky freezes, but before he can suggest another time - a time when Clint Barton will absolutely not be present in those gardens - Steve chimes in.
“We’d be honoured, your highness,” he says, and his smile may look polite, but Bucky can see the smug flash beneath the trained veneer of courtesy.
“Excellent!” Prince Anthony says, clapping his hands together.
*
Bucky's parents will be ecstatic that he is showing Prince Anthony such attention, Bucky knows. Steve knows that, too. When Bucky offers Prince Anthony his arm, he glances over at where Steve is standing, not even bothering to hide his amusement.
“I’ve never been much of a gardener,” Prince Anthony says. “I have no talent with living things. Give me a machine, and I can understand it, but give me a flower and… well, Lord Rhodes likes to say that I can make them wilt by looking at them. But I swear I will not look too hard at any of your blooms.”
“I’m sure you are not that bad,” Bucky says, as is expected.
Prince Anthony laughs, and it is a nice enough laugh, but Bucky can’t help but compare it to another laugh that may be rougher around the edges, but is more pleasing to his ear. Bucky grits his teeth and forces the thought away. Prince Anthony is perhaps a little more… enthusiastic than he had expected, but he seems perfectly nice. And there is no denying that the connection would be good for the country.
But he could never be dishonest with himself like that.
Steve must sense his discomfort and decides to be helpful for once, leaping into the conversational gap.
They pass through the gate into the rose garden and Bucky’s eyes find Clint immediately. His blond hair is almost black with sweat as he weeds at the roots of a rose bush, talking to it has he does so. Bucky can see the movement of his lips, and he wonders what Clint is whispering. His hands look gentle as he pats around the base of the plant, but his muscles are clear beneath the drenched fabric of his shirt.
He has grown a lot over the years. He is not the scrawny little boy he had been - orphaned and sold into an apprenticeship all that time ago. But the way he smiles at the rose is the same lopsided way he had smiled back then, and his eyes are older, yes, but just as kind.
Bucky has practically everything he could possibly want. And yet in that moment, he feels jealous of a rose.
He starts as he realises that both Steve and Prince Anthony are looking at him.
“Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts,” he tells them. Steve is glaring at him, probably for being rude. Although what did he expect when he agreed to this little venture? Prince Anthony looks over to the rose bush that Clint is working on.
“Oh, those are the roses from your study,” Prince Anthony says. “Oh, and your study must look out on these gardens.” The prince twists back to look at the palace. “What a lovely view.” He pulls away from Bucky to walk right over to where Clint is kneeling. Bucky takes a deep breath, as Prince Anthony looks down at the gardener. This will be a true test, he supposes. He has seen royalty who would treat gardeners as less than the manure they use to fertilise the plants. He darts his eyes over towards Steve, trying to convey that if Clint is in any way insulted or harmed by Prince Anthony, then he will be in serious trouble.
“Would you mind cutting me one of these?” Prince Anthony asks. Bucky lets out a breath.
Clint looks up at Prince Anthony, then his eyes dart over to Bucky for barely an instant before sliding away hurriedly.
“They’re the Prince’s roses… sir,” Clint says. Prince Anthony pauses, clearly not expecting that answer.
“The Prince’s?” he asks. Clint pauses and scratches at his neck.
“It’s a special type,” he says. “This bush was planted the day he was born.”
Bucky had told him that, a long time ago. He supposes it’s the kind of thing a gardener would remember.
“Ah, so I-”
“They’re the prince’s roses,” Clint says with a shrug as he stands up. He looks at Bucky, not Prince Anthony. “I have work to do.”
Bucky nods that he may leave and Clint strides away. Bucky winces, because he knows that was rude and if Prince Anthony protests then he will have to come up with a way of saving Clint’s job without offending the prince.
Instead of getting angry, Prince Anthony stares after Clint’s retreating back for a long moment, then turns to Bucky - and then to Steve.
“Ah,” he says, smiling slightly.
“My apologies,” Bucky says. “If you wish for a rose, then-”
“Oh no,” Prince Anthony says, smirking slightly as he holds up a hand to halt Bucky’s protests. “They are your roses, after all.”
“That was not… I’m sure that was not meant to offend.”
Prince Anthony smiles even wider.
“No need to worry, I understand exactly what was meant.” He smirks. “Thank you for our walk. But I really should go and prepare for dinner. Your highness. Lord Rogers,” He inclines his head to both of them, then strides off.
“This time it wasn’t me,” Bucky says as Steve crosses over to him.
“No,” Steve agrees thoughtfully.
“Can you check to make sure he really isn’t intending to… take offense?” Bucky says. Steve pats him on the shoulder.
“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure he doesn’t have your beloved fired.”
“Steve,” Bucky hisses, reaching out to try to smack at his friend, but Steve has already slipped out of reach, grinning broadly.
Bucky waits in the garden for a second, the rich scent of roses and fresh soil filling his nose. The gardens always smell the same, as if he could walk around a corner and go back in time to see himself, heartbroken over the death of his cat, hiding in the boughs of the old oak tree only to look up and see another boy staring down at him.
He shakes his head and crosses over to the bush of purple roses, pulling out his dagger to cut a bloom free. He spins it between his fingers for a long second, staring as the petals blur together into circles of colour, then slips it into his hat.
*
Darkness has fallen long before Clint dares slip out of his bed to the gardens.
Natasha is already waiting for him in full uniform. Ready to tell anyone who might ask that this is an entirely legitimate piece of midnight gardening that they are doing. And midnight wall-scaling.
He’s lucky that she indulges him in this. Although she does insist on having opinions.
“You could just be his mistress,” she says, as Clint cuts the flowers for tonight’s bouquet. “Plenty of kings have mistresses, and I think you’d be quite good at it.”
“‘M not pretty enough to be a mistress,” Clint points out.
“No one has to tell the prince that,” she replies.
“He’s marrying the Stark heir,” Clint says. “And that’s what he’s supposed to do.”
“And you could be his mistress,” Natasha repeats. “You could buy me a horse and a house in the country as a thank you for all the times I helped you with your hare-brained ideas.”
“I just want him to have something nice to look at,” Clint says and Natasha sighs. He knows it’s stupid, and he knows that the royal family have flowers placed all over the palace for them. He had been making up bouquets for the welcome banquet two days ago. But this is just for B- Prince James. And it’s from Clint. He tries to always take the prince’s favourite flowers. The ones he had loved as a child. So often he looks so serious and like he can’t remember how to smile properly, and it’s been worse recently. So Clint will give him flowers because carrots don’t make such nice bouquets and Clint doesn’t have much else to give.
“I know,” Natasha says.
They hurry over to the palace wall and Natasha cups her hands together as she crouches, as she’s done a hundred times, and boosts Clint right up onto the windowsill.
The window to Prince James’s study is easy to unlatch, and Clint can do it one handed now, opening the window, dragging himself in, without dropping even one flower from his other hand. When he had first done this, the bouquets had been far more sorry for themselves and Natasha had had to gather up the fallen blooms in the dark.
Clint slips off his muddy boots and tosses them down, then pads barefoot across the room to the vase on the mantelpiece, but as soon as he has a hand on it, someone coughs.
Clint freezes as he hears a tinderbox struck and an oil lamp is lit.
He recognises the faces immediately.
Lord Rogers and Prince Anthony are in the corner of the room, grinning.
Clint doesn’t even think, he just runs for the window.
Something grabs hold of him and he kicks out frantically. They’ll have him hanged for entering the prince’s chambers. They’ll think him a thief - or an assassin. He shouts out to warn Natasha, so she won’t be taken with him and struggles against Lord Rogers, whose arms hold him fast.
“Calm down,” Lord Rogers says. “We mean you no harm, Clint.”
“Then let go of me,” he says.
“All we wanted to do was discover the answer to a mystery,” Prince Anthony says, stepping forwards.
“I wasn’t stealing anything,” Clint protests.
“We know,” Lord Rogers tells him.
“I wasn’t going to hurt anyone,” Clint says.
“We know,” Lord Rogers repeats.
“But you are the person who leaves the flowers in the vase,” Prince Anthony says.
“What?”
Clint freezes as he hears Prince James’ voice and stops his struggling.
It’s all over now. There is no hope. He has been discovered, and he will be imprisoned or he will lose his job and his home and everything he has.
He raises his eyes to look at Prince James - still in his nightgown - and tries not to look anywhere other than his face. He holds another oil lamp in one hand and his sword in the other. It looks very sharp, glimmering in the golden candlelight.
“Clint?” he says. “Steve, what’s going on? Prince Anthony?”
“We solved the mystery of your secret flower giver,” Prince Anthony says, clapping his hands together. “Congratulations!”
“My…” Prince James blinks sleep out of his eyes and looks at Clint. “You’ve been… leaving flowers in my study.”
“Yes, sire,” Clint says, looking down at the floor to try desperately to stop his eyes from wandering. He’s never seen the prince so dishevelled before, at least not since he was grown. His hair is mussed from his pillows, and there are creases on his cheek, not to mention that his legs are bare beneath the nightgown.
“Steve, I think you can let go now,” Prince Anthony says, and Clint feels his arms released. He rubs at them.
“I can leave,” Clint says. “I don’t have much stuff, but if I could talk to Mr Lee first about-”
“Oh good grief!” Prince Anthony says, throwing his hands up in the air. “This is painful.” Clint shoots him a look, which the prince ignores. “I’ve only been here less than two days and the pining is already destroying my sanity. I can’t imagine how much worse it’s been for all the people who actually have to live with the pair of you.”
“It’s excruciating,” Lord Rogers says. Clint looks between the two of them.
“Steve,” Prince James says. “Prince Anthony, I appreciate your desire to-”
“Prince James,” Prince Anthony says, crossing over to where the prince stands. “Sorry, I know my mother will be terribly upset about it, but I really don’t think we should be married.”
“Uh…” Prince James says.
“Don’t worry, we can still make some trade agreements,” Prince Anthony says, waving a hand. “But nothing in this world could convince me to marry a man who is so clearly in love with his gardener. And I really think you should do something about it.”
“In love with…” Clint echoes.
“It’s not,” Prince James rushes forward and reaches out to Clint, halting his hand part way. “Do not feel obligated to make any sort of indication that you reciprocate.”
“He literally came in through your window to leave you flowers, Buck,” Lord Rogers says. Clint feels himself flush, his cheeks burning with it.
“Through the window?” Prince James asks.
“Uh… yeah,” Clint says, scratching at the back of his neck.
“Every night?” Prince James says, his hand reaching out the last distance to grasp Clint’s fingers.
“Yeah,” Clint says.
“So how about you talk to your mother tomorrow about changing that law,” Lord Rogers says, and Clint doesn’t know exactly what he means but he doesn’t really care, because Prince James is looking at him with a disbelieving smile.
“Why did you bring me flowers?” Prince James asks, and Clint shrugs. But then Prince James’s fingers are under his chin, tilting his face up so they are looking together, and they are so close that the prince’s eyes are huge and Clint’s not been this close to him since he was a dumb kid who didn’t understand the reason his stomach got all weird whenever Bucky was around. But you can’t be friends with a prince if you’re a gardener with no money and no title to your name. So things change.
The butterflies in his stomach have never gone away, though.
“Kinda thought that was obvious,” he says.
“I can’t order you to tell me,” the prince says, and Clint is dimly aware that Lord Rogers and Prince Anthony are leaving the room. He hopes they’re not going to get the guards. Natasha will probably help him sneak out, but he’d really prefer it if she didn’t have to.
“Pretty sure you could,” Clint tells him, giving a half smile, but Prince James just frowns.
“I won’t. But I would like to know, if you are willing to tell me.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Clint tells him, scuffing his sock against the thick rug. He’ll never get over how thick the rugs are in the castle. His feet sink right into them. And he’s standing on it in socks with his toes sticking out the end.
“It matters to me.”
“I guess a lot of people are in love with you,” Clint says. “You’ve always got those noble ladies hanging all over you.”
“A lot of people think they’re in love with a prince,” Prince James said. “I don’t think many are in love with me.”
“Then I guess maybe I’m special,” Clint tells him. “I never really cared about the prince bit, anyway. Not sure it makes much difference, except you can have me thrown in jail.”
“I’m not going to throw you in jail, Clint.” The prince is staring at him like Clint’s somehow said something really smart, when Clint knows the prince has been taught by some of the smartest people in the world. There’s no way anything Clint has to say can mean that much to him. But Prince James just keeps watching him like that. It makes Clint itch underneath his skin,
“You really love me?” the prince asks.
“Yeah,” Clint says. “Not like it’s difficult… your highness,” he adds, remembering all of a sudden that he is still talking to the prince. Even if the dim light and the nightshirt have left him
“It’s Bucky, Clint. We’ve known each other for years.” The prince - Bucky - pauses and smiles. “You know, Clint. It’s not difficult to love you, either,” he says, and Clint’s heart skips a beat. He never. He never in a million years thought… But Bucky is still talking and Clint can barely hear him over the roaring in his ears. “I think I fell in love with you when we were children. Steve’s been teasing me about it for years. But I didn’t want - I don’t want you to feel like you have to go along with anything. I’m not going to hurt you if you don’t want me.”
“How could I not want you?” Clint asks, and the question genuinely baffles him. The idea of anyone looking at Bucky and not wanting him is just impossible in his head. “Of course I want you. I just can’t have you, can I?” He shrugs. “I could be your mistress.” The words come out before he can quite censor them and the prince’s face goes slack.
“I think we can do better than that.” He leans in and Clint can feel the warmth of Bucky’s breath caressing his cheek.
“How?” Clint asks.
“We change the law.”
The flowers have been clutched in Clint’s hand this whole time, through fighting Lord Rogers and trying to escape. But as soon as Bucky’s lips touch his, they fall to the ground and he finds something else to hold on to.