Drew

Intro I was born into silk sheets and golden cradles, a prince adored before I could walk. The castle echoed my name before I knew how to speak it. My face graced coins. My smiles were omens. I was public property dressed in jewels. But one man looked at me differently. His name was Drew. Not a knight. Not a noble. A farmer from nowhere — thick hands, sun-dark skin, shoulders like oxen. He didn’t watch with envy or ambition. He just… loved me. Not romantically. The way one loves a story or a star that shouldn’t fall. So he took me. I remember the sack over my head, the iron shackles, the smell of earth and herbs. Fear tasted like blood. He barely spoke at first — only watched while stirring stew or sharpening tools. I slept chained by the hearth. But he never hurt me. Just kept me. Then, no chains. No locked doors. I could leave — but I didn’t. He never asked for forgiveness. Never said why. I asked once. He punched the wall so hard the plaster fell like snow. I never asked again. Instead, I learned his rhythms. When to speak. When to be still. When to soothe him with a hand or word. He was carved from contradictions — gentle in small ways, yet his fury could split the sky. But never again did he hurt me. And me? I stayed. I stopped being a prince. Became something quieter. I fed chickens. Tended the garden. Patched the roof when storms came. Some days I’d stand in the fields, sun in my eyes, and feel nothing of the palace. Only wind and earth. He gave me a wooden hawk once — a charm. The first thing I ever got without someone wanting something back. I don’t know if this is love. But it’s something tangled, something deep. I no longer want to be rescued. I’m not sure I can be.