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Chapter Text

Foolish fidgeted before the large standing mirror, pulling at his white cuffs in an uncomfortable motion. Soft, warm light splashed onto his golden skin from the window to his left, the orange rays making his green eyes glow as if burning. His dressware was pristine and proper, his too-many-piece suit sleek and slim. He looked like any other noble boy, clean shaven and unoriginal.

It killed him to dress like this. He hated suits, hated how his long hair was tugged into places that made his scalp ache for hours after he let it down. Mother would call him picky whilst Father called him petulant.

“Foolish, dear,” his Mother scolded, appearing out of nowhere to reap her habits of fussing. She pulled at the long black hair that swirled down his back, Foolish’s entire head jerked with the force of her tug. Swallowing a wince, he cleared his expression as best he could and watched the noblewoman’s expression through the mirror.

“This simply cannot do,” she huffed, pink folding fan flapping a furious pace beside her makeup-caked face. If Foolish had the guts to do so, he would’ve told her she looked worse than those travelling clowns. “Alyssa, get someone in here to tame this unruly mess.”

Mother’s personal maid, Alyssa, bowed by the door and slipped through the large white and gold trimmed doors. The entire room was this colour; a peachy white with real gold lathered over it in hopes that people would recognise the family’s wealth. Many noblepeople’s houses were like this – tediously overdecorated with riches on the off-chance someone might visit, stuffy and filled with overworked, stressed maids and butlers.

Foolish blinked at himself in the mirror, green staring through green. Mother was a pale woman, eyes a dull brown, pink dress just barely a pretty contrast with her dozy blonde hair. It did not take a genius to look at Foolish and then his so-called ‘Mother’ and realise there was something amiss. Some rumours had circulated at first, though all had been cleared up when Father came out with the news of his adoption.

The sole remnant of his real parents had been killed by his adoptive parents’ carriage. He’d been seven – old enough to know Papa wasn’t coming back and that Mama was all he had. He’d raced ahead, bouncing over the dirt path as any child would. Mama had followed after him, just a few seconds too slow to avoid the bumbling gold-rimmed carriage that slammed into her.

The visage of Mama crumpling, arm bent the wrong way, blood dripping from her mouth, would always haunt him.

The nobles – the Iris Family – had been more appalled by the fact nearly the entire neighbouring village had seen the atrocity. To keep things calm, they’d adopted him (his presence merely a sacrificial lamb he was sure was either getting kicked out or sold off into marriage).

Mother was tutting to herself, fan a blur at her face. Foolish wanted to tell her that she was going to gouge an eye out if she kept waving the pointed end so close to her eyes, although a part of him wanted to see what would happen if she did.

“I’m going to check on Albert,” she informed, one hand tugging at her large dress and pulling herself away. Nobles hadn’t quite gotten the realisation that they didn’t need to wear around six layers of clothing to recline, or around eight to go anywhere, but Foolish couldn’t deny living in somewhat decent quality was nicer than being a peasant.

The Iris Family were not extremely wealthy, but they were not poor. Sir Albert – his Father – had went on a hushed gambling spree when he’d inherited the estate upon his late father’s passing. Mother, Rosetta, did not seem to mind the fact that he had done so, but continually cut costs and ordered for some things to be cheaper in order to keep more money. She always sat at her small desk in her study and pouted that he was spending too much money, to Foolish, who in fact did not even have an allowance.

“Be good for Alexia,” Mother snipped, before plopping through the double doors and vanishing. Alyssa, head bent low, turned and scurried after her, plain grey servant dress wilting beyond the gold doors.

Foolish sighed at his visage, pulling at his hair. He’d kept it in good condition, the long black locks swirling to his mid-back. For his six foot five structure, that meant not only was he taller than most people, but his hair was proportionate and thus was extremely long. Father had expressed distaste at it before, but it could not be denied that having long, well-maintained hair was a sign of wealth and high status.

The Iris Family would take anything they could get.

A red haired woman with a name social standards called to be fit only for a noblewoman hurried into the room. She was ill-tempered and held a strong disdain for everything and anything that was related to him. Foolish was sure she would’ve transferred to tending to just Mother, but the shortages in staffing meant she was forced to tend to all three noblemembers.

“Don’t move,” she growled, forehead stained with creases despite her young age. Pulling a bobby pin from the apron pocket, she began poking and prodding his hair into a bun. To find a pauper with a name only suitable for a noble was usually considered a death promise for that pauper, or even then a sign that they could not be trusted. The nobles feared anything that could dispute their power, corruption and greed rife through the Capital.

Foolish believed the law to be silly, though he could not state as such. Anyone who spoke against what the nobles wanted was considered a perpetrator of treason and promptly hung. He may be a noblemember but the Iris Family weren’t high enough up in the social ladder that their faults or grievous actions could be so easily swept away.

After a bit of tugging and some sharp pins prodding him, his hair was up. Alexia was a good hairstylist, that he could give her. His long hair was pulled back, braided at both sides and tucked up in a stylish bun where the two plaits met. Any extra hair was tucked into two strands on either side of the bun, giving off the appearance that it was for show and not because Foolish had too much hair to properly shove in a bun.

“Don’t mess that up,” the woman scowled before speeding off.

“I won’t,” he assured an empty room, strolling over to sit by the window on the ledge seat. His room overlooked the gardens where the imported yellow tulips and fresh petunias had been replanted (a waste of money, as they were soon to die - no flowers ever survived in Lutivon aside from an unknown red species). What remained of the hedges was barely tamed by old Mr Higgins, the sole gardener; a frail man who had been brought on to replace an even older Mr Kelpin, who had died in the very gardens he had worked in naught five years ago. The sight of bright flowers and browning hedges could’ve been nice. Perhaps, if the sun actually broke through clouds and shone down on the small town the Iris Family lorded over. It was as though the gods themselves knew that the town was as dirty as its noble family and decided to not part the grey clouds that hung over it.

Today was no different a day. The clouds loomed over the area, a light grey colour that was just as menacing as those dark storm clouds were. Foolish wasn’t sure if he believed in the gods, but the Empress did, and that was all that mattered. In the Empire of Hiel, the Empress’ word was final.

“Foolish!” screeched Mother. “We’re leaving!”

Jumping from his seat, Foolish pulled at his golden waistcoat, checking his black suit with embroidered gold thread spun throughout was sitting neatly on him. It accentuated his shoulders and made his jaw seem stronger, something his parents hoped would help him find a woman to marry at the Ball.

On this day, every year, there was the Autumn Ball. It was designed to celebrate the transition from summer to autumn, although it had become as much a stuffy social event as the others. All nobles were invited to this, unlike some others where only higher-class nobles were invited, and thus many saw it as a chance to grab a higher social standing. Therefore, in recent years, the Ball had become more of a ‘who can I have a dance with that could ensure I get more money’ and less of ‘let’s celebrate the changing of seasons and be happy’. Mother herself was particularly insistent that Foolish had to dance with as many noblewomen as possible, to ensure he found a wife of suitable standing.

Striding down the old stairs, made entirely out of fake marble, Foolish bounced into the courtyard. His parents were already in the black carriage, so he stepped over and climbed in, shutting the door behind himself. The rider whipped the chestnut mare and they were off, Foolish dropping down beside his Mother.

The ride was lengthy and boring. Foolish watched the shrubbery of the town give way to a countryside lane before a cobble path became evident in the clattering of the carriage wheels. Hedges turned to flower bushes, boring fields and trees became the large gardens of Aerdon – this year’s host for the Ball. Aerdon was a bustling city, though its reigning noble family held an estate just outside of the hustle of the city, large white stone walls imitating a palace as they stretched upwards.

Beside him, Mother twitched. She hated seeing other nobles’ seemingly unending wealth, calling it a pet peeve of hers. Foolish and anyone with half a brain, knew it was simply her being jealous of what she did not have.

Circling the courtyard, the rider pulled the carriage around the large fountain in the centre of the yard and stopped it by the large dark oak doors. There was a moment as the rider jumped off the front seat and raced to open the door to give Mother a hand down where Father shot him a most magnificent glare.

“Ensure you find someone to dance with,” threatened the man, voice gruff. His navy suit matched with Mother’s dress by way of the pink petunia sitting in his front pocket.

“Of course, Father,” Foolish nodded, head bowing as Father rose from his seat and followed after Mother. Foolish was left, the rider staring at him in an almost pitying manner.

Foolish knew no one pitied the rich. Stepping down to hurry after his parents to ensure the guard by the door permitted him access, he threw a gold coin at the rider, waving him off.

“Park it somewhere clean, if you would, Hars.”

“’Course, sir.”

“Iris,” he said to the guard with a red coattailed coat and a sword on his hip by the door. His entirely red outfit was the trademark of the Averdon’s noblefamily, the Tialis. Foolish knew of a dead mother and a stern father, Samuel Awe, and a lone daughter, Nihachu. No doubt, Mother wanted him to worm into a dance with the Duke’s daughter.

The guard permitted him entry, waving him on. Foolish stepped into the estate house, appreciative of the marble floors and white stone walls. The family servants had decorated the entire place in red loops, adorning the foyer in a creative, party-like way. Walking to the main room, Foolish cast his eyes over the tapestries lining the walls, taking in the stoic faces of the Tialis’ ancestors as they fought battles and won wars under the previous kingdoms' kings, dressed in soldier's garb. More recent were the paintings of them fighting under the Empire's hand; with Sir Awe fighting in the flesh, standing alongside a swathe of darkness that could only be the Crown Prince of the Empire, who hefted a gleaming sword at the enemy and led the charge. After those paintings, Sir Awe was depicted as taking the chair of a noble, bringing his family's long line to glory at last.

Many noble families around today had fought under the Empire’s hand; those who had not were killed. Those who had fought extensively in aid of the Crown Prince in the Uprising Wars, also known as the Cleansing Wars, and had helped the Crown Prince reclaim countless kingdoms to make way for the land that was now the Empire, had been gifted noble status and unimaginable wealth for their loyalty. Every noble family in the Empire of Hiel was loyal to Her Majesty the Empress, and if they were not, such beliefs did not see the light of day. To go against the Empress was a death wish, with her son, the Crown Prince, apparently just as ruthless and cruel as she.

Foolish had heard the grapevine whispers – the claims that the Crown Prince went through women like a knife through butter; the murmurs that the Crown Prince was cold and harsh, ordering the death of servants should they so much as speak too loudly; hushed ramblings that the Crown Prince was favoured by the Empress, as her only child, and thus got whatever they so wished for.

That last one was likely the truest. Any mother had the right to spoil her child, Foolish believed. So long as that child did not grow to be haughty and arrogant, it should be fine. Though today, many nobles fit that description without being spoilt.

A servant held a silver plate by the door, offering anyone who passed a flute of champagne. Foolish offered a smile, nodding as he slipped a glass from the platter, and entered the large Ballroom.

It was bright, full-wall glass panels letting the sun from the gardens in. The marble floor was streaked through with gold and some black ore, making a dazzling sight that made the white walls and red curtains seem one-of-a-kind. It truly was beautiful to look at. There were around a hundred nobles here already, seemingly most of the Empire that would arrive, and his vision was a swirl of colourful dresses and slim suits.

Swirling his glass, Foolish caught sight of a few younger nobles around his age that he knew. Father’s demand for him to find a dance rung in his ears, Foolish promising himself when the time came he would ask someone.

In the meantime, with his parents off mingling, Foolish joined the small group consisting of Tialis’ daughter, Nihachu, and a neighbouring Duke’s daughter, Kara.

“Ladies,” he greeted, already having met Kara on previous occasions – she preferred being addressed as Puffy, an old nickname, however he could not do as such on the first greeting. Bowing, he smiled, hand to his chest, “Lady Nihachu of Averdon and Lady Kara of Bureli, it is an honour to be speaking with you both.”

“Cut the formalities, Foolish,” snickered Puffy, swatting playfully at him. Her curly hair was swirling around her in a shawl of colours, the Bureli Family’s natural multicoloured hair a product of magic running in their blood. Her long blue gown was gorgeous on her and he said as such. “Oh hush,” she smiled. “Niki this is Foolish, son of Iris. Foolish, 'Niki' Nihachu.”

“You may just call me Niki, Foolish,” the pink haired woman smiled, offering her hand. Foolish took it and placed a feather light kiss on the back, releasing it as she giggled. “It is nice to meet you.”

“No more than it is for me,” he grinned, pulling out his dazzling smile. “I must say, I do adore how your estate has been decorated.”

“Ah, yes,” she smiled, glancing over to the front of the room. Foolish turned to see a man, green suit pristine and cut neat, his dark green hair coiffed and gelled. He had a harsh expression, face worn and tan. He had the whisper of a scar along his jaw, a gash from fighting in the Cleansing Wars from not a decade prior. Those had been the wars to ensure the Empire’s success, and anyone who bore evidence of having fought were held in high esteem. “My Father does enjoy a bit of decorating.”

“Your Father looks well,” he said, a custom to always compliment the host. “I hope a star as radiant as you is also.”

Niki smiled, hand rising with her red folding fan to cover her giggle. Puffy stood beside her, nudging her playfully. “I told you this one is a charmer,” said the daughter of Bureli.

“Yes, yes, you did,” Niki tittered. She cast her gaze around before leaning in as if to gossip. In return, both Puffy and Foolish tightened the circle and listened. “Did you hear that the Crown Prince is here?”

“What?” Squeaked Puffy.

Foolish raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” Niki nodded enthusiastically, fanning herself almost frantically. Her fan was quite pretty now that Foolish looked – little red roses painted throughout the red. “It was such a surprise, seeing as the Prince never attends these sorts of things. Usually the Crown Prince sticks to the higher-class Balls and such.”

“Indeed,” hummed Puffy. “Any idea why they’re here?”

“Father suggested they may be looking for a partner,” Niki said.

“But the Crown Prince goes through women like nothing else,” Foolish gossiped, assured in how the other two nodded. “Why here?”

“Rumour has it no one lasts more than a week,” Puffy added. “All the Crown Prince’s partners foul them and end up dead. I’m sure they’ve went through half the Empire’s nobles by this point.”

There was a soft lull, an uncomfortable twinge in the air. Talking so freely of the Empire’s Star war something close to treason. Speaking of the multitude of deaths the Crown Prince signed off on made the tension just a tad worse.

“Plus, this is a prime spot,” Niki answered Foolish’s question, looking to him with her blazing brown eyes. “Any aspiring noble wants to get a date here, as we all know dates usually end in marriage for us. I bet the Crown Prince is just fishing about for someone to idle a week with.”

Suddenly more nervous than before, Foolish bit his cheek. By the front of the room, upon a raised podium of about a foot, Niki’s Father began ringing a spoon against his glass. The room fell startlingly silent very quickly.

“Welcome everyone. It is my honour to greet you all in my Grand Manor, even moreso my pleasure to host this year’s Autumn Ball.” A round of clapping went around, Sam nodding and gesturing for quiet only once. “This year, we have an Esteemed Visitor, the Crown Prince themself.”

The large double doors behind the man opened, two guards wearing deep navy cloaks stepping out from the room. Together, perfectly in sync, they stood on either side of the doorway and bowed deeply, hands bunched by their chests as the Crown Prince stepped out, long brown hair braided with gold in a Roman plait. They sported a slim black suit jacket with a white petticoat fluffing up a luscious blue dress. Its colour was reminiscent of the oceans artists painted, their large dress swirling all around them. The definition of beautiful, they stood before the room, tall golden heels wrapping along their legs and cupping their feet.

Instantly, everyone dropped into a deep bow, clenched hand pressing against their breast bone in a sign of honour.

“Greetings to the Empire’s Star,” was the echoing call from everyone.

Swaddled by the quiet, Foolish chanced a look up through the slivers of hair that had been swept to the side as long bangs and saw the Crown Prince take their seat on the gold chair Foolish had previously thought to be Niki’s Fathers’. Seated now on the podium, their sharp jaw and slim form seemed to prevail over the entire room, their harsh pupilless eyes glowing even in the sunlight. Their mouth was pulled in a straight line, their general aura cold and cruel, slightly tanned skin seeming to glow with sins.

“Arise,” they called out, deep voice ringing through the room. Slowly, as was procedure, everyone rose. Sam got up from his kneeling bow and offered another deep head bow before stepping to the side to let the Crown Prince speak.

“Enjoy the Ball,” was all they said, waving Sam back to the front. The old General took his place at the front once more, a few steps away as to ensure the Crown Prince’s sightline was not broken.

“Thank you all for making it,” blabbered on the man. Foolish tuned out his rambling and just about caught the last of his speech, “May the dancing commence!”

The entire room got to see Alexis Qak, son of Rivis, step up before the Crown Prince. His black suit was shining in the light, blue shirt practically a beacon. Foolish had to admit, he and the Crown Prince would certainly match.

“Greetings to the Empire’s Star,” he repeated, offering a dallying bow. He held out his hand, coyish grin brightening his face. “May I ask for the Crown Prince’s hand in a dance?”

The Crown Prince looked at him, although it was hard to tell with their white eyes, and waved him off.

Alexis blanched but stepped back, rejected.

Foolish blinked, taken aback. He couldn’t even dream of turning down a dance, both not of well-enough status to survive the backlash and also being pressured by his parents to be gracious and obliging at these events.

“Oh my,” tittered Niki, voice hushed as a few other men attempted to gain the Crown Prince’s hand, a few women joining what was becoming a line. No one cared what gender the partner was when the partner was the Crown Prince themself.

“Are you joining the line?” Puffy asked, standing where she was. To be rejected by the Crown Prince was a devastating social occurrence, practically life-ending if not of high enough stature.

“Nah,” he said, disappointed in himself for saying such. Nonetheless, massive opportunity or not, he was not going to be at fault for destroying the Iris Family. “They wouldn’t even glance at me.”

“Don’t say that,” Niki hushed him. “You’re rather stunning, Foolish.”

“Yeah,” agreed Puffy, smirking. “Even if you are foolish.”

“Oh, ha ha,” he sounded out, sitting on a true laugh as he stood.

Instead of dancing, the new activity had become watching the line of dance proposals to the Crown Prince. Foolish watched people of all sorts join the queue, old widowed women who had no cares in the world joining if only to throw a saucy wink at the Prince. Their guards, two men – one the infamous Technblade, an ex-gladiator, the other the infamous Dream, a superb hunter and tracker – stood on either side, watching the proceedings with eagle eyes.

After what seemed like years of watching the Crown Prince jerk their finger in dismissal, but was actually less than twenty minutes, the line was finally gone. Nobles loitered now, some muttering, some drinking a little too extravagantly for the evening having just begun. The older ones who hadn’t joined the line seemed amused, although over the crowd Foolish caught his Mother glaring at him. When he tilted his head at her in question, she seemed ready to burst into tears.

Assuming it was because he hadn’t joined the line, he sighed and rose his glass to his mouth. He’d never been a big fan of drinking champagne but it tasted alright.

His eyes roamed, and just as he opened his mouth to ask Niki or Puffy (whoever would accept, really) to a dance, he caught the heavy gaze of the Crown Prince. They gazed in his direction, probably not even looking at him, although their lips twitched when he looked around himself. Sitting on the gold throne, they rose their hand and bent their finger.

Foolish’s heart thundered in his chest. Unsure, he rose his hand and pointed to himself.

The Crown Prince nodded.

Chapter Text

Despite how momentous this felt, the Ballroom did not fall silent, nor did anyone stop dancing. Drawn like a moth to a flame, Foolish moved, swerving along the crowd of people along the edges of the dancefloor. As he neared, his heart seemed to thrum in his ears, his cheeks burning.

Biting his cheek to right himself, he took the steps up to the podium agonizingly slowly. The Crown Prince watched him all the while, sharp gaze locked on to their prey.

Foolish felt a stare prick his back before a loud gasp rung out. Suddenly, the dancing had stopped, everyone turning to stare at him as he stopped before the Prince.

“What’s your name?” Questioned the Crown Prince, either uncaring for the audience or not noticing. Up close, their lips looked soft, high cheekbones making up a gorgeous face. It was almost a pity they used their muscles to paint such a cold, stern expression.

“Greetings to the Empire’s Star,” he said, gaining recognition of himself. He bowed deeply, deeper than he had before, and prayed to whatever gods listening that he didn’t lose his head for this.

Because he was terrified.

The Crown Prince was not known for being nice. The rumours about them depicted them as severe and harsh, culling those they didn’t like or grew bored of. Foolish, despite not liking living with his parents and not overly fond of his current lifestyle, did not harbor a death wish.

“I am Foolish of Cail, son of the Iris Family.”

“Foolish of Cail,” they murmured, lips parsing the words as if a fine wine. “Foolish…”

The silence was no silence at all. As the Crown Prince sat upon their throne, elbow on the arm rest, cheek held up by their palm, the room buzzed. Murmurs and whispers echoed from behind him, burning his veins and making him even more nervous. The stares of the two famous guards made the hairs on his neck prick.

“I heard none of their chosen partners last more than a week,” was one whisper of many.

“Poor thing,” came another. “Kid’ll be dead soon.”

He felt dizzy.

“Foolish,” said the Crown Prince finally. “Take me for a dance, will you?”

His heart jumped into his throat as he bowed, arm across his stomach. “Of course, my Prince.”

“Good,” they hummed, standing. Their dress swelled around them, the frill licking his legs. They held their hand out expectantly and he took it, guiding them down the steps despite him being more unstable than them.

On the dancefloor, the nobles parted like a tide pulling from shore. Everyone was deathly silent as he positioned them in the centre, Foolish catching the gaze of his Mother – the woman a frenzied mix between horrified and glad.

The band in the corner began playing, cello player beginning the daunting dance. Foolish took the lead, as the Crown Prince didn’t seem too interested in such, and swirled them around, taking extreme care. If the Crown Prince fell or stumbled on his watch, he was sure they’d take his skull for an ornament.

“Don’t you go any faster?” They teased when they were pulled to his chest in the sequence of the dance.

“I- Apologies,” he stuttered, already berating himself for such a folly. “Let me make it up to you, my Prince.”

He twirled them faster, hand looped around their waist as he spun them both round the floor. The people gawking became a blur, Foolish focusing on the lilt of the Prince’s lips and how their lithe body clung to his.

“Call me Eret,” they said, voice a murmur.

Foolish nearly choked. “Pardon?”

They sprang out for a twirl, Foolish sweeping in and grabbing them up in a waist-hold dip. Their lips stretched in a devilish grin, taunting him. “You heard me.”

“Very well,” he acquiesced. Then, searching for something to talk about because a dance with the Crown Prince was customarily five minutes long (minimum), he said, “Do you enjoy sitting up on that throne?”

They looked up at him, shorter by a few inches but all the more intimidating for it. He quailed, sure he’d messed up.

“I do,” they said instead of pulling away and calling for his head, shocking him. “It’s nice to sit above the clamor. And you, do you like being in the thick of it?”

“Not so much,” he admitted truthfully, knowing this would come back to haunt him. True enough, the Crown Prince rose an eyebrow in question, gaze on him even as they were dipped into a bend.

“Oh?” They said, almost breathless as they were put back on their feet. “Explain.”

“I come from a small town,” he returned, speaking nearly into their hair as the dance demanded a waltz. “It’s quaint but shrouded in fog and cloud-cover from the mountains. It’s a tad boring.”

“A great mind not entertained will never be fulfilled,” was the Prince’s statement. “I could take you away from that, give you a little adventure.”

Unsure how to respond, Foolish did not.

The dance finished, the two detangling to bow to each other. The Crown Prince’s bow was shallow, Foolish’s deep, though no one would comment, least they draw attention to themselves shunning the Prince.

As the Prince returned up to their chair, Foolish retreated to Niki and Puffy. The girls were standing huddled together, not yet having danced. When he rejoined their ranks, they offered him coy grins.

“How was your dance, Mr ‘I won’t join the line’ Foolish?” Puffy twinkled, stepping over to loop her arm around his. Niki was next, stealing his other arm and weighing him down as both women seemed to find it funny to lean a percentage of their weight on him.

“Um,” he stuttered, barely finding the words. “I dunno, terrifying?”

“What,” blinked Niki. “But you must feel so special to have been picked out of the hundreds here!”

Him, special? To have been picked out by the Crown Prince from the two hundred-odd here meant he must have atrocious luck.

Whatever happened, all he had to do was not go home with them. He could do that. Foolish wanted to live a little longer – would not become canon fodder for the rumours of those who mysteriously disappeared.

“Foolish,” called his Mother’s voice, Rosetta Iris joining their circle with brief pleasantries to the girls. “May I speak with you alone?”

“Yes, Mother,” he chimed back, already wriggling out of the girls’ holds. Niki and Puffy offered him sympathetic smiles as he was dragged away to the buffet tables by the edges of the rooms. There weren’t many around these self-catered tables, most out on the floor dancing or others mingling and chatting, so it made for a somewhat private conversation.

“You must continue this relationship with the Crown Prince, Foolish.” Mother said, not exactly as hushed as Foolish would’ve thought she’d be. “Please, this family depends on it.”

Disregarding the lies of her prior statement, Foolish leaned in as he grabbed a macaron from a multicoloured pile of them. “Mother,” he reminded. “That was no relationship.”

“They picked you to dance,” Mother hissed back. “That is worth something. Do not give up this opportunity, Foolish.”

Don’t you want us to live happily, was what she was saying, attempting to guilt trip him.

I want the money, was the deeper meaning. I want to flaunt the position of being in-laws to royalty. I want you to fuck the Crown Prince so we can gain a higher social standing.

Swallowing his sigh, trepidation welling up in the pit that had become his stomach, he spoke. “What would you have me do, Mother? Would you rather have me by your side or rotting in a ditch because the Crown Prince grew tired of me?”

“I’d rather you dead to their hands than useless.”

He’d expected this to some extent; he’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop – it was not surprise they wanted rid of him – but to say she’d prefer him dead than living with the Iris Family… that ached. His Mother’s words struck a match inside him, however instead of that match lighting a fire, the words that came next were a gust of wind that blew it out and left Foolish hollow.

“You will seduce the Crown Prince or you will not be welcomed back to the Iris Estate.”

Foolish felt his shoulders begin to droop so he pulled them back, straining against his suit to fix his posture. He had to be strong here – if anyone heard what his Mother was saying, the shame would crush him. He was unaffected, calm and joyful. Foolish was not breaking apart through his insides. He was not.

(He was, and the squeezing pulse of his heart seemed to make his ribcage burn, the slow thrum of thick blood through his veins making every limb tingle and smart. Were he in private, Foolish may have begun crying.)

Mother turned, her pink dress swaying to and fro, as if a tide lapping at a crumbling cliff-face. Foolish was the crumbling cliff-face and if something didn’t happen he was going to sob.

“Mother,” he called one last time.

“Don’t.” Mother twisted her head, looking to him with cold brown eyes. She looked like the statue the Council held over their doors – the frowning, unsatisfied face of the first god to have been named such; Apesut was never happy, always reaching for what he could not have. In the early uprisings of the Empire, many had accredited the Empress to be much the same. “You do not have the right to call me Mother, for you are no son of mine.”

She left.

Foolish watched her worm through the crowd, the woman unimportant enough that people didn’t bother to part for her, yet not so unimportant that she couldn’t disown him with a single word.

Dragging in a breath, he spied the doors and charged for them as slowly and inconspicuously as he could. His head was too much of a mess right now, so he pushed down what he didn’t need and smiled at the butlers as he left for the gardens at the back of the Estate.

No one stopped him, the servants not batting an eye. He followed the red carpet, somewhat aware of the layout of the Mansion due to Mother’s ravings of how elegant it was, or something. Thanks to this, he found himself standing before two glass veranda doors, staring out at a lantern-lit hedge maze at the back of the house.

With nothing but the portraits behind him to tell of his presence, Foolish pushed open the doors and strode down the steps into the garden. Stones crunched under his polished shoes, the stars of too many constellations shining above his head.  

It was dark and shadowed, but with the lanterns it wasn’t that dark. Evidently the sun had just set although the tall trees laundering on the edges of the property did not aid in this assumption; large, towering oak trees that were as wide as they were tall. Beginning his path through the maze, noting the cleanly trimmed and healthy bushes, Foolish let the breeze take him through, taking odd turns and twisting sometimes in a full circle to shake his mind free of his worries.

As good as homeless, he either went up to the Crown Prince and put on a pretty smile, or he left this Mansion and slummed. With his clothing, he wouldn’t last a night and people would recognise him and talk. That could be used against the Iris’; the sole son on the street was not a good look. Perhaps he could persuade Father into seeing that.

Father was a sensible man. He cared for public appearance, required the Family to be the talk of the town. He would not want Foolish sleeping in the gutter, ruining all he’d worked for.

Near what had to be the middle of the huge maze (it was so large, it was at least half the size of the Iris Estate), the hedges grew thicker, red flowers beginning to bloom on their sharp leaves. Foolish followed his feet, gazing up at the lanterns that were hung off wooden posts from inside the hedges. The warm orange glow made him feel warm in the evening chill, his black blazer doing decently enough in warding off the cold but not enough that he couldn’t feel it.

Eventually, he approached the middle – a large circular area that was marked by an old marble fountain. A woman wearing nothing but a swirling cloth that span around her leg and hips balanced upon the pedestal, her face worn by stinging rain but still as beautiful. In fact, if one looked at the statue from a certain angle, it was almost as if her eyes had been gouged out, her lifted arms held in less of a ‘gift-giving’ position and more of a hideous cower. The water that flowed from her mouth had smoothened her breasts and stomach, a steady stream of water dribbling down into the pool below.

The rim of the fountain had a raised edge, flattened out to act as a seat. Foolish sat down and felt himself deflate, knowing he’d have to return before the night ended. He didn’t want to go with the Crown Prince but if it was life or death…

Who was he kidding? If he went with the Prince he’d be dead in less than a week! The Prince never kept their bedmates and Foolish’s aversion to such acts wasn’t going to help him any.

An owl hooting caught his ear, Foolish sitting up to look at the moon nearly directly over him. That meant it would be midnight soon.

Funny, it didn’t seem as though he’d been at this Ball for hours, yet here he was, sitting in the dark in his host’s garden. Empire Balls usually held a banquet then a dancing event, however the Autumn Solstice Ball was different; the dancing held first, then a feast upon the hour of midnight to celebrate on the hour of change.

His stomach grumbled, reminding him he hadn’t eaten much other than an apple at breakfast. Mother had been insistent he shouldn’t eat too much to ensure he could stomach something at the banquet, yet social norms also required he not eat too much at the banquet. There was no happy medium – one thing Foolish despised the noble life for.

Standing and taking a moment to make sure he was neat, he went on his way, enough of a path in mind that it didn’t take him too long to find his way out of the maze. He re-entered the house just as the crowds flushed into the large dining room that was maybe ten times larger than his bedroom, the Iris dining hall and their gardens combined. It fitted four thirty-six seaters lined up in a horizontal line with each other, a large head table at the front of the room adjacent to these tables, sitting so that the people sitting in the rows would have their sides to the head table.

The room towered above them, much as the Ballroom had. A large crystal chandelier, at least twenty men long and thirty wide, hung upon the grand ceiling. It shimmered the loveliest blue, casting an oceanic glow over everyone that took their seats. Grimacing, Foolish knew he’d be forced to sit with his parents, and dreaded it, walking a tad slower than he had been in efforts to put it off.

Meanwhile, people began to take their seats along the four mammoth tables, the long rectangular pieces covered by a silken white cloth, placemats set out with gold inlays and sparkling wine glasses. Gold cutlery sat by the customary plates, platters of fruits and bread already out on the table to act as waiting courses between first being seated and the first course.

Foolish walked in, overly aware of the eyes on him as he gave the golden vines of the wallpaper an appreciative look. The room was clean and fresh, the red banners and tassels hanging everywhere, adorning the large glass windows that overlooked a shimmering pool. The additional colours warmed up the already soft cream colour of the room. If it hadn’t been obvious before, it was now glaringly so that the Tialis Family had money and lots of it.

By the front of the room, at the head table, was the Crown Prince, seated regally. To their right was the host family, General Sam hunched sternly with Niki to her Father’s right at the end of the table. On the Crown Prince’s left was a space, presumably due to their lack of a wife, and their two guards at the end of the table, filling it out. As soon as he looked at the Prince, he noticed their gaze on him, distantly noticing how they flicked a hand at him.

Unsure what that meant, Foolish tilted his head. The guard wearing a green shirt under his navy cloak, Sir Dream, rose from his place at the far end of the table and strode away from the table. Foolish stuttered to a stop as the man stopped before him, staring down at him.

Navy cloak hanging down to his calves, sturdy black boots with black trousers tucked in and a green shirt, with his trademark green cloth tied around his lower face, covering everything from his nose down, Dream was certainly a stunner, lean, tall and strong; Foolish blinked at the royal guard pensively.

“The Crown Prince wishes for you to sit beside them at the Crown table,” he said, voice not as deep as Foolish would’ve thought. He was shorter than him by a hair, bristled with energy and tensed like a panther waiting to strike. Dream was the definition of volatile energy.

“I- uh,” he stammered, out of his depth.

“Follow,” he demanded, already turning to lead him up to the table as if he was some petulant child. Foolish bared the gazes of what was practically the whole room, unsure if he should look at the Prince or not.

Dream herded him around the table, pulling out the chair on the Crown Prince’s left. Heart in his throat, Foolish barely managed to voice his gratitude before falling into the seat.

The room was uncomfortably quiet. The Crown Prince’s gaze burned into the side of his face, forcing him to turn and nod at the man. Seemingly sated by Foolish’s small action, the Prince cocked a finger at General Sam and the old man stood up.

Foolish sat there, soft seat cushioning him as he struggled to not fidget. The Crown Prince was sitting with their hands folded in their lap, gaze washing over the room as the General made the opening speech of the banquet.

“We feast tonight in honour of the Solstice,” yammered the man, Niki catching Foolish’s flickering gaze and offering him a small, friendly smile. Reassured, Foolish gripped the arm of the golden, red-cushioned chair he’d somehow ended up on, and breathed out through his nose. “Raise your glasses in tandem, for now we eat!”

Resplendently, the Crown Prince lifted their hand from their lap and stretched long fingers out for the tall wine glass sitting before them. Foolish watched, almost entranced as they leisurely lifted their glass, being the first to start the symbol of courtesy, as was custom of them being the highest ranked in the room.

Grabbing his own glass, filled with red luscious wine, Foolish rose his second, having taken enough etiquette lessons to know that the one to the beginner’s left was also required to lift their glass before anyone else could. The Prince tilted their glass, Foolish moving his and clinking them together almost on autopilot. With that, a multitude of glasses rose in front of them, the lights sparkling off the rims as a cheer went up. Partners clinked glasses before they were returned to the table.

Nodding, the General looked over to the Crown Prince. They shook their head, signalling they had no wish for a speech, and the old man finished up with a grand holler. “May the feast begin!”

A stream of servants poured from the cracks, carrying lidded platters. The head table was served first, as it was seen to be a disgrace if members of the Crown were left waiting. Foolish shifted, fingers digging into the arm of his chair once again, and watched a line of six servants line up along the table, the one in front of the Crown Prince lifting her platter’s lid first, waiting for their nod to place it, before the others set theirs down.

The first course was always soup. A green concoction was set before the Prince, Foolish receiving the second plate. A little fig leaf floated in the centre atop a small mound of beans, the soup thin and watery when Foolish hesitantly pushed his soup spoon into it.

“Broccoli and kale soup with cannellini beans,” informed one of the servants as they bowed and took their leave.

“Great,” muttered the man to Foolish’s left, none other than the Technoblade himself. Wearing much the same dress uniform as Dream, the only exception being the pink shirt under his cloak. By his hip, even whilst sitting he sported a longsword, cupped in a brown leather sheathe. Foolish wondered where Dream had his weapons, seeing as he couldn’t recall seeing a sword on the man’s hip. “Hate kale.”

“Oh hush, you big whine,” Dream wheezed quietly from the end, Foolish just about catching sight of the elbow he shoved into Technoblade, despite the man remaining unmoved.

Suddenly aware of the soft cello music humming in the background of the chatter, Foolish refocused on his food. Swirling his spoon, he scooped up some of the soup and sipped at it hesitantly. Blanching at the taste, he tensed his back in order to not recoil, and discreetly pushed the full spoon back into the mix. Attempting the cannellini beans next, he scooped up one and bit at it. Slightly nutty with a fluffy sort of texture, he found it wasn’t half as bad as the soup.

“Bread,” offered the Crown Prince, blatantly dragging the platter closer as they abandoned their spoon in their soup. The golden-brown baguettes in the basket smelt fresh, squishing softly under the Prince’s hand as they grabbed one and broke it in half.

Silent, afraid to overstep his boundaries, Foolish took the half the Prince offered with a nod and placed it on his bread plate. Selecting his butter knife, watching the Crown Prince slather their half in a copious amount of butter, Foolish waited his turn before swiping some butter over his own.

“You like walks?” The Crown Prince said as they picked at their bread. They were reclined, table tall enough that they could swing their leg over the other and sit as such. Foolish wondered how they could be so calm with so many eyes on them, feeling the stressful prickle of gazes on his own skin.

Assuming they were referring to how he’d vanished for at least an hour, he shrugged. “They can be calming.”

The Prince nodded, continuing to pick off bits of their bread with their thin fingers, seemingly unaware of the awkward atmosphere Foolish was all too conscious of.

After what felt like years, the first course was done. One set of servants rushed out to hurry away the used dishes whilst another scurried out with more platters. They lined up along the head table, setting them down before the one in front of the Crown Prince addressed them all.

“Primary second course is served. Pelmeni with fillings, from left to right, of salmon, beef and lamb.”

They bowed back, Foolish plopping a few of the dough dumplings onto his plate. They were an old dish, an unexpected thing to see at a banquet. Evidently, the General was exerting some of his personal taste towards the chosen meals.

“Chosen specifically for you, Your Highness,” chuffed the old man, Foolish lilting his head to hear the conversation beside him.

The Crown Prince hummed, “Indeed?”

“You are the Star of the Empire,” reminded Sam. “It was the least we could do.”

There was no response. Foolish turned to see the Prince munching at their dumplings, holding the uneaten half in their hand. The old General was grinning, eyes almost closed with the force of it.

“Good,” nodded the Prince, the rest of the dumpling disappearing quickly. Sam looked thrilled.

“I’ll send your approval to the chefs. I’m sure they’ll be glad.”

Foolish poked and prodded at his own meal, stomach somersaulting too much for him to really take in anything. A banquet contained eight courses: one starter, three seconds, two mains and two desserts. Technically, one of those desserts was a wine-tasting event but for any underage ones, they simply got a helping of tea or icecream.

When he finally tried the pelmeni, he found the salmon was too slimy, the lamb too tough for his taste after being boiled. The beef was alright, he supposed, however it would not be his first choice of foods.

The secondary second course was a plate of belini, large wheat pancakes.

“Served with smetana, tvorog, butter, caviar and other garnishes,” said the servant.

Foolish did not know what ‘smetana’ or ‘tvorog’ were but the things on his plate were nice, even if he did avoid the caviar. His Mother said he was a picky eater but in truth it was that he simply wasn’t used to such a fine palate. The Iris household did not spend extravagantly on foods unless a guest was coming over, and even then, there were never foods of this high quality.

He finished his pancake to find the Crown Prince staring at him. Staring back into those depthless white eyes, Foolish had the will to ask, “Crown Prince?”

“Call me Eret,” they repeated, tone neither cruel nor snappish. They looked down at his chest, hands moving to grip his waist and pinch. Startled, he squeaked and watched them frown. “You’re too thin. You should eat more.”

“I-“ he stuttered, much too confused to form a sentence.

Then, “Do you not eat well?” Said in such a soft tone that Foolish almost forgot he was speaking to someone who was rumoured to kill those who spited them.

“I eat fine,” he insisted, too afraid to move their hands away. As if sensing his fear, they recoiled and pooled their hands back upon their lap.

They did not respond, instead turning back in their seat to face the room. Foolish hadn’t even realised how much they’d turned to face him until they weren’t.

Finally came the third second-course, a small helping of tomato and basil ravioli appeared, small loaves of garlic hardcrust bread appearing between pairs. The amount of money gone into food alone astounded him, the effort evident. Foolish hadn’t ever seen such a feast at an Autumn Ball, previous hosts usually more focused on the dancing and socialising.

The pasta was nice, the meat inside well cooked and juicy. He watched the Crown Prince practically inhale their dish, wondering how much food they could pack away. They’d eaten most of the dumplings – nearly the entire platter – and had swallowed most of their belini before half the room was even served.

The first main course came out with chicken and salad. The chicken glistened, the green salad more of a multicoloured field when the first few leaves were shifted. On the gold-infused plates, it looked tasty.

“Butterflied chicken with herbs and cracked olives,” the servant claimed. “Alongside a simple salad of rocket leaves, basil, baby tomatoes and carrot.”

Mid-way through, the Crown Prince turned to him again. Startled but not wanting them to take a huff with him, Foolish also turned to face them. He hadn’t saw them smile once, not since the dance, and he was beginning to wonder if their heart really was as cold as the rumours said.

“What is the Iris house like?” He was asked, the Prince idling with their wine as they spooned through their salad.

“Quaint,” Foolish answered, both unwilling and too embarrassed to admit the Crown Prince that he’d been somewhat expelled as of an hour ago. “The Estate is small and the town smaller, but it claims a colourful market on the summer months.”

The Crown Prince hummed along, Foolish’s habit of babbling finally emerging as he carried the conversation into the next serving. When he paused for breath, the servants appeared with the second main course, setting plates of “pork chops with fig and grape agrodolce”.

The meal was bright, purples on one half of the plate with the pork chops on the other, covered in a thick brown sauce that was both sweet and sour, with a sumptuous radicchio salad on the side. It tasted exquisite, the meat almost melting into his tongue as he ate. Out of the five prior dishes, this was the first one he cleared the plate for. Foolish turned in time, ready to rekindle the conversation (because when he talked the Crown Prince looked less inclined to gut him with their cold gaze) and found the Prince watching him, lips tilted at the corners.

If he weren’t so close, looking so intently, Foolish may not have noticed. But, as it was, with him sitting right beside them, he did. He saw the smile the Prince chewed on and offered a beaming grin in response, inordinately happy that he’d made his soon-to-be murderer smile.

“Come home with me,” they ordered and his world shattered.

He had no choice but to obey. “Of course, My Prince.”

Chapter Text

After the offer to accompany the Crown Prince to their residence, the Feast went by in a rush. The dessert of chocolate sorbet with a strawberry on top and melted chocolate was eaten in a numb haze, heart pounding against his ribs in a crescendo of both haste and horror. The Crown Prince was silent, as they had been for most of the meal, and Foolish hadn’t it in him to talk anymore.

When it came to the final course, the last dessert, the Crown Prince chose tea over the wine. Foolish sipped at the red wine in measured gulps, trying to calm the fretful soul inside himself.

“Are your parents aware you will not return with them?” The Prince pondered at the end of the Feast, when everyone was standing to file out of the room. Usually the Crown Prince or highest of nobility would leave first but the Prince had waved the crowds on, lingering at the head table with the General and their men. Niki passed, offering him a little wave. Foolish gave what would be one of his last smiles, a pained thing, and looked away.

“They’ll grasp the situation,” he said in a regrettably weak voice.

“Very well,” said the Prince, looking possibly relieved in the lilt of their brow. Was the ruthless murderer afraid of seeing their victim’s families? Did it make them too humane?

Foolish didn’t have the capacity to analyse that.

“We’ll be taking our leave early, General,” the Prince turned to the old man, offering their hand. The contrast of wrinkled skin to bone-thin was almost startling as the two shook hands, the General dipping low in a bow and kissing the Prince’s hand in a final parting.

Dropping to one knee, head dipped, the General spoke with a sombre but pleased tone. “Very well, Your Highness. I am overjoyed you made it tonight. Know that we Tialis will always welcome the Empire’s Star.”

“A thousand stars shall light your way, General,” nodded the Crown Prince, an old parting statement that only the Empire’s Star had the right to say. The General simmered, raising his head with a grin, obviously pleased to have been one of the few regarded with such words.

“May my sword carve the path for the Empire’s walls,” were the General’s final words as the Crown Prince turned their back to him.

The leaving progression was idle, the Crown Prince willowing their way through the halls in no great hurry. Dream went on to alert the carriage driver, Technoblade lingering behind the group as a protection detail. The Prince had long legs, evident in their seemingly floating walk whilst wearing the dress, however such was no match for Foolish’s stride, which was unburdened by fabric. As according to custom, - and partly being unwilling to die too soon due to ignoring manners - he offered to take their arm, and Foolish ended up escorting the Crown Prince out of the Mansion with their arm in his.

A large carriage rolled to a stop before them, four pristine white horses with sparkling bridles attached to the front. The rider had a small portion of protection in the form of a porch-like roof should it rain, a wide man sitting up front. The carriage itself was a dazzling white, three times larger than the Iris Family’s dingy black one. Adorned with diamonds and glittering jewels, an extortionate amount of money had probably been put into it.

Helping the Crown Prince with the steps down to the path, Foolish watched Dream open the door, the lavish interior of plush cushions and clean seats being revealed. The buzz of the Ball sounded from behind, Foolish keeping his hand with the Prince to aid them into the carriage. On his own climb in, after the Prince, he caught the gaze of Dream, who still stood by the door, and looked away quickly to ensure those blazing green eyes didn’t see too much.

If he showed his fear, they might gut him quicker.

“You’ll like my Golden Palace,” assured the Crown Prince, Foolish sitting down opposite them. There was a rack behind them, straps securing the contents of a tea set, a bundle of blankets and a few other cushions. It wasn’t something Foolish had seen before, most things kept under the chairs of the carriages. Even having cushions in a carriage, single and unattached to the seats, was odd. “It’s shiny. Like your eyes.”

Wondering if he’d just been hit by a shy compliment, Foolish blinked at the Prince’s astute stare and deducted it hadn’t been one bit shy.

“I’m sure it’s not as radiant as you,” he smirked, somehow more at ease than he had been.

The Crown Prince blinked once, perhaps a tad surprised, and leaned back in their seat, looking pleased if the dulled predatory glint in their eye meant anything. Now, they looked less likely to slit his throat over the floor, which Foolish knew was a good thing. Maybe he had a chance – if he kept on their good side and proved to be charming enough, they might hesitate in getting rid of him?

Long and slow was the ride. Technoblade and Dream rode alongside the carriage on horseback, fluctuating with being right beside it and skirting on to check on the path, however there was always one by the carriage at all times. Foolish hadn’t ever seen such fluid teamwork, recalling how the Iris Family had only ever had a few guards who’d struggled to no extent to connect and work together.

Foolish spent most of the ride looking out the windows, watching dark fields flick by when he wasn’t staring at his own morose figure. There was a lantern attached to the roof of the carriage, by the side where wall met roof, placed so that no one would hit their head should they stand. The small metal box glowed without the use of fire – magic being used to bathe the cabin in a gentle swathe of orange.

The horses neighed, nickering as the carriage drew to a halt. Foolish perked up from where he’d been staring at a spot on the floor and found the Prince staring at him.

“Let’s go,” they urged, off the carriage before Foolish could blink. They’d opened the door themself, something that minutely shocked him. He’d almost expected the Crown Prince to be spoiled; to have a hissy fit when faced with opening their own carriage door.

Jumping down onto a crunching gravel path, Foolish looked up and gaped. The Golden Palace stood before him, the building square-ish in shape, if not for the large dome rooftops and the way the Palace seemed to bulge at the sides, looming over him. Named as such due to the gold rooves, Foolish gawked at the gold framed windows and the gold statues looming on a perch before the porch. The entire building was larger than anything he’d ever seen, ten times that of the Tialis’ Estate, if not bigger.

The white marble brick seemed to be luminescent in the dark, windows alight, the height of the Palace looming up into the horizon. Standing before it, within its courtyard, Foolish was overwhelmed.

Pushing open the doors, the Crown Prince led him into the foyer, a large room that branched off into a grand staircase to lead upstairs whilst giving into a maze of the first floor. From a first glance, all Foolish seen were golden framed paintings, real marble with gold infused throughout the floor and walls, lavish golden carpets lining the walkways of the rooms they passed. The Prince led them upstairs, confident and comfortable in their Palace and not seeming to mind leading him personally to his death.

Bracing himself as they climbed up what had to be a hundred steps, finally coming out onto a large landing that spanned and stretched with doorways for eons, the Prince turned to him.

“Would you like a tour now or on the morrow?”

Hands shaking where he clenched them by his sides, he was forced to swallow his mouthful of saliva before speaking. “Pardon?”

“Would you like to fuck now or later?” They asked bluntly.

Never, he thought, struggling to not cringe at the vile thought of such actions. “Uh…”

“Alright,” nodded the Crown Prince, turning on their heel. “A tour first.”

“The first floor you can see tomorrow,” they said, leading him down gold carpeted hallways with sparkling walls. Tapestries, paintings and windows lined the walls, bedroom doors large, pale oaks that spread into huge rooms bigger than the Iris’s dining hall. There were seemingly hundreds of doors, all lining down the halls, though the Prince stopped at specific ones and opened doors, showcasing portrait rooms, showering rooms, even a large library that spanned three floors and apparently stretched down into the basements as well.

The colour scheme of gold was upheld, red showing up sparsely in accordance with black. It was sleek and fresh looking, generating an almost suffocating atmosphere for Foolish, who was panicking a lot more inside than he could afford to show.

“Our room,” declared the Crown Prince, opening two large white doors, inlaid with swirling gold vines. Foolish gawked, stuttering at a large white bed with a golden silk canopy, large full-wall windows at the far end with looming golden curtains to pull shut, a large dresser and an entire carpeted area that deflected from the dark oak flooring, with gold bodied couches and a low-lying table around a large fireplace with a stunning gold mantlepiece. Its flames were golden, the glow shining across the entire room.

“I hope you don’t mind,” they said, striding into the room and expecting him to follow. “If you don’t wish to stay with me we can get you a guest room, but I’d like you to stay tonight.”

“Of course,” he started, the tight feeling in his throat signalling he was about to begin rambling. “I like what you’ve done with the place. The colour scheme really suits.”

“I know,” nodded the Prince. “I told Mother that but she didn’t believe me. I had to insist on this Palace being built like this.”

It felt surreal that the Crown Prince was talking to Foolish - a nobody - in their bedroom, speaking of the Prince’s Mother, the Empress.

“This entire Palace is open to you,” said the Prince. “Don’t make me regret that.”

“Of course not,” he assured, hastily waving his hands in assurance, feeling like he sounded a tad like a broken record.

Sure enough, the Crown Prince looked over at him from where they’d sat on the chemise at the end of their bed, halfway through pulling their shoes off. “You don’t have to be so nervous,” they snickered, face lighting in a teasing grin. Foolish was stilled by the sudden beauty of it, marvelling at the way their eyes shimmered and how their complexion burned brighter than a blazing hearth.

“I’m not,” he stuttered quite unconvincingly. The Prince broke into tittering laughter, eyes crinkling at the sides as they were forced to sit up straight to get enough air.

“Are you a virgin?”

He felt awkward standing in the middle of the room being asked about his sex life. “No,” was the truthful answer.

The Prince hummed. “Alright. Are you going to stand there all day?”

A pause. “Maybe.”

Met with a huff of laughter, Foolish let his gaze stray, watching as the Crown Prince finished unlooping the golden ribbon attached to their heels and pulled the shoes off their feet. They stood, stretching out, arms tangled above their head as their back popped, face squishing cutely for a moment as they yawned. Their suit jacket was slipped off and dumped upon the bed’s golden throw, revealing lithe but strong arms, nickled here and there with thin scars but otherwise soft and gentle looking with flushed skin. Foolish imagined pinching that skin, watching the Prince squeal and tumble away in his mind’s eye.

He blinked and realised the audacity of that. Foolish was going to die here, he wasn’t going to get the chance to be happy.

“I’m sure you’ve heard many rumours,” addressed the Prince, Foolish glancing over only to hurriedly turn back to the fire upon seeing them pulling at their dress. “The ones you won’t believe are probably the true ones.”

In the hush of the fake fire revolving in a circular pattern, Foolish found his courage. “May I ask you about the ones I’ve heard?”

“Go ahead,” murmured the Prince, sounding a tad strained.

Harried, not wanting to keep them waiting, he asked, “What happens to your bedmates?”

The Prince was silent for a moment, the only sounds the scrape of fabric and the hum of the magic.

“I am the Crown Prince,” they explained slowly, sounding as though they were choosing their words carefully. “People want what I have and they believe sleeping with me for a night will get them it should I die. Some have attempted to kill me, they are the ones that do not leave.”

The air wasn’t as tense as Foolish would’ve thought. He felt a sense of pity for them, instead; to sleep at night and wake to someone trying to kill you sounded like a horrible event, and to think it had likely happened on numerous occasions… He was horrified, and not for the same reasons he had been afraid.

“So,” he hesitated. The Prince did not motion for him to continue but he felt he needed to ask this. “You said I’d get more of a tour tomorrow, does that… you won’t kick me out?”

“Why would I when you’re pretty,” was all they graced him with.

Feeling more comfortable now, Foolish let something fall from his shoulders; a literal metaphorical weight lifted. It left his stomach flipflopping with happy butterflies, the thought of the rumours being just that extremely soothing.

Suddenly, they hissed, sounding annoyed. Foolish tensed for the hit, somehow expecting them to teleport right in front of him. Instead, they called for him. “Help me.”

“What?” He asked, startled into looking over to them. Their arm was twisted at an uncomfortable angle, prying at the back of their dress. When their gazes met, the Prince pouted.

“I’m stuck,” they whined, free hand flapping fitfully at their waist. “C’mere.”

Stepping over without a second thought, he gently cupped their bicep and urged them to turn around. Their skin was chilled under his hand, goosebumps rising up in response to the heat. With his other hand, he reached up to the nape of their neck and grabbed the barely-there flap of fabric that covered up a plethora of small buttons. With the hand previously around their arm now resting on their shoulder blade, to keep the tension in the dress, he fiddled methodically with the twelve or so buttons the Prince hadn’t been able to reach out of the twenty there. It took a few minutes but he eventually freed them from the dress.

“Good boy,” they purred, turning around now that their dress was slipping down their chest. A softly tanned chest was pressed against his waistcoat, the Crown Prince looking up at him with almost half-lidded eyes. Their long fingers trailed up his embroidered suit, their smirk irresistible. “Let me repay you.”

Their fingers slid around the knot of his tie, their movements graceful and supple as they pushed a finger into the centre and undid it. With his neck feeling free, something came over him, and before he knew it, Foolish was leaning down, hands curled around the Prince’s waist protectively as he bumped their noses together.

“I thought you were going to kiss me,” whispered the Crown Prince, flushed and breathless. They didn’t seem to be in a hurry to peel themself off his chest, smirking up at him as a few of their fingers fiddled with the top buttons of his waistcoat. Foolish could see his own sparkling green eyes reflected in their white pits. Their eyes looked fragile, as though they could crack at any time. Almost like a pearl in how they glimmered, Foolish found himself lost in their gaze.

“I’m tired,” he said, unsure of where he was gaining this confidence from. “Let’s get you out of that dress and into bed, hmm?”

The Prince stared at him, looking thoughtful. “I’m feeling left out,” they responded, even as they pushed his suit jacket off his shoulders. “I’ll let you unclasp my petticoat if you say my name.”

Foolish returned their gaze, head tilting. “My Prince.”

“No,” they shook their head, hair miraculously untouched by the forceful action. Their hands rested on his shoulders now, kneading at his tense muscles, albeit unintentionally. “My name,” they insisted, sounding coy.

“Beautiful,” he jested, lips breaking in a grin as the Prince seemed to debate whether or not to show their approval.

“C’mon, Foolish of Cail,” teased the Crown Prince, right hand climbing along his shoulders to cup his jaw.

Blinking as he stumbled mentally, Foolish leaned forward and let his breath ghost the cusp of their ear. “Eret.”

The hand around his jaw pulsed, the hand by his shoulder tightening. With a strong tug belittling their graceful demeanour, he was tugged down into their chest, Eret’s hand burning a path to the back of his neck. Wondering why they were trying to suffocate him in their neck, he realised they were hugging him. Unsure of what to do in return, he looped his hands fully around their waist and buried his cold nose in their neck. The squeak he got in return made him laugh, chest rumbling with the shock of it.

“That was mean,” they pouted, pulling back. The way Eret puffed their cheeks out and bit their lip when they did that was going to be the death of him, his nerves completely forgotten. He felt as if a new man had strode into his body and taken over; Foolish had never been this comfortable in his own skin.

“It was funny,” he chuckled, hands already moving to unclasp the tight skirt. As he did this, they made quick work of his shirt, unbuttoning it and unclasping his belt while they were at it. Suddenly tense, he looked away as their skirt dropped, shooing their hands away. They stared at him, pupilless eyes digging into his soul.

They pried. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he hummed.

“That’s a lie,” they said, stepping back a step to let him step out of his trousers. “Do you not want to sleep with me?”

“Intimately,” he expressed, “I do not want to sleep with anyone.”

He expected shock, then anger perhaps. People did not like to hear that he did not want to have intimate acts with them, often taking it as a slight upon them. Foolish braced for an outburst as such from the Prince.

“I understand,” they reassured instead, hand grabbing his elbow and trailing along his arm. His hairs stood on end at the sensation, Eret smirking up at him. “I won’t pressure you into anything. However, my bed is the most comfortable to sleep in.”

With that, they left him standing in his briefs and a shirt at the end of the bed, skirt pooled where it had fallen. Eret climbed into the large bed, humming as they draped themself over the right side and wormed into the blankets. Foolish, unsure what this meant in the long run but feeling shockingly comfortable, pulled his shirt off and draped it over the chemise that Eret had with their dress.

Eret had their arms folded behind their head, legs crossed at the ankles under the blankets. When Foolish climbed into the bed on the right side, he took a moment to situate himself within the silk sheets, hellishly pleased at the snug sensation. The Prince clicked their tongue and the see-through silk curtains around the bed drew shut, the magic fire in the hearth slowly flickering out. The heat remained, although now the darkness seeped into the room.

“Sleep well, Foolish,” mumbled Eret, yawning again before rolling towards him. He could just about see their outline from the light the moon cast into the room through the open curtains.

“You too,” he agreed, feeling able to add in, “Eret.”

He pulled the blankets further up his bare chest and closed his eyes.

Chapter Text

Foolish woke to warmth.

Eyes peeling open, he looked down at his chest to find the Crown Prince atop him, their head resting atop one of his pectorals, their bangs tickling his chest. They looked comfortable under the orange shade the semi-transparent canopy curtains cast them in, sleeping face lax; fluffy lips parted in the slightest, glowing eyes sealed shut by thickly lashed eyelids.  The picture of calm, their long arm was flung over his chest, hand resting near where his collarbone parted to give way to his neck. It was oddly as if they were threatening to choke him in their sleep, although the cute way they blew small puffs of air onto his skin when they breathed more than made up for it.

The silk blankets had wormed their way down the bed, barely clinging to the sheets. The fur throw was slipping off the bed, pulling the blanket with it. This loss of cover meant most of Foolish’s body was up for the sights, briefs guarding his dignity. Eret, on the other hand, was only protected by the swathe of silk across their hip, barely covering up what Foolish didn’t wish to see. They were bare, otherwise, skin ricocheted with thin scars along their arms, torso and back, although his vision was impaired by how they were lying on top of him, even an idiot would notice the markings scrawled over their sun-beaten skin.

Everyone knew the Crown Prince had fought in the First War of the Empire. A gruelling success of a multitude of scrimmages, leading one army against another, was all that War had been. But, it had outlined the land today’s Empire grew from, soldier’s blades marking where the walls would go – hence the saying, “May my sword carve the path for the Empire’s walls.”

The other saying, the Crown Prince’s “A thousand stars shall light your way,” was derived from how the small Empire army would move under the cover of night. (An army that was a muddle of men and boys, from the beaten down towns and villages of the countries straining under the Kings’ Council of a decade ago; an old ‘law enforcement’ council that had been utterly corrupt and had fuelled famines, droughts and despair.) They would stalk at night, sneaking up on the Kings’ Armies and striking by starlight.

Eret had been a leader of the soon-to-be-Empire’s Army. They had charged on, keeping morale up even as things got tough. Foolish assumed their scars were from close calls on the battlefield, arrows and blades slicing at skin. He imagined shirts ripped up to tie around wounds, men lurking in dark forests with smothered fires as they recuperated, farmers and servants and paupers clutching pitchforks and rushing into battle with them.

Wait, he mentally paused, confused as his trail of thought dissipated.

The First War, among the participants of which were mostly Nobles now, was only ten years ago. A decade was a short time for such an Empire to fester and grow but the Empire of Hiel had.

Ten years wasn’t that long, yet Eret had led the army ten years ago… They couldn’t have been older than Foolish, who was twenty-four summers this year. That would’ve made the leader of the army no older than fourteen in the midst of battle. It sounded outlandish, but they looked young, no wrinkles nor the heavy appearance that older generations sported.

Foolish was shocked to find them to have gone through so much possibly so young; surprised and amazed all at once. Yet, all it did was make his throat tight with an emotion he didn’t recognise.

Suddenly, the warmth he’d felt before, that of the blankets curled around his legs, of Eret strewn over him, morphed into a deep fire. It blazed in his chest, unmoving no matter how many breaths he took. The longer he looked down at Eret, seemingly so small and vulnerable lying the way they were, the stronger the fire grew, until it was a blazing altar that set his whole being alight. His arms grew searing with it, blood thumping with the heat.

Trailing his hand through what was left of their braid, Foolish looked over to the windows in hope of a time estimate. It was dark, the grey of storm clouds easily recognisable through the entire-wall window. Beyond the glass, rain pelted down, pattering off the large balcony connected to the room and the gardens that shone beyond, just barely visible by Foolish’s position. The soft murmur of the rain was a lulling noise, creating a soft atmosphere in the hush.

Thunder rumbled in the distance; the soothing ruckus of the rain broken only by its roar. A flash of lightning speared through the sky, flashing briefly in the room. Foolish coiled his fingers through Eret’s hair, massaging their scalp, and suddenly wondered if this was a weird thing to do – they’d only just met the night prior, after all.           

Beside him, Eret shivered and snuggled closer, the hand by Foolish’s neck twitching down into the flesh hollow between his collar bones. As discreetly as possible, afraid any real movement would wake them, Foolish maneuvered the only part of the blanket he could reach with his foot until he could grab it with his free right hand and pulled it over them both. Eret appeared to relax further, tilting up into Foolish and the blanket as he left their hair alone and rubbed at their now covered back, around their tense shoulder blades.

In the some-what light of day, the room seemed so much larger than it had by candle. To his entire right was the largest room he’d ever seen, white walls adorned with golden insignias and golden rectangular-shaped trim, the multi-layered tray ceiling making it look as though the ceiling had steps on it, all rippling towards the center. A rug lay before the large golden mantled fireplace, three plush couches with golden bodies and legs rucked around a low glass, gold-framed table. From where he was lying, he couldn’t quite see what was above the mantle, though he knew from the night prior it was a painting of some sort.

The room was designed with total visibility, everything in the open. There was little to no furniture to hide behind. The long legs of the couches prevented people crouching behind them, the gap from couch base to floor too large for stealthy feet to not be seen. The complete vastness of the room made for easy, free movement and proficient counterattacks with the see-through curtains around the bed making it difficult to parse if those sleeping there were truly sleeping.

There was a handle opposite the bed, door no different than the walls. Eret had said it was a bathroom, so Foolish assumed the handle just a few metres after that one led into a walk-in closet or something.

Lightning flashed again, brightening the room for a split second.

He trailed patterns over Eret’s back, eyes closing to the lull of the rain. The thunder grumbled as he pulled the blanket over his chilled shoulder, mindful of Eret’s face. It was awkward to have it covering more than their chests, due to how the Prince had flopped onto him in the night, but Foolish’s right shoulder really was cold.

Another burst of light filled the room, painting the insides of his eyelids a pale red. Eret’s hand near his neck spasmed suddenly, palm shooting along his chest to cup his neck, long fingers curling around the sides. Eret’s head lifted as Foolish opened his eyes in surprise, not really minding the new position so long as there was no pressure being applied.

Stark white eyes blazed in the gloom. The sky crackled, rumbling as Eret stared down at him.

“Good morning?” He attempted, offering a twirl of a smile.

“Foolish,” said Eret, something odd in their voice. Their chest rose as they sat up half-way, blocking the light from outside, their strong physique looming over Foolish. Even in the dark, the way their abs rippled, thick biceps tensing as they propped themselves up on an elbow was visible, leaving Foolish dazzled. He felt the saying of being blinded by beauty greatly applied in this situation, saliva gathering in his mouth. If he said he didn’t enjoy the show, he’d be a liar.

“It’s early,” Foolish offered, voice wet. “Lie back down with me?”

The Prince stared at him, their unblinking eyes boring into his soul. Foolish stared back, undaunted. It seemed his confidence from the night prior was still lingering in his blood.

“Foolish,” they repeated, voice softer. Their body seemed to lose its strength, floating down to rest their head back on his chest as their hand fell from his neck. Piercings he hadn’t realised they had pricked at his skin, though Eret did not rest their weight on him like they had when asleep. Instead, they held their head up, hovering above his skin by a millimetre.

They were listening for his heart beat, he realised after a moment.

“I’m here,” he murmured, hand slowly crawling back onto their back to ensure enough time for them to recognise it as his hand. “Go back to sleep.”

“Can’t,” the Prince moved away, sitting up. The blanket hardly covered them as it fell, Foolish quickly averting his eyes. “It’s time for training.”

“Training?” He spluttered, eyes darting to the darkness beyond the window. “What time is it?”

“Around five,” answered Eret. “This is when I usually wake.”

With that, they got up, rolling to the edge of the bed. Their back graced him, Foolish tracing the mash of scars zig-zagging over mellow skin with his eyes. As they stood, he looked away, unsure if he should sit up or go back to sleep. It startled him to find the Crown Prince of all people waking up so early to work; was this the difference between them? Foolish and his laziness, Eret and their drive.

Eret moved around the room, striding over to the second door in the wall. They opened it, a soft blue flush emitting from within. Foolish watched as they disappeared inside, emerging moments later in a slim pair of briefs and long navy socks that trailed up to their knees. They dropped a loose linen shirt on the chemise by the end of the bed, Foolish sitting up to see them push rugged legs into slim black trousers.

Watching them lift their arms above their head to slide on the shirt, Foolish noted how dark their outfit was. After their blue dress and the other colourful outfits they’d been rumoured to show up in, he’d expected for them to be more of a free dresser. Instead, what they wore now was lithe and slim, looking like something flexible enough to train in, dark trousers sticking to their skin as their white shirt with string tassels looping up around the neck hung loose but neat.

They bent to pull on thick black boots with a rigid steel toe and a steel back, lacing them up quickly. When they turned to him, their eyes creased.

“Do you require maids?” They asked, startling Foolish out of his drooling. “They won’t be up until seven.”

“Uh no, I’m fine,” he flailed a tad, wondering why he would need maids to dress.

“Ah,” nodded the Prince, walking into the other room – which opened up with a purple glow. Foolish gawked at what he could see of marble countertops and a sparkling mirror. They grabbed their toothbrush and ran it under the golden faucet, slapping some toothpaste onto it. “You need more clothes?”

Eyes flicking down to find the suit he’d discarded last night, he tilted his head at the question. He could just wear it again, it was nothing of importance. Anyways, it wasn’t as though he had anything else.

Eret continued before he could get a word in. “Of course you do,” they pushed the toothbrush into their mouth, pausing to speak when they spat the paste out. “Poke through my closet. You should find something that will fit.”

“Uhm,” he stammered, peeling back the blankets to hop off the bed. “Thanks.”

The Crown Prince was silent, brush back in their mouth, but he caught them nod out of the corner of his eye.

His feet sunk into the plush carpet under the bed, stinging at the sudden coolness of the wooden steps down onto the level the rest of the bedroom sat at. Scurrying over to the walk-in closet, Foolish pushed open the door that had fallen shut and blinked in the face of blue lights flickering on.

The closet was huge, reaching on for what had to be almost half of the bedroom’s size. It stretched horizontally and vertically, metal racks lining the walls of built-in wardrobes. The dark wood was accentuated by a deep black carpet that his toes gladly sunk into, the bottom racks of the wardrobes lined by what had to be thousands of shoes and boots, drawers laddering the rooms as they parted the racks. Foolish wandered inside, amazed by the floating orbs of magic that lit up and warmed the room, fingers dancing around the peripheral of one and flushing with the strength of such a small but powerful thing.

On the left side was about two metres of a rack completely for dresses, a shelf lined above and below of high heels and womanly shoes suitable for Balls or outings. Dark wood lined the entire closet, stack of many drawers beside the racks, likely holding copious amounts of jewellery. This leftern stack of built-in drawers separated the dresses from a large ceiling-to-floor mirror. Blinking at himself and his messy, rushed braid (tied together for sleeping because his hair grew tediously tangled otherwise) he pulled his lips thin and moved on, glancing at the continued racks of skirts, from long to short, frilly to thin, and then a rack of box-like shelves, of which an array of heels sat with matching jewellery posed beside them.

At the back, the entire wall from left to right was comprised of drawers. Opened to find out of the four stacks, two were neatly packed with all manners of underwear, the other two filled with all sorts of socks. There was a shelf, around the middle, filled with ornate daggers – around six or so sitting atop a plush black cushion. Foolish regretted opening it immediately and slipped it shut as delicately as possible, tamping down the surprised squeak his mouth almost let slip.

The right wall was the same layout as the left side, drawers likely containing watches and cufflinks. Opposite the dresses on the left, here there was a rack of suits, blazers and trousers hung in pairs, two and three pieces all lined up in some sort of order Foolish couldn’t decipher. Like the colourful dresses, there were all sorts of shades and colours of suits – from black to pink, grey to purple, yellow to red. A white one caught his eye, swirling with golden embroidered vines, much like Foolishs’ one he’d worn the night before, though Eret’s version was much more expensive and stylish looking. Dress shoes sat on the shelf below the suits, the space where the mirror sat opposite filled by another set of dark drawers.

Where their skirts hung opposite, there was an entire rack of shirts, spanning from haggard to collared shirts, separated by a set of shelves housing sturdy looking boots. Then finally, at the corner, was a rack of a multitude of trousers, from shorts to slim training ones. The shelf below held a few daggers out on brazen display, horse riding boots and snow boots interspersing them.

“Nothing to your liking?” Called Eret, appearing in the doorway with their hair pulled out of their braid. It hung in loose ringlets, flowing down to their mid-back. They stepped in, thuds of their boots hushed by the carpet, and stopped beside the set of drawers beside the women’s section. They opened one of the top drawers, pulling out a loop of golden ribbon.

Eret stared at him as they pulled their hair back, leaving two locks out to frame their face. The ribbon curled up into a loose bow, keeping their long locks out of their face.

“We can go shopping later,” they said in the silence, stepping forth to flick through the racks of the normal outfits. They pulled a tan pair of trousers from the rack, eyes flicking from him to them before clicking their tongue. Foolish stood like a statue as they shoved the clothes back onto the rack, rummaging around through what looked to be a lot more clothes than they had displayed. He blinked as they reached the end of the rack but the clothes kept moving, more and more pairs of trousers appearing.

Eret pulled a pair of black trousers from the masses, holding the linen up to him. They glanced up to check his reaction and must’ve seen him gaping at the racks.

“The racks are enchanted,” they explained, seemingly deciding they didn’t like the trousers and shoving them back in. “Look,” they beckoned, and grabbed hold of one hanger before pulling it. A long line of clothes followed after, as if each hanger was on a roller, spinning along. There had to be hundreds of clothes whirring past, Eret unfazed.

“Woah,” Foolish finally found the words. “That’s so cool.”

He earned a shrug in response, Eret’s loose linen shirt billowing with the movement. “Ran out of room and couldn’t be bothered to expand the closet, is all.”

Their hand was pushed into the rack as the colours changed, the progression halting as Eret pulled out a deep red coloured pair of trousers. They were linen, with a brown button on the front, pockets in the front and a tighter waist, with looser legs and thin cuffs by the feet. Eret held them up against him before nodding and shoving the article of clothing into his arms.

“Put them on,” was the order, Foolish hurrying to slip into them as Eret dropped the hangar onto one of the bare shelves. As he was hopping into the trousers, Eret stepped away and started rummaging through the shirts, whirring through them with speed thanks to the same expansion enchantment as the trousers.

“White, black or something else?” The Crown Prince inquired, gazing at the shirts with a bored expression. Foolish felt bad for keeping them back from their training, whatever that was, but he couldn’t help but admire their firm jaw, strong nose and how their lips pursed unconsciously. “Brown might be nice. Anything goes with red, though a dark colour should be…”

They stopped the blur of colour, pulling a collared shirt from the rack. It was gold coloured, shimmering under the magic. It was shoved into his hands, Eret staring at him expectantly.

Foolish gripped the fabric, blinking. “Is this silk?”

“Do you not like it?” Eret frowned then made to turn to the rack. “I’m sure I have velvet, or would you prefer cashmere?”

“No, no,” he hurried to explain, unbuttoning the shirt to slip it on. It felt like heaven under his fingers. Such high quality clothing was unheard of in the Iris house, budget and Mother demanding low quality, cheap clothing for everything aside from social gatherings. “I’m just surprised. It feels nice.”

Eret stared at him, gaze blank as their face. Foolish felt as though they did a lot of staring.

Finishing buttoning up the deliciously soft shirt, Foolish turned to blink at himself in the mirror, enraptured by the stylish looking man he saw. Usually, for someone as naturally tan as he, it was hard to find clothes to suit him – according to Mother, who always scowled and said suits made him ugly. It was a great feat for Eret to have dressed him well, almost doing the impossible.

“You have quite the eye,” he praised, turning to find them still staring at him, colourless eyes burning deep in a soothing, un-judgemental way. It felt nice, compared to the glares of his parents. “Thank you.”

“Don’t,” they waved him off, turning towards the drawer of socks. “Be thankful you can see that you look good.”

Unsure what sort of compliment that was, Foolish offered a quirk of the lips as he turned to watch Eret pull out a pair of navy socks.

“These too,” was uttered as the cashmere socks were shoved at him. He nodded along, pulling off a brilliant balancing act as he stood on one leg and unrolled them onto his other foot. “What size are your feet?”

“Uh, around a ten?”

The Prince sighed. Foolish looked up from admiring his wiggling toes in the comfort of heaven, half expecting a slap.

“Why so small?” Muttered the other, turning dejectedly away from their whirl of shoes. “We’ll see who else has that size later. Do you mind walking around in socks? I could carry you, if you’d like.”

Carry him? Foolish wondered if his surprise made him look even dumber than usual. “It’s fine,” he smiled, unable to resist doing so as the Prince blinked. “I can walk.”

“I could—” Eret cut themself off, hands dropping abruptly from where they’d begun lifting them. Foolish frowned at them, head lilting in confusion. “Nevermind. If you want a shower, the clothes are charmed to clean themselves if you take them off so they’ll still be clean. I’ll wake a maid and have them direct you where ever you want.”

“That’s unnecessary,” Foolish shook his head, missing the disappointed look the Prince’s face fell into. “Just tell me where the training grounds are. I’d like to watch, if you’d let me.”

Eret’s lips twitched into a small smile. Foolish looked up just in time to catch it and stood stunned. “Alright. You can make it to the staircase from here, right? From there, walk to the right and to the halls. Thereon, you’ll hear us.”

“Okay,” he said, half understanding those instructions but making mental note of them, just in case. “I’ll get a shower then?”

“We train until breakfast at half seven,” Eret nodded. “You couldn’t miss us. The cupboard in there will have towels, feel free to use them and anything else in this Palace.”

Chapter Text

Foolish stepped into the luxurious en-suite, eyes nearly popping out of his head as he took in the room. The tiered ceiling was littered with gold tassels, which sparkled golden light down onto the floor. There was a small silled window in the far corner, although the room was too high up for anyone to see through the window from the gardens. The dark crossing pane that speared through it was a small but nice detail, the glass blurred.

Right in front of him was the marble counter with the porcelain basin and golden faucets, a large oval mirror hung above the sink. The wooden cupboard under was a rich dark wood, contrasting nicely against the white granite tiled floor. To his left was a large stone shower, the walls a rugged yet charming grey stone, a sliver of glass separating the shower with its golden showerhead from the rest of the room. A low stool with a plush white cushion sat beside the sink counter, alerting Foolish that there was more to the room.

He stepped to the left, moving forward to gasp at the large pool of a bath that sat low in the ground. It was a deep thing, white marble coating its roughly circular shape, with a slip along the sides for wine glasses or candles to be perched. The steps down into it were lapped at by the water, a horizontal pole on the wall a few feet over sitting free for towels. By the left was the toilet, a clean white, separated from the main pool room by the jut of wall that the sink sat against. To the right was a large, black polished dressing table that merged into a tall cupboard. The walls were stone, likely to protect against wood rotting, with candles sitting bunched in the room’s edges atop small gateleg tables, waiting to be lit. All in all, the place almost looked like a very expensive cave.

He’d never seen such a large bathroom.

Nervous even being here, he turned and closed the door behind him. It was warm, the tiles under his feet heated. Pulling his clothes off and setting them gently upon the small stool by the sink, he stood in the room and glanced between the shower and the bath.

Briefs still on whilst he explored, he tip-toed over to the large bath, crouching down to push a finger into the water. It was warm, in the spectrum between not boiling hot yet warmer than lukewarm. He could get into it, he knew, though he didn’t want to get soap in the water, or make a mess. Instead, he abandoned it and wandered over to the large mix between a unit of drawers and a tall cupboard and opened the large cupboard doors. Upon the six shelves inside, there was one dedicated to an array of white fluffy towels. He grabbed one, letting it unfold to reveal a huge bath towel that was the height of him.

Giddy, because this was all so gorgeous and so new, he squeezed the towel, thinking it was more a blanket than a towel. His blankets back at the Iris Estate hadn’t been this clean nor this comfortable. Was this what it was like to be Crown Prince? Luxury, comfort and safety?

He liked it. Foolish liked it a lot. The very thought was blisteringly warm.

Biting his lip, he glanced at the various other things in the cupboard, noting the colognes and extra tumbler of toothbrushes. He grabbed one brush, a green one to the white one Eret had by the sink, and toddled back towards the shower.

The towel was heaped atop his stolen clothes, his briefs joining the pile as the toothbrush was set on the counter. With that, he approached the shower, stepping into its open section. The glass slab separated the shower from the area of the door, but towards the pool-bath it was open. Standing inside it, he tapped at an indented panel of sorts that had symbols darker than the stone. With a click, water gushed down on him.

Surprised, Foolish stepped back. The water was a nice temperature, not too warm, likely a default stage. Unsure how to work the contraption, he let it be and noticed a white circle to his left. Tapping it curiously, he was startled when a stone tray appeared in the space, around chest height. A bottle of shampoo sat, bright red, with a duller pink liquid inside a bottle labelled conditioner. The scripture was pretty, swirling letters on parchment that somehow stuck to the glass bottles yet didn’t get wet under the spray.

Beside the hair products was another bottle, a blue one, labelled body wash. Foolish picked at it, fingers tapping it before suddenly his hand was weighted, a slimy substance on his palm. Jerking away from it, he blinked at the blue liquid-soap, like wet wax, on his hand. The things magic could do was amazing.

He re-entered the spray, standing under it as he pulled his hair out of its tie with one hand. The water washed over him, refreshing and gentle as he lathered the soap on his hands and began washing his body. It had been a while since he’d had anything other than a bath, and never had he had a warm shower.

It was nice.

Body washed, he tapped the shampoo, enamoured with how he watched the content in the bottle decrease as some appeared in his palm. He pushed what he’d been given through his hair, noticing how it lathered nicely. It took a few dollops to get it through his hair, the sheer length and thickness of his long locks requiring extra effort to manage. When done, he experimented with the conditioner, lathering it in before washing it out. Finished, he stood there, warm water riveting down his back, rolling along his jaw when he tilted his head to see the controls.

Tapping blindly at the wall, he squeaked as the water suddenly became freezing, fingers slapping at the panel in a hurry. The heat returned but this time the spray was like a bull stampeding. Laughing, because things didn’t get any better than this, he palmed the panel and the shower shut off. Left dripping, he spluttered and tried swiping off some water before stepping into the rest of the room.

It was warmer than it had been, the steam of the shower doing something to make the room warmer. Maybe the magic that heated the floors and water was designed to react and warm the room so those getting out of the shower didn’t get a chill. It sounded too good to be true, but Foolish knew that magic was like that. It’s discovery had greatly boosted the world, allowing for new inventions and laws to be put in place. It’s use was limited to those with a strong enough mana core to be able to control what they used, though otherwise, it was completely adaptable to most uses.

He grabbed the towel, sinking into it quicker than a kitten would curl into its mother’s side. Lingering like this for a moment, he eventually dried himself off and climbed back into the clothes Eret had forced on him. Dressed, shirt tucked into his trousers, socks on his feet, he settled the towel into a wicker basket in the corner, clearly the laundry, and looked at himself in the mirror.

Pulling his wet hair into a complex braid, what was known as a French braid, he pulled a tube of toothpaste from where he’d seen Eret get theirs, and began brushing his teeth. The steam in the room slowly receded as Foolish peered at the faucet, marvelling at how he could see his reflection in it.

Whilst brushing his teeth, he leant down to spit into the sink and a symbol on the space between the faucet and the mirror caught his eye. Tapping it, suddenly his hair wasn’t wet anymore. Nearly choking on his brush, he looked up at himself and found his hair was completely dried.

“Woah,” he managed past the toothbrush, tugging at his dry braid.

Finishing his teeth, he cleaned the brush off and set it neatly beside Eret’s and wiped the sink clear of any residual paste. With everything in order, he rushed out, breezing through the room on his mission to find Eret.

The portrait above the mantlepiece caught his eye, stopping him before he opened the door, hand on the knob. It was gold framed, with dark paints depicting what looked to be a woman. Leaving the door for a moment, Foolish wormed around the couches and stood before the painting, reading the gold plaque.

Her Majesty, Empress of Hiel, it read.

Foolish gasped, looking at the woman again to find any clue that she was the Empress. She wore a dark veil, dark dress a swathe of night against the grey background. The painting style was blotchy, as though the artist hadn’t seen what he was painting beforehand, with her face nothing more than a shaded blob under the veil, dark lips the only discernible aspect. Nonetheless, she looked as beautiful as the stories said, though Foolish wished there was a better painting.

Stepping back, careful to avoid the glass coffee table, he dogged back to the door and twisted the golden handle.

Outside the room, the hall was lit by magic due to the fact the room was in an area where the hall had few windows. The thunder rumbled through the Palace, Foolish pattering down the stairs in his pilfered socks. Once again, he was daunted by how comfortable everything was, having long ago accepted that clothing would scratch and itch.

The Palace wasn’t warm, though it wasn’t cold either. He strode onto the ground floor, gazing up at the huge golden chandelier sparkling overhead, and turned to the right as Eret had said. He’d never been up this early – the usual waking time at Iris Estate around nine am. It was odd to see the sky dark outside whilst he was up for morning; everything felt surreal.

Slowly, he walked through the halls, gazing at the gold swirling along the walls in painted vines. Portraits lined this narrow hall he walked through, strong men and women painted within detailed gold frames. Their plaques were gold, words chiselled with elegance and care. On each, below the title or name, the painted people had death dates, all transpiring over the year of the First War. Were they people who had played a large part in fighting for the Empire? Foolish wouldn’t know.

Some simply read ‘farmer’ others, ‘officer’, some were blank. He probably spent a tad too long staring at them, flashes of white bursting in from the foyer and its large windows. The hall felt morose, the portraits of dead men and women adorning its walls and making this area sombre.

Continuing down the hall, he came along what seemed to be a sort of two-pronged path. There was the option to go left, or right. He paused here, attempting with futile to listen for the noise Eret had said he’d hear. Unfortunately, the thunder was booming now, and he had difficulty hearing anything other than the settling creaks of the Palace and his own heartbeat. Foolish turned right.

The carpet took him down another path, the gardens sparkling through windows to his left signifying he was near the back of the Palace. It was a large building, shown by how he was tiring from simply walking this far, although it was all so beautiful. Everywhere he looked there was something to gaze at, something to admire; a painting to praise, a tapestry to see.

“Walk to the right, and then the halls,” was what Eret had said. Foolish had went that way, was in the halls this very moment, but was desperately unsure of where he was. Maybe he should’ve asked for greater detail.

He passed a door, back-tracking to blink at the heavy appearance of it. Either way, if it was the wrong place, he could always ask someone inside – if there was anyone there – where Eret trained. It looked important though, and was on the cusp of what would be nearing the gardens. Perhaps due to the rain, and the lack of people he seen outside, they trained inside a room? It was not impossible.

Pushing open one door of two, he was met with a rush of noise. The clang of blades, the tang of sweat. Poking his head inside, he slipped in and found himself standing in a large inside court. Its ceiling was tall, a square-shaped raised area around the entire room of wooden slats, chairs and water bottles set along it. Within the centre of the room, a large area almost two times bigger than Eret’s room, sand took place of the floor, men rolling and sparring upon it. Foolish crept inside, watching two men shunt their swords off each other, stepping back and forth as if in a dance.

Inside, golden magic lit up the space, the tall raftered ceiling beyond reach by a multitude of metres. There had to be thirty men and women in here, all dressed in slim-fitting, tight clothing. Half wielded blades, a few in the back shooting arrows at targets, others sparing in hand-to-hand combat.

The large – and very heavy – dark wood door creaked shut behind him, Foolish blinking at the number of faces that turned to look at him.

He saw Eret before they even turned. Their smirk as they directed someone’s stance in wielding a blade, clutching their own netherite blade, the Holy Blade Ted’s Wrath, was a shining star in the night’s sky. He watched their hair fly as their head turned, their smirk breaking into a stunning grin at the sight of him.

“Foolish!” They called, the people around them blinking at their outburst, their confusion carefully noted. Foolish caught a few surprised looks before Eret was charging at him, Wrath sheathed by their hip as they sprinted over the sand with bare feet.

Sweaty arms closed around him, the musk of sweat and hard-work surrounding him as Eret hugged him, lifting him off the ground for a breath. Foolish blinked hurriedly and squeezed back, shocked but pleased when Eret bounced back, grinning manically. He felt unsteady after being lifted but couldn’t deny it had been an enjoyable shock.

“I’m glad you came,” they said to him, eyes soft despite their lack of colour. They whirled to the room, brandishing Foolish as if a rare item; arm hooked behind his shoulders, hand clutching at his bicep. “Everyone, this is Foolish. Foolish, this is my Royal Guard.”

“Y- Your Royal Guard?” He stammered, taking in the faces of the men and women who comprised the infamous group of knights. Rumours aplenty swirled around these people, telling of their harsh cruelty and mastering of any weapon imaginable. They were one of the strongest forces in the Empire, if not the strongest. Though a tad too small to be categorized as an army, they may as well have been one with how powerful and impressive their feats were. “Impressive. You train with them?”

“Every day,” nodded Eret, gesturing for someone to join them. A man with long pink hair emerged from the crowd, Technoblade stopping before them, still on the sand and thus at a lower position than them. Eret tugged him up onto the wooden slats, bumping shoulders with him. “This is Techno, he’s the Commander of this lot.”

“No, I’m not,” huffed the man, sweat dripping down his brow before he wiped it away. He stood taller than Foolish, arms bulging with muscles, made extremely clear with his sleeveless shirt. “The Prince is our leader, I just keep the misfits in line.”

“You do a good job of it, if the stories of you lot are to be believed,” smiled Foolish, unsure why both men looked rather uncomfortable with the mention of stories. “Ah, I apologise, I—”

“Don’t worry,” smiled Eret, rocking back towards him. Their hand clasped his arm like an eager puppy whilst their other gestured towards the seats lined along the edges of the wooden platform. “Feel free to sit where ever.”

“Uh, okay,” he nodded and was left, Eret hopping off to rejoin the man they’d been with earlier. They shouted an order, voice ringing in the room, and everyone fell back into motion. Technoblade, however, stood before him a moment longer, staring down at him with his red eyes.

“Nice meeting you?” Foolish offered, only to be met with a huff. Technoblade turned his back on him and rejoined the swordsmen he’d been with prior.

Foolish released a breath and set off to find a good seat to watch everyone train.

He found one around the half-way mark, settling down on a wooden bench. The storm echoed in here, thunder roaring overhead. From the look of the place, wood versus the marble of the Palace, this place had been built as an addition to the main building, likely for this purpose.

The entire group were extremely skilled, archers standing with firm stances and strong arms as they got straight shots on the heads and chests of the human-shaped dummies in the far right corner. The swordsmen, of whom Technoblade stood with in the forefront of the room, going through motions, stood with low positions and swung sturdy swings. Eret was coaching the hand combatants, chittering with their people as they did so, situated around the middle of the large training arena.

Everyone had heard of the great Knights of the Royal Guard – a fighting force that not many armies would be able to defeat. Rumours swirled all over the Empire and beyond of a force bathed in blood, men and women emerging from a battle in their signature dark navy cloaks, silver bracers adorned with the crest of the Crown Prince. The uniform was a simple cloak with a silver clasp, silver bracers, black trousers, a white shirt and heavy boots. The dress uniform, one for special events or occasions, was not seen often, alleged to be a beautiful navy longcoat with silver tasselpads on the shoulders and threaded silver rope linking one shoulder to the breast pocket. With the longcoat ending in two sharply fanged coat tails, their heavy boots stomping as they flapped, the Royal Guard’s march was said to be a foretelling of death.

“Chin up, Iskall!” Boomed Eret’s voice, Foolish looking up from his sleepy daze to see Eret knee-deep in a spar with someone. “You need to see my actions and evaluate based on them, not swing recklessly. To do that, you need to see.”

The man, a brunet, nodded and took a hefty swing for their head. Foolish was on the edge of his seat as Eret ducked under, sweat shining in the golden flush of the room. They pounced like a jaguar going for the kill – all grace and speed, no chance to stop – and grabbed hold of the man’s arm, twisting it so that he rolled left. With their opponent on the ground, Eret stooped down, a knee to his chest, and grinned in victory as Iskall tapped out.

“Good job, work on balance,” they suggested, offering Iskall a hand up as the other brushed himself off. “Then I’ll have a harder time making you go down.”

“No, you won’t,” chuffed the man.

“I won’t,” agreed the Crown Prince.

Foolish had never thought someone brushing sand from their cheek, sweat dripping down them, could be defined as beautiful, yet here Eret was, all stunning grace and sharp skill. Perhaps that wasn’t right – in this light, Eret was more ethereal, glorious even. Their hair sparkled, long braid whipping around them, twirling and jumping as they danced around the attacks of their partners, their long grin a beacon in the shade, teeth glittering a powerful promise. The way their trousers pulled against their muscles, strong calves and thighs bulging when they squatted to dive for a woman, arms flexing and widening with muscles that didn’t appear to be there on first glance as they swept her onto the ground. Enamoured with how they stood tall, lifting the cusp of their shirt to wipe their face, proclaiming victory with such pride. Staring at them almost made Foolish burst with joy in that moment.

Eret was all sleek glory and silent power. They were the Crown Prince, but they were a solider, a fighter, and they’d won the Empire’s first war like it was nothing. A War Hero and a Prince – Foolish wasn’t sure how they hadn’t buckled under the pressure yet.

“Sally,” they called, beckoning another one from their group forth. A red head with her hair pulled back into a tight bun stepped forth, meek in appearance.

“Start,” nodded Eret, the two of them stepping back from each other and settling into low stances. The rest of the group stood a few feet away, circling the group in a half-circle, all watching keenly.

The woman moved first, keeping low as she dived for Eret’s knees. Foolish observed how she went head-first for them, retreating away at the last moment with a sidewards roll when Eret swept out with a kick. Sally propped herself up on a knee and somersaulted, back on her feet in an instant and moved in whilst Eret was resituating from their kick. She roundhoused them, spinning a kick that took out the leg they’d just kicked with.

Eret fell back, picking themself up with a quick backflip. Sally moved in before they could reorient, delivering a harsh blow to their stomach. Wincing, Foolish expected Eret to gasp and go down, but instead they stayed up, simply stepping back. Capitalizing on their retreat, Sally jerked forwards, arm already knocking back in preparation for a punch.

She swung. The Prince’s lips twisted into a smirk and it was evident in Sally’s expression that she knew she’d lost. What had changed, Foolish wasn’t sure, but he was gripping his shirt a little too tightly in his lap.

They intercepted her punch, sidestepping to avoid it whilst grabbing her elbow with a hand. They used her own momentum to shove her forwards, the woman sprawling out on the sand. Before she could get back up, Eret dropped and pressed their knee into the centre of her back.

“Yield?” They offered.

“I yield,” she gasped, panting.

Blowing out a breath, Eret lifted themself and brushed themself off before offering her a hand. Sally took it and stood, making a face as she attempted to get all the sand off herself. When done, breath regained, Eret nodded at her.

“Thanks,” Sally rubbed at her neck, sheepish. “Wouldn’t have been surprised if you’d uppercut me there, sir.”

“I thought about it.”

The knights gathered around choked on their snickers. Eret turned and gave them a look Foolish couldn’t see from his angle. What he did see though, was how the knights all paled and clamoured to join each other in sparring. Eret stood, chest heaving, and watched as they all paired off.

Foolish stared at them, realising why they hadn’t had a shower upon waking. The amount of sand that fell from their braid when they experimentally shook it was enough to start a snowstorm, a mammoth pile settling at their feet as they shook out their linen shirt. Suddenly, they turned to him, head tilting forwards as they grinned.

They gestured for him to approach. Struck, Foolish stood from the uncomfortable chair and came down to the lower step.

“Would you like to spar with me?”

“What?” Foolish spluttered, searching for words as the knights behind Eret stole glances at him. Self-conscious, he looked down, fingers pulling at each other. “I… don’t know any martial arts.”

“That’s okay,” hummed Eret, voice soft. Their hand appeared in his view, splaying out for him to grab. He did, tentatively.

Coarse sand-gnawed fingers tightened around his, thumb rubbing comfortingly over the soft of his palm. Foolish gripped back, looking up to find white eyes staring at him. Something in him told him that stare wasn’t the same one they sat with upon their throne – something about this one felt more gentle, precious even. Maybe, if he dared, it was loving.

“I’ll teach you,” promised the Prince, voice strong again. “A punch is always good to have. Take your socks off and come onto the sand.”

Pulling the navy socks off, concealing his disappointment at losing their softness, he threw them onto the bench he’d sat on and stepped down onto the sand. It was cool, not burningly hot as he’d heard stories of, and it wasted no time in wriggling between his toes.

Foolish wondered if this was what beaches were like. He’d never been but he’d heard the stories.

The knights training seemed oddly quiet now. Foolish looked up from admiring the sand and found Eret smiling at him, the knights having stopped to watch. Embarrassed, he brought his hand up to cover his face and suddenly the noise returned.

He peeked through his fingers in time to see the cusp of Eret’s harsh glare fade, head whirling back to beam at him. His cheeks burned as they offered him their smile once more.

“You need to be balanced,” urged Eret, demonstrating a few different stances. “You can be low, which is harder to knock down, or tall, which will work if you want to be imposing. Most find a lower position has greater benefit, as people tend to underestimate those who shrink.”

Copying the stance Eret was in, Foolish spaced his feet about a shoulder’s width apart and bent his knees.

“Good,” praised Eret, standing before him suddenly, hand prodding at his shoulder. “Keep your back as straight as possible. You could hurt it otherwise.”

He pulled his upper body upwards, attempting to mimic how Eret had stood. “Like this?”

“Mmm,” Eret stretched out the sound, obviously attempting to cover up their dislike. Foolish wilted. “Unhunch your shoulders.”

Attempting to do so, he startled when Eret’s hand grabbed his bicep. Looking down at them, because he was still taller even when slightly crouched, he eyed their focussed look. They nudged his arms around, pushing them apart to grab at his waist and physically straighten his posture.

“There,” they said, nudging at his feet with their own foot. “Widen your stance by an inch.”

He moved out his feet. Eret nodded. They pulled his arms back together, leaving them up in a defensive pose as they circled around and placed their hand against the small of his back. The warmth of their hand leeched in, Foolish shivering as their other hand grabbed at his shoulder and pulled him back whilst the hand at his back pushed forward.

“That’s your posture,” Eret mulled, Foolish standing more upright and perhaps a tad as though he was standing in a Ball again, except now he was crouched and it was weird. He felt stiff and awkward, Eret letting out a sharp breath behind him. “Stand normally.”

Shifting back into his normal stance, he towered over them, watching as they circled around and stood before him. Eret had their lips pinched, as though they were pouting.

“Perhaps low isn’t the way to go, sir,” called one of the men. Eret looked over, Foolish following their gaze to find a blond guy with brown streaks in his hair smiling at them. “Mister’s tall, maybe he should stay up.”

Whatever that meant, Eret made a humming noise and turned back to Foolish, blinking at him.

“How are you so tall with such small feet?” They asked out of nowhere, Foolish spluttering on a response as the knights to the side of them shuffled with giggles.

Outraged, he finally managed to blurt out, “What?”

Eret’s face scrunched up, brows drawing down as their nose twitched. They stepped back and cupped their mouth before sneezing. Foolish stared, relating the noise to that of a kitten squeaking. The knights dispersed, fluttering back as they struggled to not laugh.

The Crown Prince whirled around, glaring at the knights who quickly fell back into their training partners. Disgruntled, they looked back to Foolish, who couldn’t help it anymore and laughed.

“Your sneezes sound so cute,” he fawned, unable to resist the opportunity before him as he stepped forward and pinched their cheeks. Eret blinked up at him, the room suddenly very quiet.

“Nuh ‘ey dun,” was the warble past stretched cheeks.

“Yes, they do,” he teased, releasing their cheeks to let them rub at them. This time, Eret did pout at him.

“No,” muttered Eret, sulking.

Foolish laughed, head tilting as he patted their head. They leaned up into his hand like a cat, going on their tippy-toes to level off with his height. He smirked back at them and went up on his own tippy-toes, revelling in their affronted look.

“I’m taller than you,” he jested.

“But you’re so small,” huffed Eret.

“I am not,” Foolish raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, you are,” insisted Eret, who turned to the room and glared. The bustle of sparring restarted, Foolish only realising how quiet it had gotten.

His cheeks felt warm. He wasn’t sure he’d ever blushed this much before.

“So,” he pried. “Will you still teach me how to throw a punch?”

“Why should I when I can always protect you?”

Left dumbstruck by their words, all he could manage was an incomprehensible mumble.

“But the partner of the Crown Prince must be able to defend themselves,” pondered Eret, finger tapping at their chin, lip twitching.

“Stop teasing me,” he smirked back.

“Alright,” appeased Eret. “Try out that stance from before with a taller posture, less of a crouch.”

Chapter Text

Technoblade twirled Obliterator in his hand, showing her off as the knights ran through drills. His focus was with the blade, though his gaze was on the Crown Prince.

“Who would’ve thought the Prince would smile like that at someone other than us?” One of the men in his group whispered, the words just about slipping into his hearing.

“I know,” agreed another. “They can’t have just met that guy last night.”

“They’re way too invested,” someone else interjected.

Turning to his group, who had obviously noted his mind elsewhere, he cleared his throat. The chatter stopped, the sharp slashing movement they were practicing not once faltering.

The Royal Guards were the best fighting force in the Continent, Technoblade knew. He’d come from the Colosseums, where only death and pain awaited, whisked to fight by the Prince’s side in a blur of fate. The fact the Guard were some of the best was well known, the rumours swirling around vicious and unwieldly. To think that the noble the Prince had picked up knew of such was disconcerting, the possibility of the man thinking ill of the Guard more hurtful than he would’ve thought.

He’d put his life into this. The Knights of the Royal Guard were his people, and he as their Commander had a part to play in protecting them. Last thing they needed was for some noble to whisper to the Prince that the Guard was over-the-top or too dangerous and for them to act recklessly. This worry nagged at him, biting away from the moment he seen how enthralled the Crown Prince was.

There wasn’t even anything of interest about the noble. Tall, – shorter than Techno but taller than the Prince – tan and not overly muscled; he was not what the Prince had went for in the past. They went for shorter people, usually because they were the tallest or second tallest in the room; they liked the rosy ones whose faces went alight when they blushed; they liked people capable of protecting themself, equipped with muscle or skill. This combination usually meant they went for fighters – quite a few of their exes were made up of members of the Guard – and this noble boy was the opposite.

Foolish of Cail. Adopted son of the Iris Family. A weak noble.

Techno had sent out a few people to collect on the man, eager to know if he was here to kill the Prince or simply because the Prince had chosen him. The Crown Prince could be overwhelming, bringing people home only to fuck them and send them back the next day. Most didn’t last the night, sent out in the early morn or immediately after the deed.

What made Foolish of Cail special? What gave the man the right to see the shattered Prince’s rare grins? What about him allowed him the honour of joining a Guard training session? Why was he granted unspoken permission to laugh at the Prince and not have his tongue cut off?

Personally, Technoblade seen nothing of interest in the man. Sure, he dressed decently (the Prince’s clothes on the man had not been missed by any) and he had some resemblance of manners, had to have for the Prince to have chosen him, but other than that Foolish of Cail was one of the least interesting people Technoblade had ever seen.

“Sir?” Asked Wisp, waving his hand to gain his attention. “You’re uh- going to damage the leather.”

Looking down, he found his hand white around the handle of Obliterator. “’S fine,” he grunted. “Work in the leather. Better grip.”

“Right,” Wisp offered a lopsided smile. Everyone in the group knew the real meaning behind his actions.

“Don’t tell us you’re worried about the Prince, Commander?” One of the more spritely ones asked.

He raised an eyebrow. “Why would I be?”

“Dunno,” whistled one.

“Maybe you care for the Prince,” Corvus suggested cheekily.

“Or you don’t like the boy-toy?”

Travis nudged the one who’d said that. “Don’t say that where the Prince can hear, you idiot.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Ted shrugged it off. “So what is it, Commander? What’s on your mind?”

“Stress isn’t good to bottle up, sir,” piped up Ranboo, an exceptional young knight, skilled in more aspects of fighting than most middle aged men were. His skin condition that had ended with him exiled from his town was the very thing that had resulted in the Guards stumbling upon him, the Prince offering him a place to stay.

The Crown Prince could be a bleeding heart when the time called for it. Technoblade worried that heart would be broken too far to be fixed. All it took was one knife dug too deep, flesh ripped open, and the heart could stop beating.

“I’m not worried,” he rebuffed, turning to them. “When did I say you could stop running drills?”

The group spluttered, objecting immediately.

“We’re only looking out for you, sir.”

“We were just being good Knights, Commander.”

He cut them off. “Do you want to run the perimeter?”

When the perimeter was mentioned, it intoned the boundaries of the land they were on. Currently, the Golden Palace, their present residence, was around nine acres. A lap of the perimeter was breath-taking, and not in the beautiful way. Plus, Technoblade liked to make his punishments the task of running the residence’s perimeter around fifteen times.

The Golden Palace wasn’t even one of the biggest areas the Crown Prince owned. They had a few too many Palaces, a couple twenty summer houses and numerous other mansions, estates and cabins. It could not be said the Prince did not appreciate the release of moving away from their problems.

Maybe that was unhealthy. Not that Technoblade had place to talk.

“I heard the crops aren’t doing too well,” said Ted. “What’s the bet we’re moving residence again?”

“The Prince likes the change of scenery,” shrugged Quomb. “I have to say, I like wandering around the Continent.”

“You only like it because of the luxury,” chirped Cindy.

Jabber and Dryya appeared by his side, bows left on the wooden platform. Technoblade blinked at them.

“Archery’s free,” said Dryya, waving for two others to go to the target section in the corner. Archery was mandatory to be learnt alongside hand-to-hand and sword wielding, however in these sessions the people that specialised in such got reign of the target area first. Dryya and Jabber were two of the six archers they had on hand, the other four having split into the Prince’s combat group and sending four from there over.

Travis and Ranboo stepped up to go. Technoblade waved them off, sighing at the loss of Ranboo. If the prize pupil wasn’t here, he was stuck with the rest of them. Ranboo was the only one who didn’t tease him unnecessarily.

“So, the Prince’s boy,” harangued Dryya as they unsheathed their sword. Technoblade scowled as the group devolved into gossip, Jabber taking place beside him, watching the others. Jabber was a very skilled individual, probably one of Techno’s favourites alongside Ranboo; laid-back but quick to bite. They were an impressive healer, with courage and stubbornness to rival even the strongest fighter.

“Alright,” he grumbled, gathering everyone’s attention. “Drop and do sixty push-ups or you’re running six laps of the perimeter.”

“Only six?” Jabber questioned, one of the few who enjoyed the long runs.

Corvus laughed nervously and tugged Jabber backwards, forcing them into a push-up. Technoblade watched his group struggle and decided to drop down himself, pumping out fifty easily. He was on fifty-four when a shadow loomed over him.

“Dream,” he grunted, sarcasm leaking into his tone. “Good to see you could make it.”

“Thanks, Tech,” smirked the man, bouncing about and poking at the others. Wisp collapsed with a choked sound on his thirty-ninth, arms buckling with a crack of his elbow. The ones around him huffed laughter.

“Another sixty, Wisp,” he reprimanded.

“Yes, sir,” huffed the man, rolling to his knees.

“How many do you have left, Techno?” Asked Dream.

“Four,” he grunted, just finishing his fifty-sixth when the weight of a certain mask-lover thumped onto his middle back. Hissing a breath through his teeth, he let the other settle into a stable position and carried on.

“Do twenty more,” nagged Dream.

Technoblade did twenty more.

“Thirty, sir,” called Kara Corvus.

“Sixty more, Corvus,” he responded. She groaned fitfully.

The others finished up their sixty. “Show me your pinch technique,” Dream beckoned, comfortable from his position as he watched the others put on a show, unsheathed blades sparkling under the limelight of magic.

“Get off me, Dream,” Technoblade grunted around one hundred and fifty in. Dream made a humming noise but didn’t move. He carried on.

“The Prince has kept the noble,” murmured the leech on his back. “Interesting.”

Curious of what Dream saw in Foolish of Cail, hoping it would answer some of his own questions, Technoblade inquired. “What’s interesting about it?”

“They’re smiling at him.”

Turning his head and being forced to blow his hair out of his face, Technoblade looked over in time to see the Crown Prince beam at the man. They were doing some laid-back spar, the Prince coaching the man through the stages of a kick.

“Why’s the boy so interesting?” He asked.

“The Prince has taken a shine to him,” intoned Dream, wriggling on his back. Technoblade let out a warning grunt and he stilled. “Isn’t that enough?”

Disgruntled, Technoblade couldn’t decide if he was suitably pleased with that answer.

Eret whistled, everyone glancing over to them. Technoblade correctly assumed that it was seven am. “Everyone’s dismissed. You know what to do.”

“Yes, sir!” Was the echoing call from everyone, fists snapping off chests as they bowed before trailing out to the edges of the room to clean the sand from their feet. Dream took his sweet time in getting off.

“Move or I’ll stand up,” Techno threatened with no real heat. The legs atop him writhed.

“No, you won’t,” jested the man.

“Don’t be so sure,” he snickered, pulling his weight up to push Dream to the side and stand up. He wiped the sweat off his brow, keeping it away from his eyes, and looked down at the green lump cradling his elbow on the sand. “I didn’t hear a crack.”

“I hit it on the landing,” hissed Dream, rolling dramatically in the sand. The stream of knights out the door picked up, the occasional snicker echoing up at Dream’s melodramatics.

“Here,” leaning down, he gripped the man’s elbow, squeezing it with a harsh prod. Dream squeaked, but Techno didn’t feel any bone fragments out of place. “You’re fine. It’ll probably bruise.”

“No thanks to you,” huffed Dream.

Shrugging, Technoblade offered him a grin. “You should’ve moved when I told you.”

They watched their knights file out of the training room, Foolish pulling his socks back on beside them. “Would you like to get a bath with me?”

The pretty little noble looked to them, head tilting in his adorable imitation of a lion cub. “But I’ve had a shower already?”

Lips moving of their own accord, their face felt tight. From all the looks they were getting, Eret knew they were acting weird – they hadn’t smiled this much in what felt like forever. Maybe they never had – amidst licking the ground to survive, from war to sitting idle in cold Palaces – Eret had been busy all their life.

“Eret?” Came the hesitant question from Foolish, soft hands touching their shoulder. Shifting suddenly to mask the flinch that came from the unexpected contact, they turned to the man, eyebrow raised. Foolish’s pinched face came into view, looking almost worried. “Are you alright?”

Disconcerted, they declined to answer. “After our bath will be breakfast,” they informed. “Afterwards, I require an hour for meditation before we may go into town. Is this satisfactory?”

“Sure…” Foolish’s voice came out unsure. They were unaware of the concerned lilt to his mouth as they had turned their back to him, focusing on picking up their boots from one of the wooden steps.

“If you are not happy with it, speak up,” they said, feeling detached as their voice came out monotone. The last thing they wanted was to scare the ray of sunshine away yet the chill that overcame them was all-consuming.

Technoblade and Dream were fooling around on the sand, still. Their attention landed on the two, soulless gaze watching as the pink haired warrior pulled the magician from the ground. The Empire knew Dream as a tracker and a hunter, a mercenary Eret had invested a little too much time in, but the truth of the matter was that Dream was one of the most magically capable men they’d ever seen. If his affinity for high-level spells and wards was revealed to the Temple – the Continent renowned group of High Priests (basically the term for magicians of the highest calibre) – then not only would they throw a hissy fit over not having trained the boy, but they would also attempt to claim him as their own.

Their reach as Crown Prince was vast, though if something or someone caught the Temple’s eye, there was nothing stopping the High Priests. Mother had shown her temper with them before, and the ill-will between the Imperial Family and the Temple was currently the most dangerous relationship in the Empire. As Crown Prince, Eret Alastair aus Enkeli, was capable of creating another dispute with the Temple, however such would take energy and extreme effort.

In short, they couldn’t be bothered to tell the Temple they’d found a backwater mage and had taken him into their Royal Guard, simply because the endeavor was worth less than the secret.

Dream was more powerful as an unknown that people thought to be known. Eret liked uncertain odds; enjoyed fools who created plans and faltered when one aspect was wrong. Getting into a tussle with the Temple was the least of their priorities.

Technoblade, on the other hand, was wanted by no one. Once a gladiator in the Colosseum arena, he had painted the sand red with blood not his own more than any other fighter. He’d been the top, one of the best in the Colosseum’s history. It only made sense that he’d caught Eret’s eye when they’d paid visit.

The Arena Master had not faltered under threat of losing his job. At this, Eret had been peeved and enquired as to what they could do to earn the rights to the slave. Smug, without a hint of remorse, the Arena Master had offered a deal.

Win or be mine, he’d offered. Eret had signed the parchment and jumped into the ring.

They won against Technoblade, the chants of the man’s moniker – Blood God – ringing in their ears. The poor thing had not cowered at Death, but he had paused in confusion when Eret did not kill him. They’d offered freedom in that moment, and the man had accepted.

After climbing out of the arena, they’d ripped up the contract with the Arena Master and promptly drove their blade through his chest. The Colosseum fights got a new Arena Master the next day.

Blinking into the glare of a magic orb floating before them – the magic had a tendency to revolve around the rooms – they tuned into Foolish’s one sided conversation to find the man was rambling on about how nice the bathroom was.

“I’m glad you like it,” they said, chest soothed by something cool as the truth of their words mulled over them. “Perhaps you will enjoy the bath even more.”

Foolish gibbered, words tumbling from his mouth in half formed sounds. When Eret strode onto the wooden platform and headed for the door, he followed.

Back in their room, they corralled him into the bathroom.

“I won’t bite,” they hummed, shuffling about to pull the candles close to the deep pool. After being ordered, Foolish was stripping by the sink, Eret pulling over one of the low gateleg tables to fold two large towels atop.

“Yeah, well,” the man’s response died off, his voice lilting into nothing. Eret stood, something churning in their stomach that made them feel wildly out of place.

Was this shame? Embarrassment? Wondering why they felt such now, when they’d bathed with hundreds others, they pulled a match from a matchbox within the cupboard and struck it. The flame lit the litany of candles, the small wicks burning away to release the soft scents in the wax.

“You can come out,” they beckoned, clicking their fingers to activate the pool. It began bubbling, warm and soothing like a hot spring.

Their little noble popped out from around the corner, bare all but for his briefs. Eret blinked, suddenly understanding why they’d picked out one of the tighter pairs for the man when they seen how the fabric clung to him.

“D- Don’t look,” he squeaked, wavering in the middle of the bathroom. Snorting, they looked away, content to pull at the buckle of their pants whilst the man took off his boxers and slipped in. The sigh he let out struck them deep, Eret forced to bite their lip to avoid their body doing what it wanted.

Maybe they hadn’t been active enough recently, if they were getting excited at simple sounds.

Pulling their shirt off, they let it fall onto the granite tiles and slid out of their trousers. Their boxers came next, Eret grabbing a few marble-like balls from the cupboard before striding over to the pool. Foolish kept his gaze averted, hunched in a corner with a stone ledge for a seat.

Dropping the balls in to let them form bubbles, they entered themself, sinking down into the warm water. They took the opposite end from Foolish, clicking their fingers twice for soap bottles to appear beside them.

“Do you want some?” They asked, catching Foolish watching as they rubbed some violet shampoo through their hair.

They man blinked, mouth popping into a soft circular gape. “No, no,” he smiled nervously, arms flailing in the waters. He looked like a puppy trying to swim. “I’m fine, aren’t I a bother though?”

“How so?”

“I just barged in and now you have to accommodate for me,” started Foolish, jaw tense. His gaze strayed, Eret watching as it unfocussed.

Deciding their hair was done, they dunked their head into the water, distantly hearing the shocked squeak Foolish let out. When they resurfaced from getting all the soap out, they looked to the man. “It’s no bother at all. It’s been a while since anyone’s wanted to stay.”

“You mean I could’ve left?” Foolish questioned, something in his tone that sounded too upbeat for what they didn’t want to hear.

Suddenly their heart felt heavy. Turning bodily to grab the body wash, leaving their back exposed so that maybe fate would understand and just take the knife and stab them, they braced for the impact.

“If you so wish,” they started slowly, words drawling as if sand floating through a sieve. “You may leave.”

Foolish didn’t respond. Eret shovelled the disappointment onto their shoulders as yet another brick to weigh them down and lathered themself in body wash. When the bubbles no longer formed along their skin, they dipped low in the water and resurfaced free of soap.

The urge to get out of the bath tingled in the back of their mind.

“What if I didn’t want to leave?”

Startled, the arm they were situating at the edge of the pool as they laid back slipped, and they crashed into the water. Emotions stung at them as they sat up, Foolish muffling his laughter into his fist.

“You can stay,” they said a tad too quickly.

Foolish’s expression softened. When he spoke, it was a whisper that felt too holy to hear: “Thank you.”

Their cheeks burned. Looking down at their muddled reflection in the water, they chewed at their cheek.

A loud grumble filled the air. Foolish went as red as his skin would allow, clutching at his face as he sunk into the water till it lapped at his neck.

Eret almost felt jealous at the water for a moment, wanting to be the only one to touch that neck, to caress his soft unblemished skin. Foolish was such a work of untainted art compared to their scarred, beastly form; they were haggard and grizzled, left savage and horrifying from a year of war and countless of suffering whereas Foolish was all soft skin, plush lips, bright eyes and unbroken beauty. Eret had given up beauty the moment Mother whispered to them that something needed to be done about the corruption in this world. They’d taken everything they had with them into the fight and they considered themself lucky (only some days, though) to have come out with only a few scars and a life intact.

Looking at themself made Eret queasy but looking at Foolish made them blossom with pride unchecked.

“Would you like some snacks before breakfast?” Twenty minutes was a horrific stretch to make Foolish wait.

“What sort?” Foolish asked, having slipped in even further to the point where he was millimetres from getting water in his mouth.

Eret clicked their fingers, a silver platter appearing on the edge to their sides. Foolish perked up and rose from the water to peer at the chocolate chip cookies.

Looking at the dazzled look on Foolish’s face made them smile, remembering how the kitchen staff had first responded to plates of food randomly disappearing before their eyes.

“What are these?”

Blinking, they lifted their arms from the sides of the pool and walked over, the pool deep enough that they could stand with their shoulders above the waterline. Foolish joined them, toddling over like an unsure puppy.

“Cookies,” they said, half expecting the man to be joking. At Foolish’s blank look, they picked one up and cupped a hand under it to catch the crumbs. With a cookie hovering before his face, Foolish had no choice but to accept, biting a small mouse-like bite out of it.

The surprised look he wore broke their heart. “Have you never had cookies before?” They pried gently, pushing the rest of the cookie into Foolish’s open mouth.

“No,” waffled the man, licking his lips. “But these are great!”

Eret had known not all Noble houses were teeming with money. Chocolate was considered a luxury to paupers, but they hadn’t thought that would extend to some of the higher class people. How had Foolish never had cookies before?

“What about chocolate?” They ate a cookie for themself, prodding another at Foolish’s lips. “Do you like it?”

Foolish blinked innocently, head tilting again. “Chocolate?”

“I—” they couldn’t finish the rest of their sentence, the words running away from their grasp. Their eyes felt inordinately wide, threatening to bulge out of their eyesockets. Feebly, they repeated, “Chocolate.”

Shrugging it off, Foolish offered a beaming smile, seemingly unseeing of their internal dilemma, and munched on another cookie. Suddenly, he shied back, shoulders bunching higher than they’d ever seen as he cradled the cookie he’d just grabbed in his hands. He looked like a kitten mewling for its mother. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to eat them all.”

Looking down to the plate to see it very much still full, Eret felt their eyebrow raise. They turned back, staring at Foolish as his eyes sparkled. “They’re for you,” they assured, unsure if he would appreciate them touching his arm even if it was meant to be a reassuring gesture. “You may eat them all, though the Chefs may be saddened if you were too full to eat their breakfast.”

That seemed to fix whatever debate Foolish had fallen into.

“Breakfast?”

“Mhm,” they hummed, attempting to cover up a sudden wave of fatigue by returning back to their earlier seat. This time, they rested their arms on their lap, submerged enough that it was comfortable for their neck to lie against the lip of the pool. Foolish’s gaze pried at them, washing over them like a soft breeze.

As the crunch of Foolish enjoying his cookies lilted them into a serene peace, they closed their eyes and breathed.

Another mind pried at their consciousness, Wrath prodding at them to meditate. Usually, during the last hour of their morning training they meditated with their Holy Blade, strengthening the union of souls between them. The Holy Blade was infused with an old spirit’s soul, one strong enough in life that even in death it carried great magical potential. Wrath was one of the strongest soul blades ever made, picked from the Well of Life – a place only accessible by the Empress herself – and bound into a netherite blade by means of old Galactic blood enchantments.

Holy Blades had been created brimming with mana (magic that humans so inclined could wield) to defeat the machinations that magic mingling through the Continent had created; beings born from the despair of the people prior to the Empire. Being such a young ruling force, there had not been long enough to decimate these creatures and thus, demons roamed the countryside and pillaged small villages. It was a remnant from the corrupt Council of Kings (which was long destroyed) and a continuous bother for the knights sent out to get rid of the beasts.

Although these beings weren’t truly demons, simply called such by nothing better to call them. Made from all forms of mana molding together – good, that of nature, and bad, that of human’s despair or hatred – these creatures formed bodies of magic and rose to cause terror, and in some of the stronger one’s cases, even disease. As demons had negative human attributes imbued, greed was a prime factor that fueled them, leading them to attack places of high magical power in their quests for food.

Because demons ate mana. They were drawn to high energy areas, forcing even the Temple to put many protective wards into place. Regardless of the danger towards a demon should they enter the Temple, they were blinded by this greed, and would attack the Priests nonetheless.

High Priests could purify the corrupted soul that had been stolen by the demon to give itself life, exorcizing the creatures with sheer magical power and positive magic.

Holy Blades had been created, only a limited amount in the entire Continent, to do what the Temple could not do – destroy the soul.

Purifying the corrupt soul freed it from the demon’s grasp, but left it weak. This weakened and fragile soul would be unable to leave, stuck roaming invisibly, and another demon would inevitably come along and possess it. The blades were designed to get rid of this problem, and the fact that they as Crown Prince actively endorsed the use of it, alongside Mother’s creation of the very idea, made it very hard for the Temple to disagree with their use of it, no matter how much the stuck-up High Priests detested it.

Eret personally saw nothing wrong with giving peace to a soul. If destroying it was what granted it peace from lifetimes of roaming as possessed or faltering, they would prefer that than anything else, should they be in such a situation.

Ted’s Wrath, commonly referred to as Wrath in public settings, was the strongest Holy Blade ever created. Mother’s Personal Knight, Philza, was partnered with the second most, Benihime. The third strongest was owned by none-other-than Technoblade, Orphan Obliterator; a curious name that had been shortened to Obliterator in public due to Mother’s urging.

Something shifted, the water moving. Eret, who was used to bathing alone more oft than not, startled and jerked their eyes open, blurry gaze focusing on the image of a tanned god’s arms rising from the water in a long stretch. Content staring at the picturesque glamour, they let their muscles release their stiffness.

“Eret?” Came the lilting voice of an angel. “When’s breakfast?”

“Half seven,” they managed past a heavy tongue.

Foolish was quiet for a moment. “Um, haven’t we been in here a while?”

“D’you wanna get out?” Eret frowned.

“Ah, well, I just don’t want to be rude, or keep anyone waiting-”

“Cute,” they murmured and rose to their feet, enjoying the squeak Foolish let out as he hurriedly looked away from them as they stepped up onto the steps and stood on the granite tiles. Grabbing a towel to wrap their waist in, they gestured for Foolish to do the same.

After tapping themselves dry with the magic symbol – one that had taken far too much effort to carve – they shepherded Foolish into the closet, silencing the man’s waffling about the other clothes.

“Have to keep you looking pretty,” they said, reveling in the silence as Foolish overheated.

Choosing out a shirt for Foolish, they turned to hand him one and found him staring at their amassment of skirts. “Would you like to wear a skirt?”

“Huh?” Startled the Noble. “Oh, uh, no. I’m fine.”

Staring at him, they shrugged. “Alright. Do you want the black trousers or the white?”

“Um…” Foolish hesitated.

“Took too long,” they grunted, shoving him the white pair. “Put those on with boxers from the drawer.”

Turning to pick out their own clothing, they thumbed through the racks and found a suitable shirt in the form of a long sleeved blouse. Wrapping a loose corset around their waist, knowing the black of it contrasted nicely against the white silk of the shirt, they finished off the look with tight black trousers with buckles cinching them shut around the hip-area. Steel toed boots were pulled on over long socks, Eret barely casting themself a glance in the mirror.

They shifted, finding Foolish in the midst of pulling the tight white trousers – a soft synthesized fabric softer than cotton yet not as good as silk that looked like polyester – over gaunt hips. His red silk button-up was half done, leaving Eret to mark out his ribs with their eyes.

Judging from the way he’d munched down an entire plate of cookies, it was not appetite he lacked. The Iris Family were intriguing them, and not in the good way.

Foolish rocked towards them, fingers fumbling with the trouser button one too many times.

“Here, I’ll do it,” they said, already brushing his hands away to tighten them. Everything of theirs seemed to fit, though the trousers that were meant to be tight were a bit loose and the shirt a tad too billowy. Foolish was thin, and it worried them. Whilst they were at it, they buttoned up the shirt and stepped back to nod. “Put on some socks and we’ll continue the quest for shoes after breakfast.”

“Okay,” he nodded along, pulling the proffered cotton socks on.

Sweeping back as if a servant offering the door to their master, Eret smirked up at Foolish. “After you, my dear.”

The way Foolish spluttered for five minutes was worth it; to see how he ducked his head and smiled secretly to himself. Eret found themself smiling back when he looked over and if the chatter from the dining room hadn’t caught their attention and called out to their stomach, they may have lost themself in the cavernous depths of his emerald green eyes.

They’d have to adorn him in emeralds, least that beauty hide under cotton and bangs for the rest of eternity.

Chapter Text

Two large white doors stood before them, slanted inwards, half opened. Eret stepped forth, leaving Foolish to stand awkwardly by himself for a moment, and pushed them the whole way open. Light burst into his eyes, dazzling Foolish with the sheer resplendor of the room.

Foolish stepped into the dining room, looking at the large room in awe. Everything in the Palace just kept on getting prettier, from the white and gold walls to a long thirty-two seater table standing in the middle of the room. Tall backed, white chairs with golden trim and golden-coloured pillows attached to the base and back sat around the table, the odd rigid tops of the chairs making them look almost draconic. An oak floor stretched under his socks, the bustle of the room almost overwhelming compared to the hush of Eret’s bathroom.

A large golden chandelier hung over all, attached to the sixty foot high ceiling, the room glistening with natural light thanks to the long windows that scooped around it. Despite the fact that the dining room was obviously in the middle-centre area of the castle and there was no way for windows to be showing the gardens from here, it all looked so very real.

“The windows are magic,” noted Eret, pointing over to the entire wall at the end of the room that was just a large, sparkling window. It looked out over the gardens, the green hedges and trees gleaming in the sun. Large golden curtains framed the glass, golden threaded tassels weighted with a large yellow diamond chain along it. “It’s to make the room seem brighter. It was so dark before.”

“This place is huge,” he said.

There was a disagreeing sound as they tugged him along by the arm. “Not really. The Golden Palace is actually quite small.”

Of the thirty-two seater – a long white table with a golden banner running down the length, golden cutlery adorning the placemats – every seat but two were filled, the knights from earlier sitting around, chatting as servants bustled out from the kitchens on the left, the two rooms separated by a wall with a wide door and a small serving window. Oddly enough, the two seats left open were in the middle of the table, opposite each other.

Weary, expecting the Crown Prince to be annoyed at being forced to sit on the same level as their knights, Foolish hesitated. Father had always said it was unbecoming to have people of lower status than the host at one’s table unless it was a large event. Foolish couldn’t begin to ponder why the Prince was having breakfast with their knights.

“You can take this seat,” offered Eret, pushing him towards the middle seat closest to the door. Foolish opened his mouth to protest as the Prince pulled out his chair, the fear of being left amidst the knights nagging at him. They smiled down at him and suddenly, he knew he’d do anything that smile asked. “I’ll sit opposite, don’t worry.”

In his seat, he was pleasing surprised to find the chair was more comfortable than he would’ve thought. He supposed it was the cushions attached – a luxury the Crown Prince could easily afford. Whatever it was, Foolish happily sunk into his chair.

“The Crown Prince finally deigns to join the peasants,” jested a man with a green mask and a green shirt: Dream. He sat on the right of the opposite chair where Eret would sit, twirling his golden fork in his right hand, his left elbow on the table to prop up his chin. “About time!”

“I almost didn’t,” returned Eret, having walked the length of the table in record time, dodging the servants setting platters on the table, to get to the other side. They tugged out their own chair, dropping down beside Dream and another person with short brown hair and red stripes under their eyes. “Dryya,” they greeted the person on their left, Dryya nodding back. Turning back to Dream, Eret feigned disgust, tilting their head up. “I should’ve perhaps, to get away from your stench.”

Dream wailed into his mask, head dropping into his now folded arms as he sobbed loudly, fork clattering to the table, forgotten. Foolish stared at him, head lilting in concern as he grew louder, even as a servant loudly set a platter beside him. The loud noise made his chest go cold, knowing how Father reacted to servants that overstepped – but Eret was nonplussed by it, leaning back into their chair.

“He’s faking it. Don’t look so worried,” said the man beside him, Foolish turning to find himself sitting with Technoblade to his right. Heart thundering at the shock of it, he barely managed a nod. Deciding to turn to his left, he found a man with blue triangular stripes running down his face.

The man noticed him looking and offered an earth-shattering smile. “Nice to meet you, mister. I’m Wisp, swordsman and best master of the longspear in this country!”

“You keep saying that,” chirped a woman with long brown hair from down the table, black circles drawn under her eyes with the same facepaint they all wore to some degree. “Yet every time you pick up one, you drop it.”

“That’s just for jokes,” Wisp fired back. Foolish felt it best to not join, unsure of the tone of the conversation. It seemed to be banter, though there was a bite to each word that scared him.

“No need to look so daunted,” chuffed another person, Foolish turning to see a man beside Dryya smirking at him. “I’m Ted,” he greeted, forgoing a nod by lifting his glasses up off his nose for a second. “Don’t think I caught your name?”

He’d thought Eret’s introduction of him had been very loud – embarrassingly so – though perhaps he hadn’t listened. Foolish offered a smile, something tingling at him that he was being tested.

“I’m Foolish,” he answered. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

The knights that heard him seemed to still. Suddenly horrified that he’d done something wrong, maybe there was a certain custom to greeting knights that he didn’t know about, he looked to Eret for aid, only to find them rubbing at their forehead.

Brows drawn, head lilted towards their chest, eyes closed; Eret looked as though they were in pain. The sharp feeling that speared through Foolish’s chest was nearly all-consuming, attempting to choke his words before he even uttered them.

“Eret?” He called softly, lips pursed in worry. Instantly, the attention was off him and on the Crown Prince, who waved them off.

They opened their eyes, lips neither smiling nor frowning but heavy nonetheless. “I’m fine. Wrath’s just being impatient.” They looked at the table, filled with platters covered with golden lids, and nodded. “Shall we pray?”

Pray? Foolish thought, watching closely and copying as the knights all placed their right hand over their heart, as one did when bowing to the Prince. Trying to not be too conspicuous, he stared at Eret as they stood and closed their eyes.

He knew the Empire had new gods, under the Empress’ order, but the Iris Family had never once prayed to them. Was it treason to not do so? Could he be hung if it was learned that he had never done this before?

“Her Majesty, to reap. His Cowardice, to run. Our Kuolema, to freedom. Gods of Old, Gods of Ancient; thy of Mother, here to besiege. We beg in honour, rise in gratitude.” When Eret spoke their voice was heavy like ash. “We stand for eternity; shielding, prospering, learning. We thank those who aid, shepherding the weak through the End, corralling the lost through the Nether.”

They opened their eyes, hand dropping to their side with a heavy air. The Knights dropped their hands from their chests as well, Foolish doing the same as Eret sat down once more.

“Eat,” they beckoned, voice piercing through the room’s silence.

The sudden clamour of chatter and action startled Foolish out of his musings. Deciding to put his thoughts aside for later, he looked down to the table and watched as the lids of the platters vanished, a shocking array of foods appearing. Foolish gawked at salads of all colours, at platters of chicken wings and piles of steaming toast. There were sausages and bacon before him, Foolish smiling and thanking Wisp as the man offered him eggs before serving himself. Technoblade dumped a few bread baps onto his plate without asking, passing the platter down along the rest of the knights.

They moved like a well-worn exercise, arms lifting and passing along platters while others reached out to take their fill whilst pushing the platters on, ensuring everyone got a chance to grab what they wanted. Never having had knights at Iris Estate, Foolish was left astounded by how much they piled onto their plates, Eret especially grabbing more than he would’ve thought any Crown Prince would eat.

Although, at the Feast they had eaten enough for three men in a heartbeat. Seeing the work they put into maintaining their body, training with their knights, it was evident they had right to such a large amount.

Not wanting to feel like a burden by asking for anything, Foolish quietly ripped open one of the bread baps he’d been forcefully donated and pushed two of his sausages into it, topping it off with a slice of bacon as an afterthought. There were two different glasses before everyone; a wine glass and a normal tumbler. Water and milk were passed around, Foolish thanking Wisp as the man poured him a glass of water.

“I’d shoot the boar, catch the chicken and grill the rat,” someone along the table said.

“What the hell?” Another asked. “Why? Grill the boar, you dolt.”

“But rat is a delicacy in Eastern Ovila,” added another voice. “They taste quite nice with the spice of the dead over them.”

“Mmm, good shit,” agreed the first voice. “What I’d give for some of that pepper-herb mix.”

“Which arm?” Piped up a fourth voice.

“Both,” said the rat-eater. “I’d even donate a few toes.”

“Shut up, man,” a fifth voice joined. “Don’t talk about toes.”

“Just because you don’t like feet, Hemar, doesn’t mean others don’t.”

“You got a foot fetish or something, Travis?”

“No!” Huffed rat-eater, who was apparently called Travis. “I’m just saying, they’re nice.”

“Not after a three-day hike they’re not,” a woman interjected.

“Certainly not after training,” agreed a man.

“Travis’ feet stink anyways,” snickered someone.

There was an outraged cry. “They don’t!”

Foolish listened idly, munching on his bap. A few servants went around, offering wine to the knights. The servants here were dressed well, long black gowns on, short white aprons with a large pocket looped in front. Another surprising thing here that was different back at the Iris Estate, was that the servants here looked happy; lips curled as they chittered with the knights, pouring them a little more wine than social customs perhaps permitted for an early-morning drink.

“Wine, sir?” A blonde woman popped up by his side, standing beside him; there was enough room between chairs for the servants to wriggle between the people and place food on the table and it was here she stood, positioned a few steps back whilst asking him a question. It was all terribly well thought out and Foolish appreciated the easy flow of the system.

“Um, yes, please,” he smiled awkwardly, almost reaching out for his glass before the woman grabbed it and easily filled it half-way.

“There you are, sir,” she said, settling it beside his plate. “Would mister like some tea as well?”

“Oh!” Foolish bit at his cheek as he mulled that over. “What type is it?”

“There’s raspberry, hibiscus and lemon,” Eret grunted, Foolish turning to see an older looking servant with a larger white apron with more frills serving them a glass teacup. Foolish didn’t recognise the magenta liquid inside, assuming it was one of the teas – probably the raspberry.

“I’ll have the raspberry, if it’s no trouble,” he turned back to the servant, smiling. “Thank you.”

The woman paused for a moment, staring at him with a blank expression that quickly morphed to a beaming smile. “Of course, sir. It’s no trouble at all.”

She left him, Foolish grabbing his wine to idle with it. He wasn’t a wine connoisseur, not too well versed in wines, but he assumed white wine was meant to be sweet to some degree.

It tasted like flowers on his tongue, sweet berries popping as the cool swathe of liquid – soft like spring water – flowed through his mouth. His expression must’ve changed drastically because Eret, who was staring at him dully, smirked.

“Is it to your taste?” They chuffed.

“It’s very nice,” he nodded enthusiastically, going back for a second sip. In the stark brightness of the dining room, resting back against their chair, Eret looked tired. They nursed their glass teacup in their left hand, fingers nimbly clutching the small golden handle. It’s bright magenta colour – some mix between blood red and a deep purple hue – was very pretty, sparkling in the glass.

Setting his wine down to finish up his bread roll, he watched Eret shift, face pulling tight for a moment as they put one leg over the other. They sat like this, spaced back far enough from the table to set their teacup on their knee. They’d finished their amassment of meat and salad scoops, plate empty.

“Ready for the real breakfast?” Wisp asked, smiling as he turned to find Foolish chugging down his wine.

“The real breakfast?” He echoed, looking to Eret who wasn’t looking at him at all. In fact, their half lidded eyes intoned that they were looking more in the direction of the table, face drawn as they sipped at their tea.

“Yup,” nodded Dryya, swirling their own wine glass flamboyantly.

Dream clicked his fingers and the plates and food disappeared, the glasses all remaining. Foolish jolted, quite surprised, and watched as a steady stream of servants appeared from the kitchens, all setting down plates piled with waffles or pancakes in front of people.

“Sir,” the blonde woman appeared, Foolish rocking back to allow her a little more room to set his tea down. It was in a fragile looking china cup, golden vines swirling along the cup, the base pure gold along with the handle.

“Thanks,” he smiled.

“I’m sorry, sir,” the woman bowed deeply, taking a step back. “I forgot to ask your preference. Would you like pancakes or waffles?”

“Either’s fine,” he waved off, offering the worried looking woman a breezy smile. “I’m not that hungry anyway.”

Horror found itself painting the servant’s face. She fell to her knees, forehead touching the ground as she pleaded, “Please, sir! I’m so terribly sorry to have ruined your appetite. How could you forgive my ignorance?”

Paling at the fact a perfectly kind woman was prostrating herself on her knees before him, Foolish hurried to stand.

“No, no, please get up,” he said, crouching down to her level. Eyes burned at his back but he ignored them, resting a hand on the gentle woman’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for causing you such distress, ma’am.”

The servant rose, cowering before him. She sounded on the verge of tears when she mumbled, “Sir doesn’t have to be so kind.”

“Why would I not be?” He asked, genuinely confused as his head tilted. “Is kindness not a necessity?”

Whenever someone was kind to him, he felt all warm and mushy inside. Like water flowing out of a fountain, his stomach did a nice little roll and his cheeks felt warm, like the summer sun had baked them.

The servant looked up at him with an awed expression. The room seemed very quiet. Foolish realised the chatter had stopped – they were probably judging him; the knights watching with cold, narrow eyes, Eret with their lifeless blank stare that made the entire room shiver.

He steeled himself, breathing deeply. So what if he was the laughing stock? Good manners made everyone’s life a little easier, he wouldn’t yield on that.

Foolish had to stand up for something. He chose this.

Offering the serving girl his hand, he held it out until she nervously accepted it. Her wide blue eyes stared up at him, cautiously reaching out and letting Foolish help her up. With the servant now on her feet, Foolish offered her a deep bow, thinking he could get used to the silence of the room.

When he looked back up, the servant’s eyes were horrifically wide. “What..?” She could barely speak, hands scrabbling at her dress. “Sir- you—”

Her eyes lolled up into the back of her head. Foolish rushed forwards on impulse and just about caught her before she hit her head on the floor.

The older woman, the Head Servant, rushed up and nodded to him gratefully. “She is new,” croaked the old woman, crows feet pinching her cheeks and eyes. “From the wrath of the Zeti Family, she has not met a Master so kind.”

The Zeti Family were a Noble Family who prided themselves in being the most expensive ones in the room. Owner of most of the gold and copper mines in the Continent, second only to the Arish Family with their diamond mines, the Zeti were arrogant and cruel to other Nobles who had less money. Evidently, that crude attitude transferred onto their servants as well.

“Elizabeth,” called Eret, the old servant pausing to turn to the Prince. “Give the girl some tea and a break when she wakes. Assure her she is secure in her position.”

“Of course, My Lord. Much gratitude,” with that, the old woman scurried away, a knight having stood to carry the servant into the kitchens.

Foolish stared after them before turning and sitting back down into his seat. The relief he felt knowing that the servant was not reacting to how Eret would treat them was immense; he wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to hold his breakfast should he have learnt Eret was a cruel slavemaster.

The knights stared at him. Another servant rushed over to him with a plate heaped with both waffles and pancakes. He’d never seen such large pancakes, ones that cut so easily and practically bounced back into shape with how fluffy they were. Tasting like heaven in his mouth, he tried a bit of the waffles next and almost died from how sweet and rich they were.

Looking at his tea, he noted the pink colour to it. Glancing from his to Eret’s cups, he noticed the startling colour difference – his was too light looking – and asked, “What are you drinking?”

Head rolling lazily to look at him, Eret sipped at their tea before answering. “Hibiscus tea.”

“Huh?” He burst before he could contain himself. “But only old people drink hibiscus tea?”

The knights erupted into laughter, some thumping the table as they roared. Foolish stared, unsure why he’d gained that reaction, and blinked at Eret, who was looking pensive now.

“I’m not old,” they said.

“Ah,” he rushed to save himself. “Well, that’s not- I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Am I old, Technoblade?”

Wilting into his chair after noticing how Eret was deadest on staring at a blank Technoblade, Foolish watched the man swallow, his throat bobbing. Throat dry, he sipped at his tea, finding the flavour to be enjoyable. It was sweet, yet not too sweet, but at the same time it was nothing like the pancakes. Instead, it was refreshing.

“Thirty one summers is not old,” assured the knight.

Foolish choked, teacup slamming down. “You’re thirty one?”

Eret blinked furiously at him, looking almost like a kicked puppy. “Yes.”

How? “You don’t look that old,” he blurted.

Dream had gone purple, Foolish only now noticing how he had pulled his mask down to reveal a jagged scar slashing through his lips. It stopped his mouth from fully closing, but right now he didn’t really need to – his mouth gaped in an unending wheezing laugh. Most of the knights had calmed down, rubbing tears from their eyes. Technoblade was discreetly fanning himself, having broken out in a cold sweat. At this new ill-thought out statement, the room churned to laughter once more, the knights wheezing and huffing as they shook.

Waiting for some semblance of quiet to fall, the Crown Prince looked at Foolish with the wide eyes of a puppy and asked, “Am I too old?”

If they were thirty one, then when the war had started they’d been no child at all. They’d been twenty-one; a fully-fledged man. Foolish felt the blush of embarrassment creep up on him.

“No!” He exclaimed. “I was just surprised because you don’t look a day over twenty-five.”

“Only twenty-five?” Someone whispered. Eret growled – literally growled, a low rumble echoing in their throat that was more akin to a wild animal’s snarl than a human sound – and suddenly they were down a fork. The one who’d spoken cowered away from the gold fork embedded in the back of their chair, inches from their head. “Sorry, sir, sorry!”

“You don’t mind?” Eret asked, back to staring into Foolish’s soul.

“Why would I?” He asked, quite confused about this whole situation.

That seemed to be the correct answer though, because Eret looked distinctly pleased and the knights’ suddenly tense shoulders seemed to deflate.

“Someone will give you a tour of the Palace,” Eret said around five minutes later, once Foolish had indefinitely cemented his love for syrupy waffles and pancakes with cream. “Once I have meditated, I will come find you and we’ll go out.”

“Sounds good,” he grinned. Eret’s gaze softened as they nodded. Foolish felt gleeful that he’d been the one to cause that soft look to spread across their pretty face.

Chapter Text

The carriage rolled to a stop, Eret standing and pushing open the door. Foolish followed after, accepting their hand as his borrowed leather boots crunched against the pebble stone of the town.

Everything was so colourful and large. Wooden buildings with dark wooden crossbeams lined the streets, potted plants hanging in windowsills, glass panes sparkling in the morning light. There was a pub with a wooden sign at the end of the road, where it split in two, with a large gazebo sitting out on the sidewalk, benches and small tables nestled around. Barely two feet into the town, dressmakers and cobblers stores lined his vision, each with a big or colourful sign hanging from the front of their glass-window displays.

Foolish, who had never been in a place bigger than the small villages near Iris Estate, was amazed. The sheer number of people bustling around, shopping or cradling children, all dressed plainly in comparison to Eret and their silks, yet still nicely, was enough to fill five villages right off the bat.

The hand clutching his squeezed. “Don’t worry,” said Eret, boring into him with their icy eyes. They’d been smiling in the carriage, had been beaming once returning from meditating, but as soon as they’d set foot on the town’s cobble, their chilly gaze had returned and their smile had fallen into a blank expression. “You won’t get lost when you’re with me. Where would you like to go first?”

“Um,” Foolish floundered, glancing around at the wonderous scenery. What would happen if he picked somewhere Eret didn’t like? What if they went into a shop and were forced to buy something they didn’t need?

Eret’s voice startled him out of his worries, the Crown Prince’s callused, strong hand lightly grabbing the one he’d bunched in the hem of his borrowed trousers. “Foolish.”

Head moving as if on a string, Foolish looked down at them. “Yes?”

“We can go anywhere you want,” assured Eret, caring words a contrast to their cold tone.

Looking around again – at the banners of the Empire hanging innocently off flagpoles, at the people stealing glances at them, the bustle of a town churning in his ears – Foolish confessed, “I’ve never been in a town.”

“Alright. We’ll go to the cordwainer for shoes first, hm?”

“O- Okay,” Foolish managed, unable to stop himself from bunching close to Eret as the Prince waved the carriage off. Technoblade was lurking about ten feet behind, a few knights bouncing around the shops. Foolish knew it was a security detail, knew it was for his sake, and couldn’t help but feel like he was being a burden on these people; distracting them from their other duties.

Whilst Eret was meditating, he’d been toured around the rest of the Palace by the Crown Prince’s Butler. The butler was in charge of house management, essentially another title for majordomo, except Eret’s butler was a female.

Foolish had never come across a female butler (actually, he’d never known any butler at all. The Iris Family were in too much of a state to afford one) though he knew it wasn’t an impossible concept. The woman, Elaina, seemed happy, long blonde hair pulled back into two pretty buns. She smiled and laughed, telling him little tidbits of information whilst joking around and leading him through the floors that Eret hadn’t. There was a large number of rooms Foolish found to be useless, named something pretty, although most of the rooms the Crown Prince didn’t regularly use were as well maintained as any other. A good portion of the Palace was separated into living quarters. The knights, instead of living in barracks, resided in the Palace itself, with an entire two floors of many belonging to them. There was only thirty of them, but Elaina spoke of them with such high esteem he didn’t doubt they were well liked.

Eret probably liked them too, hence the excessive space they were granted.

Biting his cheek in a moment of doubt, he wondered if Eret liked him the same way married couples did. His parents, the Irises, were of harsh demeanour both towards him and each other. He’d heard plenty rumours that marriages were loveless – what if the Crown Prince had some alternative motivation for him? Eret most certainly did not need money, for the Iris Family could not provide such, nor did they need land.

Suddenly, the fear that he was just to be a pretty house decoration struck. He wasn’t even that good looking. What if the Prince really did just drop him?

Hoping the Crown Prince liked him the way storybook characters saw their worlds in each other’s eyes was stupid. The Prince had an Empire at their disposal, had women lining up to kneel at their feet. There was no way they wanted a little low-class Nobleman who was worth nothing more than a few silver coins at most. Maybe they were being so nice to him to get him ready for the betrayal of being disposed of. Maybe his imminent death was reason enough for why Eret smiled at him, fed him new foods and had brought him out here in the first place—

What if Eret intended to ditch him in the town? Was that why they were here? Was he going to have to sleep on the streets – had Eret dressing him up nicely been to make him a target for beggars and thieves when he slept here? Did they want him dead; a voice silenced, after all, was one that could not gossip.

“Not one of their bedmates lasts a week,” was one rumour of many.

Foolish had rejected their advances the night prior… He’d likely enraged them and this was his punishment. Shoulders wilting, he mulled over the horror of being abandoned once again. His birth mother had died on the street, the Iris Family had threatened and left him, would Eret do the same? It wasn’t like there was anything to stop them; they had all the power in the world – Crown Prince, War Hero, Saviour and Star of the Empire.

A thought struck him. If he stayed by Eret’s side the whole time then they couldn’t ground him here. Determination burned his veins. All he had to do was cling a little and he’d make it back to the Palace where—where everyone was in the Crown Prince’s pocket. If he was killed there, no one would know because every single person, maid, butler, knight, there was loyal to the Prince.

He was going to die. Foolish looked down at where his arm had been pulled around the Prince’s, Eret leading them down the street, and came to the frantic conclusion that he needed to appeal to them. He needed to be what they wanted, had to become something that couldn’t be killed once they got bored of him.

Plan set, he curled his arm tighter around Eret’s. When they looked at him in question, he offered them a beaming smile.

The cordwainer’s shop was quaint. A stone floor stretched underboot, a blazing hearth with stone bricks stacked around it sitting in the corner. A man sat behind a wooden table, shelves of sample shoes lining the walls.

“Mr Ekhis,” called Eret.

The man looked up from the thick parchment of the newspaper and grinned. Hopping jauntily to his feet despite his whitening beard and nearly bald head, he stood a few feet shorter than Foolish, almost like a dwarf from a book. His hand thumped into his chest as he bowed deeply. “Your Highness, what may I do for you today?”

“Foolish needs some shoes,” they said, looking down at the man with their steely expression. Amidst wondering why they had put on such a cold mask, Foolish offered the cordwainer a smile, still hanging off Eret’s arm. “A few pairs of boots for different occasions, dress shoes and whatever else he prefers.”

Taking that as his cue, Foolish slipped his arm out of Eret’s and clutched their hand as he stepped back to look at the shoes the cordwainer could make. The Prince’s gaze burned a hole into his hand, the icy stare numbing his poor fingers, but he held on nonetheless.

“Um, maybe some simple lace-ups? Some sandals, perhaps?” Foolish waffled, looking to the cordwainer to see him nodding and scribbling down his choices on a scrap of parchment. He wasn’t too sure how much he was allowed but he was sure Eret would quickly inform him when to stop.

Except, as the cordwainer pulled out separate boots for hunting, horse riding and walking, designed them with beautiful but expensive patterns and took his measurements, Eret said nothing. They watched the price rack higher, Foolish growing more pensive by the minute as the cordwainer took note of his size and tallied up the cost. Eret did not seem angry at the price, despite how Foolish’s mind swirled at the high number. Had he not been sitting on the stool the cordwainer had offered him for the measurements, Foolish was sure he would’ve fainted.

The sheer price alone would’ve sent Mother screaming. As it was, Eret nodded and pulled a leather pouch from nowhere. The pouch clunked against the man’s wooden desk and when the cordwainer opened it, it shone gold with the coins inside.

“May you be prosperous and joyous, Star of the Empire,” bowed the cordwainer. “I’ll have a few pairs of boots done by tomorrow. The full order by the end of the week.”

“Send them as they are finished,” the Crown Prince said, waving Foolish to their side. Jumping back to his feet, Foolish offered the cordwainer a final smile and let himself be ferried off to where ever Eret deemed most important.

The bustle of the street greeted his ears as they pushed out past the door. Foolish re-attached himself to Eret, trying his hardest to not look like a kicked puppy.

“How about the tailors next?” Eret suggested, looking down the street to a tall shop with little purple overhangs above its windows and door.

“Sure,” he hastened to agree.

The two storey tailors doubled as a seamstresses. Upstairs was the mens, downstairs was the womens. Eret idled through the first floor, leisurely waving off the woman that approached in favour of climbing the stairs. Foolish hurried after, dodging around mannequins with dresses and long display cabinets.

Midway, his hold on their arm slipped, panic making his eyes go wide as he stuttered to a stop on the stairs. One up, Eret also paused, looking down at him with their chilly gaze.

“Hurry along,” they chimed, propping their arm up to him. Breath caught in his chest, Foolish lunged up the step and rehooked their arms, undeniably confused when Eret patted his forearm as if comfortingly. “Peruv is a skilled tailor. He’s made more than a few pieces for me.”

Nodding along, Foolish let himself be swept up the stairwell. Now on the second floor, an array of suits greeted him. There were jackets in all different colours and patterns, mannequins propping them up around the room. In the centre stood long dark oak display cabinets and drawers. There seemed to be everything here; from underwear to casual shirts.

A man around the height of Dream approached, sporting a pristine black suit with a purple bowtie. His black hair was curled around his forehead, his face pale with deep crows feet blossoming by his eyes.

“Your Highness the Crown Prince,” bowed the man, dipping into a low bow with one hand folded under him and his other curled around his back. When he stood up, he stood as the butler had – back straight, feet pressed together, eyes astute. “What brings you both here on this fine day?”

“Foolish here needs a few new outfits,” Eret said, tone droll as ever. “A few casual shirts and trousers, some briefs and socks too.”

“Of course,” nodded the tailor. He looked to Foolish, dark eyes piercing. His gentle smile was unexpected. “Please, come this way, sir. We’ll get you measured and see what fabrics you prefer. Here at Nowel Boutique we pride ourselves on the customer’s comfort.”

Offering his own half-hearted smile, Foolish hesitantly detached from Eret. A glance back had the Crown Prince watching him, unblinking. Caught off-guard, Foolish stared back before Eret nodded at him and broke the trance.

Furious with himself, afraid he’d done something wrong, Foolish turned and walked after the tailor.

He was stopped around the back of the room, where the man – “Sir may address me as Hector, should he wish” – grabbed a measuring tape from a table of charts and asked for him to take his shirt off. Sucking in a lungful of air that had his chest panging, Foolish fumbled with the buttons and finally got his shirt off, Hector accepting it and slinging it onto the back of a chair sitting beside him.

Eret had meandered off, trailing through the boutique as Foolish did as he was instructed and maneuvered his arms and neck for proper measurements.

“Thank you,” was the tailor’s words every time he did as asked. It made Foolish wonder if he had to deal with much more difficult customers.

“I’ll wrap this around your chest, sir,” warned the man, doing as such. The cool tape curled along his skin, prompting a shiver from him. The tailor apologised and thumbed along, testing the tape’s measurements.

Foolish stood, watching as the man scribbled down his notes. Eret had stooped over a drawer set, poking through its contents.

“Any fabrics to your liking, sir?” Hector asked once all the sizings had been done, pulling out a thin drawer from under the table to showcase a selection of fabric strips. Foolish ogled them, running his fingers along them.

“The silk’s nice,” he said, unsure. “Although cotton and linen would be fine.”

“Highest quality,” Eret said, appearing back at his side. Foolish glanced to them, finding them staring at the now nervous looking tailor. “The shirts will be silks, not cotton. Good clothing does not equate to rags, Peruv.”

“I’m well aware, sir.” The tailor hastily bowed. “You have my word, mister’s clothes will be of only the best quality.”

Eret was silent. After a few moments, the tailor rose and shifted to pull out another drawer. A splatter of colours lay hidden within. “Pick out a few of your favourite colours, sir.”

After picking a few colours out, the tailor shifted them on to picking out trousers. Then, it was boxers and socks. Finally, Foolish had been led through what would essentially make up his entire wardrobe. There were more shirts picked out and put on the order than he had back at the Iris Estate in total.

“Have a good day, sirs.” Hector bowed again. “May the sun shine upon your path, Crown Prince.”

Eret, in a different mood than the one they’d arrived in, turned briskly and made for the stairs. Foolish strode after them in a way that he hoped didn’t look as though he was a child toddling after a parent and offered a wave back at the tailor, worming around the mannequins to follow after the Prince. Back on the stairs, Foolish paused before holding their hand and missed his opportunity, left to climb down himself, cheeks aching from how hard he pressed his teeth into his skin.

He found Eret bartering with the seamstress, looking pointedly at a short skirt. The woman, although floundering in the slightest, appeared used to this.

“Of course, ma’am,” she chimed, already slinging fabric over her arm. “I’ll get that fitted right away!”

With curiosity, Foolish noted how Eret didn’t correct the woman when she called them “ma’am”. Did that mean they didn’t like being addressed as “sir”? Wouldn’t they say if they were uncomfortable – Eret seemed less than awkward; more than capable of turning a warning glare on someone they didn’t know.

Foolish pondered that, unaware when Eret stepped up to his side but overly conscious of how they slipped their arm around his. Blinking into the present, they found Eret dragging him out of the boutique, back to strolling down the street.

“You liked the cookies from earlier?”

Surprised at the sudden conversation, Foolish looked to them. Their jaw seemed tense, lips tightly pressed together. Were they annoyed? A sudden rush filled him; the inexplicable horror that he’d caused that expression to mar their features.

In his own internal dilemma, he forgot to respond.

“It’s okay if you didn’t,” Eret stammered, suddenly turning their head to meet his stare head-on. Their eyes met, Foolish gulping as Eret’s white gaze pierced through his soul. He watched, infatuated, as Eret pulled their free hand up to rub at their neck, shoulders tightening as their nose angled away. Able to tell that they weren’t looking at him anymore, Foolish tugged on their arm, hoping he didn’t come off as a petulant child or a spoiled mistress.

“I didn’t not like them,” he interrupted, pushing down the involuntary wince in efforts to make himself appear braver. If he looked and sounded confident, held himself just right, then maybe a film would slip between them – one that made him seem better than he was and would nudge the Crown Prince towards fascination of him, thus leading towards a hesitation of killing him quickly.

Eret was staring at him again. Their face had tilted back towards Foolish, brow rising as they shifted to face him. It was almost awkward having Foolish taller than them, though they hadn’t mentioned anything.

Now that he thought about it, they seemed smaller here. Dressed in a puffy white blouse and a tight black corset, their upper body seemed streamlined and thin, any traces of their muscled physique gone. Their strong biceps were shallowed by the illusion of the large sleeves, the corset mellowing out their waist and drawing a feminine-like attention to their hips. Even their slim trousers seemed to make them petite and fragile. Foolish felt as though one wrong push would have them toppling over like a frail waif.

Their heeled boots looked like a tripping hazard all on their own.

The arm wrapped around his tugged in another direction, Foolish left to stumble after them as Eret changed directions very suddenly and bee-lined for the end of the road, where the street split in two directions. Towed down the left side, Foolish focused on steadying his gait as Eret practically bounced along the cobble.

All of the shops were individually decorated. Most sported glass fronts, mannequins sitting in the front sections of boutiques, with a flower shop sporting a large array of flowers hanging from the doorway and windowsills. The rustic feel of the town was soothing, the wooden beams and white plaster giving off a warm feel.

Multicoloured leaves littered the street, informing everyone that autumn was in full swing. Surprisingly, it wasn’t that chilly – at least, it wasn’t as cold here as it had been back in the small Iris Estate. It was always cold there, probably due to the constant cloud cover.

They paused before a small store with pink lace over the windows. The idyllic sign above the door proclaimed it to be “Maud’s Confectionary Store”. Eret halted by the door, ensuring he was aware of the stone step up into the property and charged on, pulling him into a sweet smelling room filled with shelves. Every shelf was stacked with glass jars, a wave of colour washing over his eyes as Eret hauled them into the middle of the shop.

“Crown Prince,” the elderly woman by the long counter in the far corner bowed. The young woman by her side, a lithe thing with blonde hair and a small nose, similarly bowed. “Greetings.”

“Liltith,” offered Eret. Foolish was astounded by how they seemed to know everyone they ran into. “A bag of sweets each, if you will.”

“Does the Prince wish to pick or shall I?” The old woman smiled, little wrinkled smile twisting along her face. The young lady by her side, probably a daughter, grabbed two paper bags from under the counter and flapped them open.

“You may,” Eret allowed.

Foolish stood, watching the girl scoop out colourful spoonfuls of sweets as the woman called out what to put into the order.

“Mister looks like someone who would like chocolate,” mulled the woman when the girl had filled the two red and white striped bags. They were the size of a small envelope, though teeming with sweets – from hard candies to gelatinous gummies. The bags were balanced upon a golden scale sat on the edge of the counter, the little contraption chiming like a bell as it wobbled into place. “Stewart down the street has a marvellous selection.”

Eret was silent, purse retrieved from nowhere once again. They forked out the coins to pay for the two bags before accepting them. One was settled into Foolish’s hands, prompting him to blink down at it in bewilderment. He hadn’t thought sweets could be so colourful – Mother had had a penchant for these odd little grey hard sweets that had tasted foul enough to kill a child.

“Many thanks,” Eret called, waving as they turned for the door. Detached from their arm, Foolish found himself shuffling after them, offering the two women his own little wave. The elderly woman beamed at him.

“Have a nice day!” The old woman crowed. “May the Star prosper and their Heart shine.”

That was a new saying Foolish hadn’t heard before. When he stepped out the door and stepped beside Eret he found them with a hand curled around half of their face, nose tucked down towards their chest as they clutched the bag in their other hand by their chest.

“Everything alright?” He asked, hand pausing in its quest to bring a bright red gummy to his lips. Without thinking of possible consequences, Foolish shifted towards them, bumping shoulders with the Prince.

Eret quickly straightened out, a red tint to their ears. “Yes,” their weighted gaze pinned him to the spot. “Would you like some chocolate now?”

Surprised and flustered, Foolish chewed on the red gummy as he wondered how to respond. No one had ever bought him this much before, especially not in one outing. “I, uh, where would we hold it? We only have two hands each.”

Their lips tilted away from that dry line and Foolish was caught off-guard by how much his heart fluttered at the soft look they were sending him. Accidentally swallowing the gummy whole, he wheezed through a gasp for air and hiccupped.

Eret’s hand patted at his back, their shoulders lifting with the breath of a laugh. When he’d calmed down enough to get a breath in and was able to continue to decimate his sweets, Eret chuffed, “Where do you think I keep my purse? I have an inventory.”

Inventories were expensive things; magical spells that allowed a person to be equipped with certain enchantments that allowed them to store objects in a sort of ‘free-space’ that wasn’t accessible by anyone other than the inventory owner. These spaces were “bubbles of magic” according to books, the literal space unable to be reached by physical means. That meant, inventories didn’t store things like one would in a warehouse – the inventory and their contents had no physical manifestation, a concept foreign to most and thus the reason behind why many did not make use of such magic.

Foolish had read up on them after buying a book by chance from a travelling merchant. The very idea had been mind bending and he’d wanted to see someone use an inventory for years after. Currently, he was kicking himself for not noticing sooner.

“Really?” He burst out, more excited than he should’ve been. “Where do you have the markings? How much can yours hold?”

They pulled their sleeve up to showcase three diamond-shaped tattoos on their wrist. They shimmered a light blue colour, each one no bigger than Foolish’s pinky finger’s nail. “I have the extra space ones,” they said, waving their hand over their wrist to showcase how the diamonds sparkled when they accessed the space. “When I open it, only I see a blue screen appear,” came the explanation. “It shows me what I have stored and with a tap I can manifest it in this world.”

“That’s so cool,” he gushed, running his fingers over their tattoos to find them harder than the rest of their skin. Eret’s stare washed over him in a warm crest, the intimidating glint from earlier gone.

“I’ll organise for you to get one.”

“Huh?” His world seemed to stop. Foolish looked to them, wondering if he’d gone mad and had started hearing things. “But- But what would I do with it? I don’t- it would be a waste of coin.”

“Not on you,” came Eret’s words. “Nothing would be a waste when it’s for you.”

If he blinked too hard he might collapse. The world seemed too bright as Foolish leant forwards and felt Eret’s forehead with the back of his hand. Amused, they watched him, lips tilted in the corner.

“What are you doing?” They asked, narrowed eyes looking more entertained than irritated.

“Feeling if you have a fever,” Foolish responded seriously. “I don’t think you’re feeling well.”

“Oh?” Laughed the Crown Prince, deep timbre rumbling. “What makes you think that?”

“You just offered to spend a ludicrous amount of money on someone you met last night,” he explained slowly, wondering if this would end whatever this was. Remorse almost lined his tone but he managed to keep it self-depreciating. “You don’t even know me.”

“I’d like to,” answered Eret, sounding serious. Their hand rose to cup his jaw, gaze settling into his own. “I’ll get you anything you want, Foolish. You want a man’s head? Done. A country? No problem. You could stab me in the back while I sleep and I’d still give you everything.”

“That sounds unhealthy,” Foolish murmured, voice almost gone with his shock. If not for their soft tone, he would’ve labelled them as some sort of obsessed psychopath. Didn’t crazy people go through obsessive phases? Was this why none of the Crown Prince’s bedmates lasted longer than a week? Was Foolish just another to the list or was this different? Not knowing how the Prince had treated others before him was difficult to make an assumption now, although the lingering fear of being killed still nagged at every thought.

“You deserve it all,” Eret denied. “I’m not insane if you are worthy.”

Hesitant to breach such a topic, Foolish lingered around the edges. “How can you be so sure?”

Eret’s lip curled in a fanged grin. They leaned close, keeping this moment between them and only them. “You learn to differentiate the useless from the useful after a while, darling. I think you’re interesting.”

“Interesting?” He squeaked, voice high.  

“The most interesting of all,” Eret agreed. “Let me spoil you, Foolish. Please?”

His heart felt as though it was hammering out of this chest. Blood rung in his ears, the warm puff of Eret’s breath on his neck fire on his skin. Stammering through the rush of emotions he couldn’t decipher, Foolish attempted to process the change in tone between their prior words and that final ‘promise?’. He came up with vulnerability.

“Okay,” he said, just as quiet and just as unguarded as Eret was being with him. “But I get a say in what concerns me.”

“I’ll protect and cherish you,” promised the Prince. “I would never hinder you nor would I lock you up.”

Everything he’d learnt felt like a lie. The Crown Prince with a soulless gaze and the blood of a nation over their hands wasn’t meant to be this close, this kind, this soft. He wasn’t prepared for this – hadn’t made a back-up plan if something as unbelievable as this happened.  Eret was meant to be cold and heartless, a brutal War Hero and grizzled and as cruel as a mountain lion because of that. Instead, they were gentle and smiled brighter than the star they bore the title of.

“Never?” He pried.

“Your joy is my greatest interest,” Eret swore. “You’re prettiest when you smile genuinely.”

Left speechless, Foolish stood, chewing on his cheek. Eret fell back, mask returned. “Come along,” they hummed, offering their arm out to him. He slid into their hold and got back to munching on the sweets he’d been clutching in his sweaty hands this whole time.

The chocolate store popped up a moment later, Eret shuffling him into the premise with a gentle pull. Foolish gawked at the moulded forms on the shelves, eyes washing over the different colours and flavours as Eret ordered a few boxes.

“For later,” Eret assured, setting the boxes into their inventory. “We need to buy you some suits now.”

“Suits?” He repeated. “Why didn’t we get them at Nowels?”

“Peruv can sew shirts,” said Eret, leading him down another crossroads. The town just kept on getting bigger and bigger, more people gracing the streets considering the early time. It wasn’t even lunch yet, and the place was bustling with street performers. Market stalls were propping up with fresh goods and hand-made ornaments along the road. “But he can’t quite pull off a good suit.”

“Oh,” Foolish breathed, almost disappointed that someone couldn’t be a master of their trade. If Eret didn’t like Hector’s suits then didn’t that have a negative effect on his business? Well, he didn’t think many Nobles would come out to a town like this to buy their clothing, but wouldn’t the townspeople fawn after the Prince’s appearance and attempt to copy them?

Deciding to cast aside the topic, Foolish went to sucking on a rhubarb and custard hard boiled sweet. Eret had inventoried their own bag, crunching down on a lemon sherbet as they threaded their hands together and continued along the street.

A seamstresses with golden overhangs over its doorway and staunch windows sat near the centre of town. Eret held the door for him, ushering Foolish in with the flap of a hand.

A dark grey carpet was spread over a light oak floor. The place smelt like pistachios and salt, the walls scriptured with silver markings. Foolish trailed through the hallway, stopping at the first opening. It was doorless, stretching into a large room filled with dresses and suits – no mannequins in sight, the clothing hanging from the ceiling with wooden hangars.

Taken aback at the sight, Foolish lingered in the doorway. It was Eret who tapped on his shoulder, wriggling past and entering the room. The place was lit by candles, the windows shaded and not letting much light in at all.

“Darling, long time no see,” drawled a thickly accented voice. Foolish turned with Eret to stare at a woman with thinning hair drooping around her face, marbly red lip gloss painted across thin lips, kohl smeared over her eyelids. Her dress seemed more fitting for a sea voyage, threadbare and baggy, a musty apron stretched over a display of cotton, holes patched by different coloured squares. In all truth, she did not look the type to be running a seamstresses.

“Cleo,” nodded Eret.

“What hauls the Crown Prince to my little shack?”

“Foolish needs a few suits,” replied Eret, hands gravitating towards resting on their hips.

The woman, Cleo, nodded and prowled around Foolish, circling around him. Her footsteps were lighter than a whisper, her dress dragging along the floor to make it seem as though she was gliding. Twice she walked around him, long fingers with red chipped nails pulling up his left arm once and only once.

“You’re too thin, boy,” she said. “Darling here will have you fattened up in no time so we’ll skip the small stage and make you a few suits that will last, hm?”

Unsure how to react, Foolish stared at her.

Cleo chuffed. “Quiet one, huh?”

“You make quite the daunting sight,” Eret snarked back.

“No more than you,” snipped the woman. She turned back to Foolish, offering a crooked smile that was missing a few teeth. “Darling here won’t tell you, but I saved her life after a dirtwater brawl gone wrong.”

“That was years ago,” Eret grouched.

“Only eight,” reminded Cleo. Her thin eyebrows wriggled, her wide eyes locked on Foolish. “She reckons I’m one of the better seamstresses. It was for her I branched into suits.”

“Her?” He echoed.

“Ayup,” nodded Cleo, hair swiveling around her. “Our beautiful Prince bought me this place an’ I promised her service.”

“I’m the only one that buys your shit.”

“Actually,” came the haughty snicker. “The Newsgarrs down the road have started buying skirts from me. The eldest reckons she’s a seamstress in the makin’.”

“Is she?” Eret humoured.

“Like fuck,” said the woman, turning to pull a hangar back. It revealed a shoddy table, a pile of fabrics littered atop. “Girl can hardly sew a straight line, nevermind a tunic.”

The Prince whistled, mouth twitching in a smirk. Foolish watched as the scraggly woman fiddled with a pair of scissors that looked large enough to shear a sheep.

A few minutes passed, consisting of the woman muttering random things and Eret tugging at the dresses on the hangars. Foolish felt like he was floating awkwardly and had decided to munch his way through his sweets while whatever was happening happened.

Finally, the woman turned. In her hands, she brandished two suit jackets. Both looked too good to have been made in a matter of minutes, one a black piece with red thorns sewn along the hem, the other a white piece with tan hemmings and a swirling design over the breast pocket. Foolish gaped at them as Eret came over to inspect, nodding as the thread held past a few tugs.

“She uses crafting magic,” explained Eret. “Witch can make a full suit quicker than you can blink.”

“If I’m a witch, you’re a scoundrel. Which one do ya like, sunny?”

Caught between a rock and a hard place, Foolish stuttered. “Uh, um, well.”

“I got these’ns, too.” The two jackets were shoved forwards, hangars materialising out of nowhere to grab them. The jackets hung off the ceiling, slipping to hang by his left by means of magic. Trousers and dress shirts joined them, the pieces looking more pristine than any of the other items in the shop.

The two other suits she held up were a red three piece and a black suit with gold hems, a white waistcoat and a golden bowtie. She threw them forward and the magic grabbed them, adding them to the invisible line the others sat on.

“Or these,” Cleo added, brandishing a tailed waistcoat that seemed to glow golden alongside silk trousers that were sewn with purple flowers. “You like them?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “They’re all very nice.”

“Good,” grinned the woman. “Take your pick. Each piece is a thousand gold.”

The price had him baulking. “Whuh?” He choked, floundering now that he was under pressure. “I don’t know, uh—”

“We’ll take them all,” Eret declared.

“What?” Foolish turned to Eret. “Why?”

“You like them all,” they said, simple as. The shrug that accompanied their words said this really was no big deal.

A thousand gold coins was a lot of money – even more to spend on a piece of clothing—an excessive amount to spend on him. And Eret was paying a thousand for each piece; there were six pieces.

“Let me spoil you,” rung in his ears. Foolish was beginning to think Eret had said that very literally.

Chapter Text

The restaurant they settled in for lunch was large and spacious. With the place decked by tiered floors, Eret chose a table at the highest vantage – one that overlooked the rest of the building, located on the third floor which was more of a half balcony inside the large room, a short spiral staircase leading up to it. Foolish didn’t much mind where they sat, too busy looking at the paintings of landscapes on the walls. There were men hiking up a mountain in one, people atop a large red sail boat in another.

Sparse in decorations aside from those paintings and the soft white table cloths over the square tables, the restaurant was nice. It was very clean looking and smelt nice, the large windows open to let the soft breeze filter in. Eret had bought the entire place out for however long they were going to be here, something Foolish wasn’t sure was necessary but marvelled at nonetheless.

A plump woman served them, her white apron a stunning contrast against her tan skin. She set the cake platter down with a bright smile, pouring their tea with agile fingers.

“Have a nice lunch, sirs,” she said before she was gone, spiralling down the stairs and flooding into the kitchens off to the side of the first floor.

The little dishes that were served weren’t what Foolish had been expecting, the platter of cakes set between them bright in colour and many in number.

When Eret caught him gawking past his tea, they rose an eyebrow. “Everything alright?”

“Yep!” He was quick to nod, almost wondering what they would do if he said he didn’t like something. “I’ve just never seen so many little cakes.”

“Cute, aren’t they?” Eret agreed. “This is how nobles eat.”

Oh, and there was the expectant tone; the one that said Foolish should’ve known this.

They continued, “But I don’t usually have cakes and pastries for lunch. High metabolism makes it hard for me to go on these, so we usually have soups or sandwiches.”

Foolish, unable to shake the feeling he’d messed up something, made use of his nervous habit of biting at his cheek. Eret’s breath wavered, an audible quiver before they spoke more frantically than before.

“Of course,” they hastened, probably mistaking his guilt for sorrow. “If you want these, you will get them.”

“Huh?” He looked back up to them, eyes drawn back to their face. They were watching him as if… actually, he didn’t know how they were looking at him. No one had ever looked at him like that. “What are you thinking?”

Their expression shifted, smoothing out into the slightest of smiles. With a start, Foolish realised their previous look – pinched lips, strong jaw, steady eyes – had been their determination. Why were they determined?

Boldly and without hesitation, they hummed, “I was thinking about how pretty you look.”

He choked on his lavender tea. Eret was still staring, watching as he flapped at himself. A server made to approach, eyes wide, but the Prince waved them off, resting their chin on their folded palm.

“I think you’re delusional,” Foolish finally got out.

“You must be blind,” Eret chirped back. “We can go to the optician, should you wish?”

Foolish turned his head away, pouting at the large window to the table’s left. Where they sat on the highest floor of the restaurant, no one down on the street could see either of them yet they could look down and see nearly everything. In the short twenty minutes that had passed between entering Cleo’s boutique and leaving it, the market stalls had been fully erected, the town square – which the restaurant overlooked – now alight with different coloured tarps and filled with all sorts of people.

When he looked back to make sure he didn’t knock over his tea whilst blindly grabbing for it, he caught a glimpse of Eret scowling. Head tilted down, tea set back on their saucer, Eret was rubbing at a spot just under their armpit, face tight in a pained expression.

“Eret?” He called, leaning forward a tad before thinking that maybe reaching across the table wasn’t something that the Crown Prince would do. At their name, Eret’s head shot up, blinking furiously. Softly, he asked, “You okay?”

“I- Yes,” they stumbled over their words, hand dropping from where they’d been cautiously kneading. Their expression was cleared in an instant, mellowing out into a empty stare. “Just tense.”

“Tense?” Foolish repeated. “Why don’t you get a massage?”

The horror that painted Eret’s face could’ve drowned a fish. Foolish himself blinked in shock, head tilting.

“No,” they bit out, jaw locking up tighter than he’d ever seen it. Their tone held a hint of finality and although something in Foolish recoiled at it, after what he’d been witness to earlier, he dared think they wouldn’t snap at him.

“Why not?”

True to his assumption, Eret did not snap at him. Instead, they ground their teeth together and grabbed their tea with their left hand, their right’s index finger tapping a brisk rhythm on the table.

“Eret?” He asked, letting a bit of a whine leak into his voice. For a moment, he thought he’d made a fool of himself but then Eret looked up, impassive gaze searching. Foolish made sure to stick his lower lip out in a pout.

Tone sharp, they muttered, “Don’t like people touching me.”

“But I’ve touched you,” he questioned. Eret looked away, ears red once again. Foolish continued, “Don’t your knights and staff touch you?”

“I know them,” came the petulant huff.

“Then why don’t you ask one of them to rub your shoulders?” It sounded such a small task when he said it like he did. Assured, the concept that Eret didn’t like people touching them was understandable – from what he’d read in old journals, no one came back from a war the same – except, the fact that they didn’t ask someone they were comfortable with to do this was confusing.

As if embarrassed, Eret grunted and took to sipping at their chamomile tea.

Foolish watched them for a moment before deciding to pester them about it later, because now he was confident there would be a later, and started munching at the little cakes that had been piled onto the rack.

“Oh,” he exclaimed a few minutes later, startling Eret out of their daze. The silence had been comfortable, Foolish used to Eret staring at him as he sampled the little cupcakes and tarts. “What are your pronouns?”

Eret blinked at him, head still propped up by their palm, empty teacup dangling in their fingers. “I use any.”

“Uh.” Running a blank, Foolish tilted his head. “What do you mean by any?”

“He, she, xe, they. When I say any, I mean any,” Eret shrugged. “I just usually stick to they/them because it’s easier to not get misgendered on a day I don’t feel like a certain one.”

“What do you feel like today?” He asked.

“Don’t really know. Bit in-between, I suppose. They/them is fine.”

Genuinely curious, he inquired. “But you’re wearing a corset?”

“Clothing doesn’t mean anything, Foolish. People can tell you you’re a girl if you wear a dress but, in the end, they can’t force you to not wear one if you’re a man.” They sounded passionate, gaze catching his again and burning bright. “If you want to wear a suit your whole life, I’ll buy you every suit you want. But if you ever want to wear anything else, don’t be afraid to tell me.”

Flustered, Foolish nodded along, burying his face in his teacup.

Reaching for a small circular cheesecake, Eret bit into it, licking at their lips with their long tongue. Foolish finished off his tea, content to sit. He’d eaten enough to put an elephant to shame, having munched his way through almost half of the proffered delicacies. Eret, on the other hand, had sipped at their tea and eaten barely anything.

The server girl returned, quickly and quietly refilling their cups. Foolish offered her a small smile, using his manners and thanking her when Eret remained silent. She smiled at him, bowing away before skittering back down the stairs.

“Anywhere you want to go after this?” They asked in the privacy money bought.

Pausing to think, he came up with a few places. “Maybe a pharmacy or an apothecary?”

Eret’s startled gaze latched onto him. “Are you ill?”

“No, no,” he hurried to explain, sheepish smile digging at his lips. “There’s stuff I want to see if I can get.”

Receiving a nod in response, Foolish watched Eret pick out a small slice of chocolate cake and practically inhale it. Staring at them, he found himself noting how their jaw remained clenched, how their braided hair was pulled back all but for a few small tufts by the sides. Their eyes, although white and without pupils, evidently roamed over the table, the flicker of their eyes moving obvious as they picked which pastry to eat. Thick lashes framed the white, neat brows curving softly, a strong but gentle nose taking centre of their pale face. Even their lips, wetted by their long tongue, glistened a rosemary pink and looked softer than a petal.

In short, to call them beautiful was an injustice; a crime to simplify them so harshly.

It was unfortunate how stiff they looked – shoulders tense, body held upright so stoically it couldn’t be anything but painful. Looking at them now reminded Foolish of how serious they’d looked whilst praying.

Deciding to break the comfortable silence, he sipped at his tea and said, “Which god do you worship?”

A slice of lemon cake stopped inches from their mouth as Eret brought their head up to observe him. “What?” Came their eloquent question.

“At breakfast,” Foolish tilted his head. “You prayed to someone.”

The blank eyeballing continued, Eret looking somewhat disconcerted as they chewed their way through the lemon cake. Eventually, they cleared their throat. “Who do you pray to?”

“You can’t answer my question with a question,” he pouted indignantly.

“The Empire worships the Celestial. The Ender King, the Blaze Empress, the Ocean Overlord – to name a few.” Eret explained. “Most households within the Empire know of them. Does yours not?”

Caught off-guard, Foolish waffled with his hands. “Uh, well, I don’t know?”

“You don’t know,” Eret repeated.

“Yeah,” he shrugged with one shoulder, hesitant as to what this could mean. “We pray to the Ancients.”

“The Ancients?”

“Y’know,” he gave a breath of a laugh, wondering how entire religions could be completely unknown by people. “Forcerade the God of Thunder, Vatten the God of Sea, Jägare the Goddess of the Hunt, Apesut of the Lost. And that’s only a couple, there’s literally hundreds of them.” He trailed off, lost in Eret’s interested look. “You really don’t know any of them? We have a shrine in a cupboard and pull it out to burn candles on when we pray before bed.”

“We pray twice to the Celestials, at breakfast and dinner.” Returned Eret. “How is it you don’t know of them?”

“Dunno,” he said honestly. “Iris Estate is pretty isolated from most places. I didn’t know the Empire had its assigned religion. Is this what the Temple preaches?”

If possible, Eret looked even more surprised. “It’s well known the Temple do not agree with my Mother’s decision to implement the worshiping of the Celestials. The Temple honour the name of Atiya – the Overwatcher.”

Stumped, Foolish hummed and sipped at his tea. “This was unexpected.”

Eret blew out their own breath. “Bet you had no idea what we were doing at breakfast, huh?”

He blushed, looking away as Eret choked up in laughter, the low rumbling vibration pummelling through his chest.

The apothecary found the two entering shortly after lunch. It was a small shop, herbs hanging from the ceiling to blot out the light entering from the windows. Foolish had beelined for it on sight and was the one to step in first, brown door creaking back to let a bell chime in his ear.

“Hello,” he called out, smiling to the little woman that sat on a stool near the entry. Around six shelving units sat in the crampt room, all sorts of things from eyeballs in jars to bundles of sticks sitting on the dusty wood. There was a general unpleasant scent in the air – a mix between fish and eggs; a remnant from storing all these ingredients in one location without good ventilation.

As the woman crooked a toothless grin at him, Eret stepped into the store, deftly avoiding the moth bitten curtain that willowed beside the door whilst managing to supress a flinch at the stench.  

“We are honoured to seek audience with The One,” hissed the elderly woman, slipping off her stool with ragged limbs. Her ratty dress pulled on her frame as she stood, barely to Foolish’s chest. She dipped her entire upperbody in a bow, hands pressing together in the fold of a prayer to the Ancients. “What brings The One here to us?”

Peturbed by the woman’s actions and manner of speech, Foolish felt his head tilt unconsciously. The smile he wore remained, although became harder to keep up. The woman with her greasy grey hair and wrinkled face rose from her bow and swept a frail arm towards the room.

“Please be welcome in taking what you need.”

Foolish stepped over and awkwardly edged around the woman without appearing as though he was avoiding her. Eret stood ominously by the door, watching as he took to a shelf and started browsing. On the shelves of the aisle he’d entered sat a variety of feathers, skulls and jarred animal appendages. Disconcerted but not overly put off – the village near Iris Estate had owned a smaller apothecary with much more gruesome, less clean skulls and other odd paraphernalia – he eyed them, not really seeing what he wanted.

“Do you have any oils?” He began, mentally running over his list of what he’d need. Certain wax candles were used to burn for the Ancients if without a shrine – Foolish would need those for sure, because Eret definitely didn’t have any fold-in closet shrines or cairns. The oils, if he could get the right one, would be great for furthering his argument with Eret’s apparent inability to ask for a massage.

“We have many oils,” agreed the woman, pottering over to the unit opposite him. She disappeared behind the aisle, Foolish stepping out from the one he stood in to follow after her. On the other side sat a variety of small corked vials and jars, all either bunched up in small wicker baskets or held upright by racks of sticks. “Those we use to spur the mind, others to spur the groin.”

Amidst choking on his spit, Foolish wheezed out, “Massage oil, perhaps.”

“We have that too,” she nodded, smile serene.

A glass vial was pressed into his hands, purple in tint. Foolish initially thought it was the vial that was purple until he sloshed the liquid inside and the purple slipped along with it. He’d never seen a purple massage lotion, although he couldn’t exactly say he’d ever seen one either. Nodding along, he held onto the vial.

“You’ll need only a drop of that,” chittered the woman, turning to wink at Eret. By the door they hovered, blinking at the response as if they had no idea what to do. Foolish, confused himself, twiddled with the vial and attempted to hasten on the visit.

“Do you have any beeswax candles?” He asked. “Something for some smoke. Maybe scented?”

“The One wishes to pray,” she marvelled, old voice catching on her tongue. “We have many candles.”

Pointed towards the back shelves that lined the edge of the store, Foolish toddled over to them and started investigating the arrangement of candles. From large to small, organised by size then colour, Foolish let his eyes skim over the labels on the shelves. Most were scentless and smokeless but to Ancient worshippers the smoke was a necessity – without the smoke how else would their prayers reach the gods? The dark smoke caught the prayer’s negative thoughts and carried them away, the light smoke hidden within cradling their words and lifting them up for them to be heard.

“The rosemary scented ones create a good flame and smoke enough to pass everything on. Not too dark, but not too light, either.”

Glancing at a pinkish red candle in a hexagonal shaped jar, Foolish bent down to it and pried it from its place with one hand, easily popping the wooden lid off it to take a sniff. It smelt nice – maybe not his first choice but certainly not something to turn his nose up at.

“Sure,” he agreed, managing to push the lid back on with a single finger. “These two things then. You want anything, Eret?”

The Crown Prince shifted their gaze from the back of the woman’s head to his eyes. Foolish met it head on, not so afraid anymore. “No,” they grunted, eyes narrowing as the woman began shuffling to a long table at the far end of the room.

Seeing he wasn’t going to get anywhere with them, Foolish shrugged and circled the aisles for anything of interest. The old woman was preoccupied with swiping the dust off her table so he didn’t feel like a nuisance as he lingered, occasionally leaning down to peer at things.

The apothecary really had everything; from shelves littered with pouches of spices, little boxes and jars of medicines that were more herbal than the magical syrups the pharmacies sold. Old pipes with dried tobacco even sat in a niche.

Foolish caught sight of a little open box of ribbons, the scribbled writings of Ancient worshippers painted onto the fabrics. Intrigued, he transferred the candle into the nook of his elbow and picked up a white ribbon with his free hand.

It felt important.

“Protection markers,” the woman appeared by his side, startling him into looking down at her. Knowing eyes met his, irises sparkling with something he couldn’t describe. “Tie one to The One’s special person and they will persevere through everything so long as the ribbon remains intact. We offer different colours for different occasions.”

“Do you now?” He chuffed.

“Indeed,” nodded the little woman, old scraggly hands reaching up to caress the ribbons in the box. She thumbed each one as she spoke of it. “The red for weddings, blue for states of sorrow, green for fighting or a tremendous event. The One has chosen white, our colour of beginnings.”

Interested, Foolish couldn’t help but zone in on what she said. “What do you mean by ‘states of sorrow’ and ‘fighting’? Am I meant to change the ribbons based on mood?”

“A new ribbon may be gifted before each day, although usually received only monthly. The gifter must take into account what the wearer of the ribbon will encounter in that time and take initiative.”

Possibly even more confused than before, Foolish tilted his head. The woman cut off his further questions with her gummy smile and turned briskly, making for her table once more. Eret glowered by the door, stare flickering between him and the woman, practically begging for them to leave as soon as possible.

Offering them a reassuring smile, Foolish grabbed the ribbon box without another thought and gently set down his chosen objects on the woman’s table. She nodded down at them and said, “We charge only sixty three gold coins.”

Baulking, Foolish felt a bit like a blubbering fish for a moment as he stood there, almost tempted to ask her to repeat herself. Eret stepped forward and dropped a pouch on the table. The woman didn’t even look at it.

“Sixty five?” She snickered. “The Prince is generous.”

Eret did not smile. They looked expectantly to Foolish, putting the bought objects into their inventory with a simple tap on each item.

“Thanks!” Foolish waved, slinging his arm around Eret’s and letting them drag him out of the store.

“Goodbye,” called the woman. “The heavens will bless you bright, young one.”

The door slammed shut behind them, bell ringing out in startlement. Back on the street, Eret marched them over the street, dodging running children and bustling sellers.

“Fresh baked goods!” A baker hollered, green tarped stall sitting along the centre of the town square. A small fountain sat in the middle, a shapeless stone blob taking reign of the water. Atop its highest point, an area where the water swirled around rather than over, a small robin sat and preened itself, wings flapping off water droplets. “Fresh croissants, three for two silvers!”

As he looked around the market, idling through the crowds, he slipped his arm out of Eret’s. Catching a soft, almost pained noise, Foolish looked back to see Eret staring at their arm, lips pulled down into a frown. Unsure if he’d caused such a reaction, he leaned back and grabbed their hand with his, threading their fingers together.

Eret didn’t look at him, gaze darting away to survey the crowd, though their frown lifted up into a pleased line.

Smirking, Foolish shook his head at their antics and tugged them around the stalls, shooting smiles and waving to the sellers where he could. People seemed surprised at seeing the Crown Prince strolling through the market, stares following where cautious greetings did not.

A soft question graced his ears. “What was Iris Estate like?”

Surprised, he turned to them. Eret was back to staring at him, eyes glittering in the bright sunlight. Foolish had never known the eyes could be so pretty in light; too used to the dark clouds that enshrouded the Estate, keeping everyone dull and dreary. Although, he probably shouldn’t have been surprised to find Eret beautiful – they were nothing if not stunning.

“Quaint,” he said for lack of better words, vocabulary unable to describe his former home. “Iris Estate was distant from most towns, so I frequented the small villages nearby when I could. It was nothing like this.”

A pause settled between them, Foolish swinging their arms between them as he grew bored of the sparse stalls. They were by no means lacking in goods, it just seemed as though everything there was already something Foolish had seen – a man sold scarves, fabrics plain in comparison to the boutiques surrounding them, the small pastries the baker sold were unsophisticated in comparison to the restaurant they’d had lunch at.

“I’ve asked you that same question thrice now,” piped up Eret. “Each time you called it ‘quaint’. Explain.”

Caught out, Foolish focussed on the cobble before his feet. A flash of pink caught his eye, Technoblade stepping into the square to stroll around the market. The knight’s eyes bored into him, hollowing out his chest as the pit in Foolish’s stomach grew. No one wanted to hear him blabber on so why was Eret pursuing this line of questions they didn’t really want the answers to?

“It’s small,” he said, words lingering on his tongue. The dusty sight of a half-dead garden flashed before his eyes, petunias wilted and saddened; Mother glowering at him, scowling with Father over the dinner table of how the clouds hadn’t hovered over them before Foolish’s arrival, cursing him for the death of the plants that couldn’t live without extreme light, cursing him for the blight he brought over the Iris lands.

(Deep down, he’d always thought it was Mama’s doing – her last moments on this world scared into the land, her vengeance carried out through the unmoving shadow. He’d looked up to the sky on bad days and envisioned his Mama there, floating, smiling and serene; nothing like how she’d been at death, face twisted, limbs torn.)

A tug on his hand brought him back to reality. Eret was leading them out of the stalls, grip on his hand firm. They hummed, a noncommittal noise to others but one that, deep down, Foolish knew meant they were interested.

“It’s much nicer here,” he said, attempting to fill the silence. “The skies are clear and everything’s so big.”

“Was the weather oft bad?” They grunted, leading the way towards the outer streets, away from the square. People buzzed past, Foolish feeling as though he was leaving a part of himself back where the water lapped off stone, flowing into the round basin of the fountain.

“Always dark,” he said, sure that Eret knew this already. The shitty weather around the Lutivon area, of which the Iris Estate presided over, was no secret. “Mother used to say we were cursed, made me tend to the plants that never quite survived.”

“You like gardening?”

“Yes, but no,” he mulled, voice as carefree as he felt. “She used to buy in roses even though they wouldn’t live. I had to plant them and stuff. Dunno why she did that, considering how she knew what would happen. Made me pity the flowers, y’know? What’s the point in caring for something that you’ll let die anyway, was my reasoning.”

Subconsciously, he ran his thumb over his fingerpads, remembering how the thorns had dug into his skin and made him bleed. When he’d returned to the house, always under Mother’s watchful eye, she’d snarled and called him a “disgusting cretin” for trekking blood over his sleeves. Eret had turned their head back to stare at him, something heavy in their gaze as they continued walking.

“You’re odd,” mused Eret. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone pity a flower.”

Their words struck deep, his shoulders wavering and threatening to hunch. Dismayed, he dropped his head, back to staring at the ground. He braced for the insults, for the proclamations of him being weird and unholy, something to be left on the road and abandoned. Mother had sure said it enough, had told him he was barely worth the cost of keeping him alive – Eret knew now, was agreeing even without Mother proclaiming his unworthiness to the heavens.

He wanted to sob.

“Hey,” snapped Eret, Foolish unable to stop his shoulders from shaking at the tone. He tried to pull his hand back but found Eret coming along with it, their free hand raising to curl around his jaw as they stepped in front of him. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way, darling. I think it’s adorable of you to want to cherish life. If you want, I’ll buy you a dozen gardens, more if you wish, and you can buy all the flowers you want for them.”

“I don’t want gardens,” he whispered, voice wavering. Eret fell silent, face downtrodden as their callused fingers swirled around his jaw. “You don’t have to do this. Just call me stupid and move on.”

Eret’s hand retracted from his face, fingers pulling back and bending as if they’d been burnt. “What?” They breathed, tone indecipherable.

“You heard me,” Foolish whispered, all too aware of the scene he was creating. No one was looking at them, but it felt as though the entire world knew how useless he was. “Just leave me in a shed, it’s okay. You can punish me, I- I can be good.”

He was crying, warm tears rolling down his face. Frantic, he pulled a hand up to swipe at them, hiccupping on his breath as he kept his head bowed. If Eret wanted to test him, wanted to see how hard they could hit before he’d black out, he could do it, he could stand here and take it – because what was a few punches in comparison to the wonderful things they offered if he kept his mouth shut and became a toy.

“Foolish,” came Eret’s choked words. The hand that held onto his shook, Foolish tracing the movement with blurry eyes to see them shaking. Great, he’d made them angrier—why was he so fucking useless, why was he like this, why—

Limbs closed around him, strong arms pulling him down into a sturdy chest that quivered with each breath. He scrunched his eyes shut, expectant for the blows, but nothing happened. Instead, Eret began murmuring soft things, calling him “pretty” and “wonderful” as they pulled him close and kneaded the skin at the nape of his neck.

“Shh,” they murmured, rocking them both back and forth. Foolish’s tears dried up, Eret plucking a handkerchief from nowhere to offer him. “There we go. All better now, sweetie?”

With a hiccup, he nodded, almost dizzy from this turn of events.

“I’d never hurt you, Foolish. You are mine and I will not let anyone even scratch you,” Eret vowed, leaning back to curl a hand around his chin. He looked up into their eyes and saw a hunter looking down at its prey with a sharp, adoring gaze. “Do you understand?”

“Y- Yes,” he managed, overwhelmed as he took to folding and refolding the handkerchief. Eret hummed a note and leaned in, pulling Foolish’s head up with their lithe fingers. Their lips pressed against his in a chaste, quick kiss, Foolish left blinking as they smirked and pulled away.

“You live with me now,” they said sternly. “If anyone dares to look at you, tell me. I will have them dealt with.”

Taken aback, he chirped, “Huh?”

“I’ll protect you with all I have, Foolish,” promised Eret, voice reverent and low. “You’re mine and I’m yours; that’s how its going to stay.”

Thinking he was gong to cry again as his lip wobbled, Foolish nodded hastily, innately pleased when Eret squeezed his hand and tugged him down the street.

He blinked and found himself peering up at a green painted building, a large sign sitting over the door stating it was a jewellers. Eret pushed open the large oak door and pulled him into a large room filled with glass show-case cabinets, a coat hanger to the immediate left of the door, a thin man with a trimmed white beard standing behind the cabinets, black suit with its little red poppy in the pocket pristine and fresh looking.

“Greetings to the Empire’s Star,” proclaimed the man, dipping into a bow. “Kline’s Jewellers is honoured to serve you.”

Eret hummed, entering with swaying sleeves. Foolish took comfort in how the soft fabric lapped at his arm as they held his hand, wrapping his wounded pride up in a mental blanket. He didn’t have it in him to look around aside from a cursory glance, sticking to Eret’s side as he let his eyes trail over the glittery jewellery in the display cases.

There were hundreds of rings, some with large diamonds in them, others with a hundred small diamonds decorated in swirling patterns, another selection showing off larger sculpted stones sitting upon polished bezels. There was an entire wall of necklaces and earrings, although there were more rings; the cabinets lit up by bright white orbs that hovered over them, the jems and different metals shining in the light.

“Pick out what you like,” Eret husked to him quietly, head dipping towards Foolish’s ear before addressing the man. “Show us some of your finest.”

The man nodded and hurried to pull things out, plush sets rising from under the glass to sit on the table, rings and little circular pendant looking things being set up on the counter.

“This here is a sterling silver ring, designed to cradle the finger through all activities,” gushed the old man, long fingers covered by velvet white gloves curling around the piece as though it was some sort of holy grail. Foolish, mood soured but slowly picking back up, didn’t like it, looking elsewhere at the other ones the jeweller had pulled out.

Rings, the lot of them dainty and fragile looking. Foolish observed the silver, curiosity piquing at the little pendants sitting beside them. Circular, silver rings cradled slim silver sheets with what looked like people etched inside. Reminding him of something akin to the wall murals he’d read of in books, Foolish blinked down at the small selection.

“What’s this?” He asked, head tilted.

The jeweller looked horrified, eyes wide as his moustache twitched. “Th- Those are Blessing Pendants. Everyone who prays to our gods has one.”

“Those are for children,” snarled Eret. “Put them away.”

“Yes, sir,” the man hurried to nod, scrambling to push them back into place under the glass. Foolish watched, wondering why he would bring them out if they were for kids. He certainly didn’t look like a child – taller than Eret – yet the man had acted like he had. Annoyed without reason, Foolish frowned harshly at the rings.

“I don’t like silver,” he decided, just to watch the man hasten to pick out other things. The rings he set out were small, thin things. “Something wider, perhaps,” he suggested, enjoying the old man’s pain as he had to change his selection again.

“Emeralds would suit your eyes,” hummed Eret, looking all too amused as they leaned a hip against the glass.

“I like green,” he agreed amiably. Turning his gaze on the jeweller, who lost quite lost now, he said, “I want gold.”

“Of course, sir,” the old man nodded, shuffling down the line of displays to showcase the selection of gold jewellery. When he made to lift more stuff out, Foolish waved him off, pointing down and picking his own things from the variety.

“That bracelet,” he ordered, eye caught by a thick bangle. Round, curving in a half-circle, and plain, it was aesthetically pleasing. Spying a pair of dangling earrings, shaped like dragonflies, he pointed to them as well before finally looking to a golden chain.

At last with his own selection up for sights, he peered at them, listening to the man blabber on about metal quality and design. The bangle was nice, probably his favourite second to the earrings; golden dragonflies with green emeralds for eyes and little etched designs to imitate the body markings of the real thing. Eret had wandered off, looking around at the other display cabinets, but turned their head at the thump of the thick chain being set on the little fabric roll. Large, twenty-four carat, diamond cut. At eighteen inches, it would sit just around his neck, grazing his collarbones.

Raising his head in Eret’s direction, he threw them a look. Instantly, they were back, looking at the chain. It seemed thick, especially in their hands, although the curbed links seemed to bend softly under their fingers.

“I’ll get a matching one in rose gold,” they said, setting the chain back onto the little fabric roll.

“Very well,” the jeweller smiled. It seemed strained. Foolish, in a better mood now, almost pitied him.

The earrings sat innocently with the bangle. “Those too,” chimed Eret, looking back at a display cabinet a few units over. “There’s a few anklets you may like in those units, Foolish.”

“Really?” He queried, never having had an anklet before. Walking over, he found a large selection of all sorts of chains and ropes to tie around all manner of limbs.

“The one with emeralds and rubies?” Eret asked, talking to him from across the shop.

Bending down to get a better view, Foolish quickly saw the mentioned anklet. For a moment, he held himself in check, biting at his cheek. His instincts told him he was being a burden, though Eret’s earlier words screamed at him.

Have to be nice to yourself, he chased.

“That one is nice,” he agreed, turning back to the jewellers dull gaze. Eret stood, quite proudly – as they always did. Foolish feared the day they stood with a hunch in their back.

“Very well,” chimed the old man, scurrying to gather the pieces they’d picked out. Eret added a few bangles to the mix, getting a new rose gold chain to link into their helix and lobe piercings. “Will that be all?”

Foolish nodded at Eret’s stare.

“Indeed,” they hummed, paying the price and inventorying the crisp white boxes. The chain, though, was saved from that fate, Eret slipping it out to gesture at him.

A vague idea of what they wanted him to do formed in his mind, Foolish stepping closer to let them throw their arms over his shoulders. They linked the chain around his neck, the cool weight settling on his skin.

“You look good,” Eret nodded, lips curling. “Do you like it?”

There was a mirror in the jewellers. Stepping over to it, Foolish took a glance at himself and found relief. He didn’t look like the Iris’ child anymore – now he looked cherished and loved. Beginning to understand what being spoiled meant, he grinned.

“I love it.”

Chapter Text

“Where do you want me?”

Foolish blinked up from his book, looking up into Eret’s cold expression. Mentally floundering, he gaped up at the Crown Prince, barely managing to mark his place in his chosen book with the fancy leather bookmark it had hidden under its front cover.

After they’d made it back from town, Foolish had retreated off to the library, deigning to settle down with a good book before dinner. He’d maybe been sitting on the chaise for about an hour, the billowing oak shelves spiralling around the small couched area in the center of the room – a large fireplace taking helm, lit by dazzling purple fire.

“What?” He managed to blurt out, elegant in all aspects as he stared up at Eret. They looked expectant, head inclined towards him as they stood in front of him, obviously waiting for a response.

“For the massage,” they deadpanned, as though it was obvious. “Will it be in here or in our room?”

Foolish made an understanding noise. “Well, uh.”

“Perhaps you require another room? There are guest bedrooms that could be made into a space, of sorts, should you wish.”

“No, no,” he shook his head, pushing himself to his feet to hover beside them. Still dressed in their boots and corset, Eret looked pretty enough to stab a man and still be dazzling. “The bedroom should be fine for it. I just thought you’d want it after dinner?”

“Training is after dinner,” they dismissed. When they tilted their head, they seemed confused. “Can you not do it now?”

“Yeah, we can,” he shrugged, searching for the words that could help him explain how odd this request sounded. It wasn’t every day someone asked Foolish how he ‘wanted them’. It made him queasy, the thought of sex unappealing. “Alright then.”

As if sensing the awkward atmosphere, Eret smirked at him and walked off. Foolish stared at their back, eyes trailing down to the tight cup of their trousers around their ass. When they walked something swayed, whether it be their hips or their hands; whatever it was, it accentuated their thin figure, making them seem lithe and petite instead of the muscled lean figure Foolish knew them to be.

It was odd, when Eret seemed to be such an imposing figure, though Foolish almost liked the thought of cuddling their smaller frame. Cuddling was nice, or rather, what he’d woken to this morning had been nice; Eret peaceful, unburdened and just as beautiful in sleep as they were in waking.

Following after, he let the heavy library doors shut behind him and attempted to keep pace with Eret through the halls as to not need to run after them.

They walked in silence, Eret’s pace slowing once they realised Foolish was having difficulty keeping up. Suddenly, they turned their head towards him. “How long should it take?”

Attempting to not stumble up the stairs, Foolish made sure to stay out of the way of a maid scuttling down the stairs with a basket of laundry. It was the older woman again; she was kind looking, with her greying hair pulled back in a neat but not too tight looking bun. She offered Eret a nod, to which the Crown Prince returned.

The glance she offered him was not missed, the tips of Foolish’s ears burning at the suggestive eyebrow she rose at him.

“Not too long,” he said, slightly lying as he quickly shifted his attention to Eret’s stiff shoulders. Foolish wasn’t too versed in massaging but even he could tell it would take a while to get the knots out of those shoulders. “Maybe half an hour to an hour?”

There was no outward reaction: no shock, nor joy. Eret simply nodded. Foolish took to chewing at his cheek in the quiet, barely catching a pace as they climbed up the stairs.

Finally, Eret turned onto the second floor and walked down the corridor where their bedroom was. Foolish didn’t remember the first walk being quite so long although he had been quite nervous at the time. The golden white double doors stared at him, Eret pushing them open for Foolish to slip through and shut after them.

Now in the master bedroom, Eret turned to him with their sharp gaze; stopped in the middle of the room. “Is there anything else you need?”

Being cornered like this wasn’t what Foolish had expected. He assumed it was because Eret was nervous about the ongoings, as they hadn’t been this blunt and abrupt before. What if his fit in the middle of town had changed their opinion on him? What if this really was just a ploy to get him to lower his guard— was Eret going to kill him this time?

Something was shoved into his hands, startling him back to the present. He looked down to find the small vial with the purple masseuse liquid in his palm, all worries suddenly gone as he pondered what the Crown Prince would look like all relaxed and calm; maybe they’d be kitten-like, or perhaps there would be an awkwardness where there was no confidence and they would more resemble a puppet with its strings cut.

Glancing to Eret, he found them standing in front of him, looking a tad lost. When they noticed him looking, their jaw beaded with a vein, eyes darting down to where the HUD for the inventory allegedly would appear. Slowly edging towards the tiered bed, he rolled the vial in his hand and waited for Eret to follow after, almost silently equating them to be more of a stray puppy when nervous in the large expanse of the room.

The thought that Eret was possibly more skittish about this than him was a bizarre thing. Although, the longer he stood there and stared at them flicking aimlessly through their inventory, the more he thought about how they hadn’t asked anyone else for a massage and how Foolish had metaphorically pulled their leg on the subject.

Feeling bad for this coercement, he almost opened his mouth to apologize, or maybe to tell them that they didn’t have to do this, but something stopped him in his tracks. The vial in his hand nearly felt as though it was blisteringly hot against his skin, the rolling of it in his palm doing nothing for the mental weight it exerted on him.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

“We could do it on the bed?”

It was only when Eret smirked at him did he realise how dirty that could sound without context. Refusing to give in to the blush and draw attention to his boiling ears, Foolish steadied his nerve with a deep breath.

“Get on the bed,” he ordered, flapping at the Prince. Privately marveling at how authoritive he sounded, he glanced around the room in search for anything else they could need. (He was searching, not avoiding the surprised look Eret shot him. No, definitely not.) “We should probably put a towel down, so I’ll get that while you strip to your boxers.”

As Eret nodded, Foolish wavered where he stood for a moment before teetering off to the bathroom. Once there, he lingered by the wooden cupboard, fiddling with its decorative handle before flipping it open. The selection of nearly everything bathroom-related greeted him, the plush shelf of fluffy white towels immediately gaining his eye.

It seemed wealth really did change things. Never before had Foolish seen so many bath salts, soaps and candles in one cupboard. From the looks of it, Eret didn’t even use them much – that, or they were constantly restocked to look pristine and new. Holding the fluffy towel under his arm, Foolish skimmed the selection, idling over the fancy labels of candle names and scents as he tried to give Eret a bit more time to change.

The bathroom was cold, the stone chilly under his socks. Foolish had taken off the borrowed shoes as soon as he’d returned, although he now had a pair of casual boots to walk about in as the cordwainer had finished a pair before they had left town. He didn’t want to unnecessarily wear them around the Palace and so they sat in the wardrobe, Eret already having set aside an entire section for him in a matter of minutes.

(There would always be the lingering fear of having his things taken away if he scuffed them. Mother had done it more than once.)

Spending what felt like years of staring at the empty bath, eyes trailing over the ridges and smooth lines of the stone, he eventually turned on his heel and took the large bathtowel with him. Eret was sitting on the bed, bare for all but a pair of boxer briefs.

They were certainly well built, lithe figure under their clothes simply a mask for the muscle that adorned their physique. Sitting as tense as a panther, Eret was more wound up than a jack-in-the-box. Amidst rolling his sleeves up to his elbows, Foolish spared himself the private wonder of why no one else had intervened. Was it true Eret had never had a massage? Why would a Prince renowned for their athletic and battle abilities let themself be willingly hindered by something as simple as tense muscles?

At least they changed, he mused. Eret looked good in their boxers, strong thighs that could wrap around any neck stemming out from under lean gray fabric. The silk stood dull against their lush skin, above them a strong stomach, abs sturdy and proud. Every inch of Eret was akin to a chiseled masterpiece, their beautiful features – from their sharp nose to their long fingers – barely blighted by the jagged gashes trailing along their form. Though, even with that smooth tan skin broken up by lines and red skin, they painted a majestic picture of what a war cost.

Eret’s determination and sheer power shone through not just their trained body, but also in those soulless eyes; the very same eyes that latched onto him as soon as he entered, long dark lashes framing stainless white marble.

“Did you get lost?” They joked in a half-hearted tone, one hand gripping onto their knees whilst the other hung lax atop their thigh. Bent over as they were, Eret could’ve been depicted as a stooping vampire, bright eyes lighting up the darkening room. It seemed evening, even in the Crown Prince’s Palace, was a gloomy time. The magic orbs of light that hung in the room shifted in place, gleaming a soft orange to match with the gentle shimmer of the bedframe’s tied back curtains.

“Nearly,” he jested, trying to not be too awkward about this when it was evident Eret was struggling with the very concept. “I’ll put this towel down incase we stain the bedding.”

They echoed. “The liquid stains?”

“Well,” he said, setting the vial on the bedside table and flapping out the towel over the bed. Eret stood and helped him lay it out by taking the other end, pressing the towel into the bed with an elegance Foolish wished he knew how to wield. “I don’t know, but better to be safe than sorry, right?”

“I suppose,” Eret agreed, not seeming too pressed about the thought of ruining their bedsheets. Running a finger over the corner of the towel, they offered him a sidewards glance. “Shall I lie down now?”

“Uh, yeah. Go ahead. On your stomach, please.”

Standing awkwardly as they climbed onto the bed, the scars painting their body shimmering under the light, Foolish found himself feeling clammy. Turning to fiddle with the vial on the counter, he shuffled back to find Eret’s back staring up at him – the Crown Prince on their stomach, arms folded under their face. Their skin was riddled with the ragged mismatched lines, some wide and short, others long and thin, all painful looking. Their back looked to be more of a checkerboard than a man’s back, the very sight nearly squeezing a gasp out of him.

Not even their arms nor legs were saved the treatment, though they were not nearly as bad as their back, instead just littered with sparse slashes and winding jabs. In the light of mid-evening, it seemed their body was in worse shape than ever – scars painted over muscle, broken skin that glimmered pink ripping at every curve and lisp of skin. Eret was covered in them, not an inch along their back could be passed without having one’s gaze trail down along another gruesome reminder of a wound.

Foolish never would’ve thought they looked like this from the prior night in bed; he definitely would’ve thought he’d have felt them more than he had when Eret had quite this many scars. Though, he did reason, their back was the only thing he hadn’t seen much of. Trying to recall if he’d seen their back when changing brought his memory up blank, Foolish sure he would’ve remembered a sight like this if he’d seen it earlier.

“Is this good?” They lifted their head, blank eyes boring into him. Catching himself and swallowing his horror with a brisk nod, Foolish pondered the best way to go about this.

“Yeah,” he reassured, already pulling at the cork of the vial. Tipping it into his palm, he let a little dribble into a small pool. It wasn’t exactly cold, though it was neither warm. Retaining its deep lilac colour, the liquid pooled in the centre of his palm and sat there as he stared at it. “Can I start?”

Receiving a hum in response, Eret buried their head back into the crook of their arms and spread their legs for him to kneel between. Ears nearly burning at the sight, Foolish dismissed the unsavory thoughts that accompanied that action – the product of having read too many romance novels – and shifted onto the bed on his knees, wriggling forwards until he could comfortably reach the Crown Prince’s back. He was perhaps a little close to touching them, knees inches from grazing the silk of their boxers, although he rationalized it with the logic that he would be more uncomfortable by moving away and having to stretch his arms out more.

Resting the opened vial between his thighs, he rubbed the small amount of liquid already in his palm over his hands. The last thing he wanted was to somehow mess up and scare Eret off any more massages, especially when they so obviously needed one.

Gathering his nerve whilst trying to dismiss the innate thought that he shouldn’t be doing this for the Crown Prince of all people, he pried the vial from between his legs and hovered it above the centre of Eret’s back. Tipping a small amount onto a random spot, he watched the muscles of their back tense and cord. Suddenly worried they were about to say they didn’t want a massage anymore, he quickly but gently pressed his fingers into the liquid, slowly working it over their back.

As he rubbed it into their shoulder blade with his thumb, he took up a low hum, slipping the vial back between his legs as he made use of both his hands and attempted to stretch out the rough knots under their skin.

Eret was still tense. It prompted him to fish out the vial to let another few droplets plop along the crease between their blades. The little old lady had said they’d only need a small bit, but at this extra amount Eret gave an abrupt sigh and sagged into the bed, every harsh line soothed out into a relaxed blob.

Blinking, he paused to make sure they were still breathing – only because the sudden movement was startling enough to make him actually worried for them – before cautiously continuing, dipping down and rubbing his fingers into the unyielding knots. Their back shimmered golden under the light of the orbs floating around the room, Eret letting out a couple soft, breathy noises as he moved down to knead at the long expanse where their spine poked through.

They were surprisingly docile throughout the duration of the massage, barely even shifting when he trailed back up to the collarbone and shoulder blade area to get a second go and really dig his fingers into the muscles there. Occasionally, they’d murmur something positive sounding, a small lisp of sound that Foolish barely heard.

Out of the vial, the liquid smelt more strongly of fruit. It suited Eret, perhaps moreso the version of Eret Foolish thought he would soon see – maybe, a hidden side that could smile. He was sure if he told an unsuspecting citizen that he thought the scent of pomegranates and peaches was reminiscent of the Crown Prince’s personality he’d get more than an odd look.

Like this, they looked satisfied. When he moved on to kneading their arms, working his thumb over their tense biceps, Eret didn’t even stir. A few minutes in, their breathing had evened out to a soft puff on the towel, lips parted as they dozed. The sight made him feel warm, the very thought that Eret felt safe enough around him to fall asleep whilst he was massaging them a happy realization.

He knelt there for a lifetime; overjoyed to be helping them, glad to see them so sated. By the time he figured he was finished, he’d smoothed the massage liquid over every previously tense muscle and had effectively reduced the Crown Prince to nothing more than a sleeping sack of bones.

Moving to get up, Foolish silently peered at the leg boxing him in. He’d either need to precariously shuffle back and then off to the side to get off the bed, all without waking Eret, or he could lift their leg up, bend it to get past, and set it down again. The second option seemed like the less likely one, possibly the one more likely to end up with them awake, though after kneeling for the better duration of half an hour, Foolish didn’t have the patience in him to go through a made-up obstacle course to get to his feet.

However, when he lifted their leg, curling his hand just under their knee, the limb went freely. Surprised by this, before realizing that the fact that they were asleep was most definitely the only thing letting him do this, Foolish took extra care as he rocked to his feet. Slipping off the bed, Eret pliable and uncaring, he slowly lowered their leg back into its original position, enraptured by how relaxed and boneless they appeared. A content Eret was a pretty Eret, it seemed.

Coated in the liquid, his hands felt a tad numb after the massaging. Although, he couldn’t deny he was pleased, even as he tiptoed into the bathroom and washed off the liquid in the sink. Hands feeling colder without it, he silently mourned the fruity scent and promptly remembered that it was capable of drying by itself, without need to be washed off – something the old lady had chirped at him on his way out.

At least Eret won’t need another shower, he shrugged.

Just as he reentered the room, a knock sounded from the door. Standing there for a moment, it took him a few seconds to realise he needed to allow them entry.

“Come in,” he called softly, giving Eret one final glance before deciding that they weren’t being too revealing. Turning his attention to the young looking maid that stepped into the room, he tilted his head.

“Dinner is in five minutes, Your Highness,” she stuttered, failing to hide her surprise at seeing Eret unmoving on the bed. He wondered what she thought of the situation; her Crown Prince strewn over their bed, bare if not for their boxers, their face tilted the opposite way – no chance to see if they were awake or not. Foolish spared a thought towards the possibility she would scream, maybe level an outraged look at him, would she think he had killed Eret? He hoped not.

Instead, all she said was, “Apologies for interrupting, sir,” and slipped back out, the door whooshing shut behind her.

Eret would be smirking if they were awake, he huffed a breath at the thought.

Stepping back up the heighted incline the fourposter bed sat upon, he stooped over Eret and peered down at their lax sleeping face. They were so cute like this, deadly edges all filed and soothed down, making their form nothing more than a gentle wave flopped on the bed. Maybe they were cold, adorned only in their boxers, though not a goosebump littered their skin.

Setting a hand on their shoulder, he gently shook them awake. Greeted with the leisurely fluttering of their eyelids, Foolish waited patiently for them to open their eyes – though even then, they barely looked as though they were comprehending what they were seeing.

“Wakey, wakey, sleeping beauty,” he called with a smile, giving into the selfish urge of his fingers and running a fingerpad along their jaw. Their skin was flushed from their nap, Eret blinking a few more times before they even seemed to notice he was there.

“Fool’sh?” They slurred, unhurriedly working a hand under them to ease up into a sitting position. Eret ended up barely on their knees, Foolish forced to sweep an arm behind them as they nearly toppled backwards after their effort.

Assuming they were still tired, he snickered down at them, their back blisteringly warm against his hand. At least the massage oil had dried in. “Yes, Eret, it’s me. Dinner’s in five minutes, a maid just called.”

“M’hm,” Eret nodded, though their eyes threatened to shut and their chin almost met their chest as their head bobbed uncertainly.

“Would you like some help changing?” He asked, watching as their jaw cracked open in a yawn that had their shoulders slumping and their form wilting. Maybe they were a tad too relaxed to be doing things such as dressing, he pondered.

Eret didn’t respond, though the head that dropped onto his bicep answered most questions for him. Honestly entertained by their adorably drowsy state, Foolish found no trouble in easing them onto their back. With the liquid nothing more than a gentle glow to their skin now, he didn’t feel bad in letting them sway back onto the bare blankets. It wasn’t as though it could stain anything anymore – or, he hoped it couldn’t.

At the side of the bed lay a bundle of clothes. Eret had simply dropped their shirt atop their trousers, corset folded up into nothing more than a ring of long leather strips. Foolish knelt to grab the garments and rose without the corset, deciding they could put it on themself if they really wanted to wear it. The last thing he wanted was to tie a corset onto someone when he had no idea how to and could possibly hurt them in the process.

Setting the clothes on the bed beside them, Foolish feared gathering the clothes would be the only easy part of this challenge.

Flapping out the trousers for any dust that may have attached to them, he methodically ran his hand down both legs, making sure all the buttons were out. He needed them fully opened if he wanted to stand a chance at pulling them onto Eret. With great relief, he found that Eret was not one of the ‘slip out in one piece and chuck away’ kind of undressers.

Strewn over the bed, lying exactly as he’d left them and apparently still dozing, Eret’s legs were probably the most accessible. Nodding to himself, Foolish decided to pull their shirt on last – it was best to get the worst out of the way first, he supposed.

Readying himself, he flapped the trousers out and gripped them by the hem. Easing Eret’s left foot into the left leg wasn’t a bad start, and it was a simple enough procedure. It was only when the trousers came up to their knees did he realise that the right leg had to be introduced into the equation before he completely ignored it and ruined his hard work.

“What’oo doin’?” Came the slurred mumble. Eret shifted, throwing an arm behind them to lean on it and stare him down.

Tilting his head to beam up at the curious face, Foolish slid their right leg into the hem of the trousers, managing to shimmy the fabric up to their knees before pausing there. They were still tired looking, cheeks rosy, eyes barely open. In all honesty, Foolish thought they were adorable.

“Dinner’s soon,” he hummed, easing them slowly to their feet. Eret wobbled where they were, slowly blinking, hand heavy on his shoulder even as he knelt by their waist to pull their trousers up beyond their knees and over their hips. Cinching the buttons by their stomach, a choked sound escaped their throat as his finger grazed against their skin accidentally.

“Sorry,” he apologized immediately, hurriedly looking up to find Eret struggling to keep their eyes open. Had he not been on his knees and in a very bad position to catch them should they fall, he would’ve remained there a moment longer and observed how they bit at their lip, bare slivers all to be seen of their white eyes.

Standing to support them, he ended up with a hand on their hip, the other grabbing the hand that Eret shot out for him. Remaining where they were, Foolish likened their current stance to some sort of dance, the Crown Prince’s tilting figure prompting him to lead.

He reminded, “We’ll be late for dinner.”

“Call it here,” they mumbled, barely understandable as they tipped into his chest. Quickly, Foolish secured an arm around their waist, keeping them standing as they nuzzled into his chest. His ears exploded with heat at the small noise they let out; nothing more than a weighted breath of a groan, but one that signified they were relaxed as they were.

“Pardon?” Foolish begged for them to repeat, their warm breath on his chest and the soft skin under his fingertips making him think about things he shouldn’t be.

“Food,” they grunted, suddenly lifting their arm to grasp his shoulder. Foolish stood and let them jostle him as they righted themself, only slightly mourning the loss of contact as they swayed off his chest and to a more upright stance. Like this, they looked exhausted, lips drooped into a frown as their half-lidded eyes roamed aimlessly – evident in how blank and glassy their features looked. Heaving a large breath at their apparent breathlessness, they focused on him, soft pink tongue slipping out to wet their lips. “Pull the tassel bell an’ a maid’ll come.”

Turning his head to see the golden threaded tassel rope next to the bed, Foolish nodded but hesitated before abandoning Eret where they were. “Do you need help getting into bed?”

“What?” Eret questioned, wobbling back a step. “No.”

The look they shot him was incredulous. He would’ve believed them too, had they not wavered right where they stood, legs wobbling. Eret collapsed with a whimper of a gasp, knees buckling without further ado. Foolish’s quick grabbing of their waist was the only thing that saved them a harsh landing on the floor.

“Easy,” he soothed, whispering into their ear as they panted against his shoulder. Their legs didn’t seem to want to work anymore, so he lowered himself a tad, hooking an arm just under their ass. Eret, evidently put out of place by his movement, breathed a weary whine, hand spasming against his chest before the limb dropped to hang by their side. “You’re alright,” he reassured, babbling words as he quietly startled at how easily he lifted them – perhaps not the easiest in the world, though well enough considering how he had never lifted anything heavier than a few books in his life. Eret was startlingly light, despite their lean figure and muscles.

With somewhat more control over where they fell this time, he inched them both towards the bed, gently dropping them back onto the mattress. After a moment of thought, where he shifted them a tad to pull the towel off the bed and chucked it towards the bathroom, he let them return to their sprawled position from earlier where they lay on their back, legs closest to the edge. Their eyes had slid shut, the only indication they were still barely awake being the stilted heaves of their chest.

From that display alone, any thoughts of possibly going down to get dinner at the dining room were quashed. Foolish would ring the tassel once he got them comfortable in bed, although that first meant pulling their trousers off and making sure they wouldn’t have a chance of getting cold in their boxers.

Determined now he had a plan of action, he knelt briefly on the bed to unpop the buttons. Whilst there, looming over Eret, he lost himself in the peacefully slack expression they sported, arm bent by their head, fingers cutely curled together in a lax fist. It reminded him of how he’d woken this morning, to Eret’s hand slipping up to cup his neck, rough but warm fingers feeling the skin around his collarbone. Glancing back down to their trousers, he made sure the zipper went down smoothly and wriggled off the bed.

Feet back on the warmed floorboards where he’d stood prior, he grabbed the trousers and pulled them down a few ridges by their knees. From there, he worked the ends over their ankles with little difficulty – mostly thanks to the end buckles being undone and thus opening up the ends of the trousers – and grabbed the denim by the lower cuffs as he slipped them off Eret fully. Carefully, to avoid their legs swinging down and bouncing their heels off the wooden bar of the bed, he scooped his right arm under their knees and held them up as his left hand finished pulling the trousers off them.

Dropping the denim back onto the floor, the shirt quickly joining from its place on the bed, Foolish made an easy maneuver a tad more awkward by forcing Eret to sit up, setting their feet on the chilled floor. Half asleep again, their eyelids fluttered and a chill raced up their legs, the goosebumps visible as they jerked with a shiver.

“’oolish,” they slurred, voice husky. Chirping another whine that had Foolish’s ears blistering once again, they lifted their previously lax hand and reached for him with a grabby motion, like that of a petulant toddler. “’M cold, gimme cuddles.”

Blinking at them in surprise, he just about grabbed his wits before they departed on the next breath. “Sure thing, sweetie,” he said, biting his tongue as soon as the nickname slipped out. Eret made no move to shift back, nor any to indicate they had an issue with the name, instead lilting further towards him until he was forced to step forth and curl a hand around their back. With him standing, their head was more around his stomach, instead of being around his chest as it had been when he’d been kneeling.

He almost felt awkward. But as he stared down at the Crown Prince – someone who he’d literally been fearing of murdering him not a few hours ago – he seen a lonely person that had no one to massage them and could only ask for a hug when knee deep in exhaustion. Taking them in, in this new light, he almost felt pity for them.

Foolish had no place holding pity in his heart for the Star of the Empire, for a War Hero, for a monster, but there was already an Eret-shaped hole carved out and filled by the very person dozing against him, their warm breath puffing against his shirt and lighting his skin on fire.

Hand wandering up along the back of their neck, fingers curling in their hair, he smiled down at them, for even if they couldn’t see it, it was something he needed to do.

Together, they remained like that for a good few minutes, until Foolish’s stomach started complaining that he was hungry. Gently easing Eret into the bed, their head lolling on the pillows as he slipped the covers up to their chest, he turned and gave the tassel a pull.

Chapter Text

Upon a large sum of magic being cast, the user must be prepared to—

His stomach gave a pang. It felt like his insides were poking his skin through with pitchforks, begging for sustenance. But Dream couldn’t pay it attention, he needed to finish this. At the very least, he should finish the page—

make a necessary and substantial sacrifice equal to, or similar with, the amount of magic absorbed by the user’s purpose; be it spell or aimless flaunt. This is a basic law of mana usage – the rule of Equalization. Most people are required to follow this rule without fault, however there are few noted people that do not seemingly require to equalize their mana usage with a ‘payment’.

Crown Prince, Star of the Hiel Empire, Eret Alastair aus Enkeli, is one such person. Noted to have used a multitude of spells on the battlefield, both low mana and high, they have never been witnessed making a such sacrifice for their power. Academics thus theorize that as the Empire’s “Golden Child” they have been deemed as unnecessary to perform this law by the Gods themselves.

Sparing a moment to snort at the complete bullshit he was reading – only to be found in the new monthly edition of Sorcerer’s News, an infamous magazine and a fairly costly read – Dream thought on all the times Eret had practically strutted off the battlefield, only to collapse in their private camp, magic deprivation sucking the very life out of their bones and making them sicklier than even the weakest pauper. The One Year War had been burdensome and harsh on all afflicted, and though he wasn’t saying Eret had it worse or easier off, they’d certainly sacrificed something different from everyone else involved through the very fact that they had led it.

Dream himself had not seen them in that state. He’d witnessed it all second hand, from the memories of those who had. A minute few had seen them so weak, not even most of their “Generals” from the time, nor their men. Two people had seen them like this – one doomed to die in the fighting, the other deemed a traitor after the events who had fled, getting a few extra years of a life of running from the Empire.

He’d ran into this traitor, had watched as Eret slew him with their own hand. Ordered to search his memories for anything of importance before the final blow, (a test on his first ever mission with the then newly crowned Prince), he had, delving a tad deeper than he should’ve out of sheer inexperience. He’d gained flashes of them in a barn, beaten and bloody, coughing up blood from overuse of their magic, though he would never tell anyone of what he’d seen, knowing all too well how private such a thing was.

At the time, he’d looked over the memories, not delving into them in a search for the topmost layer – skimming through to see if the traitor had shared any confidential information with enemies or anyone of interest. The man had, spurring them on nearly a month-long journey around the Continent, silently culling those who stood tall enough to cause irreparable damage. Since that night, Dream lived with the visual truth of how rough the glorified war really had been.

The scars on Eret’s body spoke of other stories; nightmares too deep for campfire tales, chronicles too burdensome to speak of even for their master.

A loud growl echoed around the empty library, everyone else busy with morning training. Glancing up from the colourful magazine page, he realised the noise had been his own stomach throwing a revolt. Glancing down to the page once more, he intended to continue reading but was abruptly threatened by another growl.

Sighing, he made sure to glance at his page number before dropping the magazine into his inventory. Standing, Dream plucked at his pristine white shirt, assuring himself it was tucked into his high-waisted trousers before pattering out of the quiet room.

If he cut down on his walk with a small transportation spell, one that brought him to the hallway leading into the dining room, well no one had to know.

It was loud, the chatter of men and women making the large room seem full. From the knights settling into their places, it seemed he’d appeared just in time for breakfast. Skipping out on morning training was a usual occurrence for him, mainly because he was the resident mage and had no need to actually show up, though he sometimes did pop up to hone his blade skills on the boorish Commander.

Speak of the devil and he may appear; Technoblade stepped in front of Dream before he could take his place at the dining table. He didn’t look too pleased, signature frown in place as his boreal glare pierced Dream’s soul. “Weren’t you going to wake the Prince up?”

Blinking at the knight, before giving the room a once-over, Dream realised Eret was no where to be found. “I thought someone else was,” he said.

Technoblade did not look any happier for his words. His eyebrow raise said it all.

“Listen,” Dream started, hand on his hip. “I went in to wake them but they just looked so cute, sleeping and cuddled up, so I couldn’t. It would’ve broken my personal rules by committing such a heinous act.”

“A tragedy,” grunted the Commander, not looking too amused by his sob story.

Dream ramped up the dramatics, clutching at his chest as he did his best to imitate a swoon. “Techie, you should’ve been there and seen them- if you had, you would know I couldn’t have possibly woken them up!”

“My name is Technoblade.”

For the sake of it, he nodded and, in the simplest tone he could manage, said, “Everyone knows that, Techie.”

If a Holy Blade wielder could spontaneously combust, Technoblade would’ve blown up the Golden Palace.

Staring into the face of his death, Dream recalled the cute image Eret had made – all snuggled up with that boy, face so relaxed and satisfied. Even with the blankets covering them, Dream knew better than to touch them when they’d curled themself around the boy the way they had. He’d been tempting fate even being in their room, sent on a known suicide mission by the Blade himself, and he hadn’t really wanted to lose a hand either.

To be honest, he would’ve thought Eret would’ve woken by now. Usually, they were great at keeping an internal schedule, probably due to their amassment of sleepless nights.

“You know how bad they need the sleep,” he spluttered, pulling out his trump card. Eret’s almost chronic insomnia was a well-kept secret within the royal assortment. It was due to this fact alone which meant if they were found sleeping anywhere – from the library to the pool, napping anywhere – they were not to be awoken unless there was a life-ending, Empire devasting issue occurring. “And they were literally in the deepest sleep I’ve ever seen them in. Why didn’t you send someone else when they didn’t show up mid-way?”

“No one would go,” he complained, the amassment of knights at the table behind them shooting smirks his way. Technoblade, with his back to them, seen nothing, though he cleared his throat in a warning – the behaviour of everyone was simply too predictable at this point. Dream bit down on his smirk, knowing the man would recognise it through the pinch of his eyes.

Obviously, if Technoblade had wanted Eret woken up for training, he would have had someone sent down to do it. He had enough weight to shift around that he could scare even one of the older knights into doing his bidding, or even Elizabeth, the old Head Maid, would’ve went willingly had anyone mentioned it to her.

“You could’ve forced them to go,” Dream piped up.

“Which is why you’ll go and finish the job.”

Technoblade smirked at him. Dream sighed and admitted defeat; he’d practically walked into that one anyways.

“Fine,” he whined. “But I’m not sitting beside them.”

“Jabber will.”

“Excuse me?” The bow-toting healer startled, flicking their long braid over their shoulder. “I will not!”

“A promise is a promise,” Dream shot them a wink, disappearing back into a transportation circle.

Appearing inches from the master bedroom’s double doors, Dream attempted to make his footsteps as quiet as possible. Eret was cranky if woken up without warning, but it was even worse if the waker lingered to get hit by the brunt of that force. Although, maybe with the boy here they would be less inclined to cut his hand off as they would’ve normally done.

It seemed Foolish’s presence had tamed them. In the past two days, they hadn’t frozen in a memory only they could see, nor had they fallen into a particularly foul mood. Of course, Eret wasn’t exactly a cruel employer – they ensured more than the basic needs of their people were met – but if those people wronged them, or irritated them (maybe something as simple as talking at the wrong moment) all hell could break loose.

Not to say Eret was abusive or harsh, sometimes they were just different. Like their entire personality had changed overnight, they could go to bed joyful and wake irritated and harsh. The war had twisted and bent them out of shape, the pressure moulding them into a beast that only had an eye for perfection.

At least, that was what Elizabeth claimed.

She was the only one still alive, outside of the Empress, to have been close to Eret before the beginning of the Hiel Empire. She claimed Eret had once been as carefree as a child living on the edge of poverty could be. They’d laughed and smiled and been spritely. Now, they were cold and sharp, unforgiving of lukewarm teas and sported a harsh glare that could chill even hell.  

Pushing one of the doors open in the slightest to edge by, Dream slunk into the room, slipping over to the tiered bed. Waking them up was always a deathwish waiting to happen, though Dream had enough security in his position that he knew Eret wouldn’t maim him too badly.

Really, he hoped that Foolish being here would lessen his punishment.

Nearing the bed, he quickly noticed that the Crown Prince was lying alone, blanket pooled up around them like a giant shawl. The sound of running water from the bathroom indicated that the boy was up, which could’ve been a good thing did it not mean Dream had to face Eret alone.

Pausing on the second tiered step of four, Dream did his best to suck in a deep breath. “Your Highness,” he called.

Eyes snapping open, Eret’s soul-chilling eyes centered in on him, their lip curling. “What?” They hissed, temper flaring. Without the boy here, everything was back to normal. Dream lowered his gaze, thumping his fist against his chest as he dropped to a knee.

“Breakfast is within the minute, ma’am.” He stammered out, neck pricking as his hairs stood on end. His back was warm and itched from the sweat rolling down it. Eret’s feet thumped against the floor as they sat up on the edge of the bed. “I apologise for the rude awakening.”

There was a troubling silence as the Crown Prince rocked to their feet, standing on the top tier to look down at him. He could feel their cold gaze pressing into his skin without having to look up.

“Why wake us so late?” Eret snarled, long lithe fingers curling around his chin. They tugged his face up, Dream having no choice other than to look up into their glacial stare. Breath stuck in his chest, he couldn’t help but note they were definitely in a bad mood today. Glowering down at him, their hair swirled around them, creating a dark shadow over their face. They looked positively demonic – if a demon wore Eret’s skin and could master the art of showing its disapproval through the Crown Prince’s blank eyes. “Why not send in a maid?”

“Technoblade—”

Their sharp sigh jolted him, cheeks burning under his mask as his gaze caught on the bedpost. He was ashamed to have put off his duties for so long, even more embarrassed to have been called out on it. Any other employer would’ve fired or hit him by now, people’s demanding attitudes leading to short tempers; the Crown Prince was sharp, maybe even could be described as strict, but they were not melodramatic. Well maintained, even standing with their boxers in his face, Dream respected the Crown Prince – not just because they were the Crown Prince, but because they had proven to be fair and restrained even in an ill mood. It was this respect that made him keep his head up, looking them straight in the eye. It was the least they deserved.

“Excuses,” they threatened, whites thinned to slits. In the shaded lighting of the natural light shining on their back, they looked tired in the gloom. Dream knew they probably were, fatigued constantly by constant insomnia and a need to be active; they’d slept more (or at least, were actually getting into bed) in the past few days with Foolish being here than they had in the past few months combined. “You know I hate them, Dream.”

In the pause of them talking, they watched him. Eret was deathly still, the tendons under the skin of their arm rippling seconds before their arm moved, coming up to rest on his head. He felt as though he was being petted, though not being disregarded or belittled. Instead, it was simply a soft lull between them where Eret curled their hands through his hair and smoothed his fringe back. He felt warm, chest abuzz.

When he found the courage to break the quiet, he cleared his throat for fear of squeaking. “I deeply apologize for offending you, My Lady.”

The bathroom door opened.

“Good morning,” chirped the boy, all smiles and bright, radiant attitude. He toddled over to Eret’s side, blinking down at Dream with a tilted head. “What’s happening?”

“Dream came to notify us of breakfast,” Eret said with a light tone. Their acid attitude and drawn expression had drastically changed at the intervention of Foolish, nearly enough to give Dream whiplash. The empty look was gone, a bright, relieved person in its place. Everything – from the softness of their gaze to the change in their stance, from upright to leaning slightly towards the boy – was shocking enough that Dream had to blink to make sure he was seeing the right thing and not hallucinating.

Even were he blind, he never could’ve missed the bright smile Foolish sent him.

“Thank you, Sir Dream,” chirped the noble.

If not for the hand sat leisurely atop his head, Dream would’ve cowed away, faced with such a stark, innocent light. When Foolish smiled it was with his heart, eyes sparkling with gratitude, lips pulled back as though the bigger his grin the more grateful he was. He felt as though he was witnessing something he shouldn’t, frozen in place by the ray of sunshine Eret had plucked from a choked ballroom.

“He’s no ‘Sir’,” Eret puffed a breath. Was this their soft version of a laugh when faced with him? It sounded so different from their usual sharp laughter that it made Dream feel left out, like a joke had been told over his head while his ears were covered and the crowd was laughing but no one was repeating the punchline for him.

Foolish questioned, “But he’s a knight?”

“Under my service, thus yours.” Eret declared. Dream didn’t think he’d ever heard such a blatant declaration of intent before in his life. The boy must’ve been living on another planet to not notice the Crown Prince’s obsession with him, that or he was painfully ignorant. “He has no need to be addressed by such a rank.”

“But if he’s as good as the Empire says then surely, he deserves to be?”

Wondering if he was really experiencing this and not dreaming, Dream let his eyes flicker between the two. Eret, clothed in naught their boxers, compared to the fluffy nightgown Foolish sported, made an odd sight, especially from his angle. The only reason Foolish of Cail got away with such silly questions was because the Crown Prince was infatuated with him; that was the only logical explanation.

Their shrug echoed through the hand sat on his head. “Did you sleep well?”

The topic change was all too obvious for Dream. Foolish, though, seemed to not have noticed, or maybe he didn’t mind. “You definitely did,” snickered the younger noble.

Eret blinked, blank gaze too indecipherable for anyone to really know if they were really looking at Foolish or staring through him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” They questioned.

“I could barely get dinner in you,” Foolish chirped, sounding far too happy as he cupped Eret’s wrist and pulled their hand off his head to interlink their fingers. If there was a softer, more loving action, Dream had never before seen it, and the picture he saw before him contradicted the stern image he had of the Prince in his head so badly that he nearly buffered out.

“That sounds wrong,” Eret huffed.

The boy’s pitch changed, striking a tad higher. “Because you were tired, Eret! That’s what I meant— You have such a dirty mind.”

“You’re the one assuming it was sexual,” they rebuked.

“Yeah, because that made sense. Anyway,” Foolish shifted forwards, stepping closer to Eret as though he knew not of the threat they posed. “How are your shoulders? They were really tense last night.”

Dream knelt where he was, stupefied as Foolish stopped inches from the Crown Prince, the sight before him nearly rendering him stupefied as the boy prodded and continued to dig his fingers into Eret’s shoulder in a gentle massage. Eerily close, the Crown Prince’s social bubble was completely broken as the taller but younger boy leant towards Eret and fussed over them as though they were an incapable child.

Hand-holding and shoulder massaging all at once? If he could’ve, Dream would’ve keeled over from the shock alone. As it was, he blinked like a fool and thanked the gods for his mask covering up his wide-mouthed gape.

“They’re fine,” Eret swatted at him with their free hand, though it was half-hearted and only after letting Foolish cup his palm over the ball of their shoulder, caressing their bare skin. Any other man would’ve lost his hands by now, but not Foolish. Dream still couldn’t believe what he was witnessing.

He had to be hallucinating. He must’ve fallen asleep in the library again, probably getting books stacked on his head after being found by a passing knight. Eret being soft towards the knights and their waitstaff wasn’t as odd as some outsiders would think, but this level of intimacy with a man they hadn’t known for more than a year at least was surprising; enough to prompt even someone like Technoblade to faint should he see it.

“I’ll rub them again tonight, if you want.” The man’s gaze strayed, flowing their linked arms and subsequently meeting Dream’s startled stare head-on. “Hey, look what you did to Dream’s hair.”

“He looks fine,” Eret complained, Dream going with the flow as Foolish tilted his head up and ran his own hand through his hair in an effort to fix it. Staring up at the man, entranced by his smile, Dream caught Eret’s smitten stare out of the corner of his eye. Struggling to not choke on his saliva, he catalogued the look and refocused his gaze on the man who had dropped the Crown Prince’s hand to play with his magician’s hair.

“Your hair’s so fluffy,” Foolish complemented, stopping his thoughts in their tracks at his awed voice. “Is this natural? Mine is so difficult to manage sometimes.”

Finding that hard to believe when there were tonnes of products available to nobles on the topic of hair cleaning and protection, Dream made sure to crunch his eyes up to indicate his smile.

“It’s a natural annoyance. I’d prefer your hair over mine, it’s much nicer looking,” he weakly attempted, eyes flitting from the Prince to the noble. Eret was unmoving, staring at Foolish. How the man hadn’t noticed the stare and turned already indicated he either just didn’t notice or he liked getting stared at. Dream didn’t have a good enough grasp on the newbie’s personality to be able to accurately judge the green eyed man, though he didn’t think he would be narcissistic.

“You have to push the front back,” Eret said, startling Dream into glancing back at them. Foolish tilted his head and side-eyed the Crown Prince.

“And leave him looking like some greasy butler?” A pause. “Not that butlers are greasy! And you’re certainly not greasy, Sir Dream- You’re far from it- It’s just- I—"

Eret rubbed his arm. “We know what you meant, Foolish.”

“Ah,” at the black haired man’s puffed breath, the brunette’s gaze snapped back to the noble who ran his impossibly gentle hands through his hair. Evidently finding a look he was pleased with, Foolish nodded and offered another blinding grin. “All finished. You’ll have no bother picking up a pretty girl now.”

Deciding now was a good time to speak, Dream inclined his head. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“Y- Your Highness?” Foolish squeaked, hand quickly retracting. He clutched it to his chest as though burned, Eret’s sharp eyes observing every movement. Dream dipped his chin down, though kept his gaze on the couple as to not appear insubordinate. “Why would you call me that?”

In the silence of Eret, Dream took note of their unmoving form and dared speak. “Being partnered with the Crown Prince, it’s the very least you deserve.”

You deserve so much more for simply being able to deal with them, he thought, though not unkindly.

The Crown Prince blinked, turning their head to look down at him. “Return to the dining room,” they ordered him, turning to Foolish not a second later. “Go get changed, Foolish.”

“Alright,” beamed the boy, scuttling off to the built-in wardrobe. The conversation was evidently over.

Dream shuffled back, off the tiered steps, and made a hasty retreat, wondering if the Crown Prince had been swapped out with a changeling.

Sitting down at the long dining table, Foolish offered the empty chair beside him a glance before shooting a smile at the knights in their seats. “Good morning,” he chirped, noting Dream was to his left, with Technoblade beside Dryya, who was directly opposite him. Eret was probably going to sit beside him, who would then be beside one of the knights – a man Foolish was half certain went by the name of Ted, if he recalled the prior breakfast’s banter.

Eret had disappeared off to shower, urging him to go on and get breakfast before them. He hoped they would pop up soon as he wasn’t too sure what to do with their knights without them there.

A chorus echoed around the table, the knights chiming back their greetings. They seemed sociable enough despite the early hour – though he did suppose they had been up far longer than he. The memory of waking curled with Eret flitted through his mind’s eye, the recollection warm and comfortable. Had he kept them from training or was today perhaps a day off?

“Tea, sir?” One of the maids asked. Foolish looked to her, finding the woman from yesterday beaming down at him.

“Please,” he smiled. “I’d like the same as yesterday, if that’s no trouble.”

“Of course not, Your Highness,” she nodded. “Is there anything else you require?”

“I’m good for now,” he dismissed, watching as the woman bowed and scurried back. A soft thrill ran through him at being allowed to do this here – at being able to ask for something and actually get it. Back at the Iris Estate, the servants had been ordered to ignore him and he’d had to venture into the kitchens for his own food more oft than not. It was embarrassing; he was the son of the Master of the Household yet he had to plead with the Cook for even a scrap of bread.

Movement down the table caught his eye, distracting him from his forlorn thoughts. Two of the knights were tossing a handkerchief back and forth, the others either uninterested or watching the ongoings. Foolish sat, attempting to put names to faces for the few he knew.

Ted was one of the handkerchief throwers, Travis the second. Dryya, the archer, was stirring their tea, Technoblade seeming preoccupied with folding a handkerchief of his own. Dream was chattering away to the woman beside him.

Easily catching the white handkerchief, Ted chucked it back to Travis. Foolish watched as the other man fumbled with it, the cotton square dropping into his tea. Making a loud noise of mourning, Travis dramatically gestured from his tea to Ted.

“Look what you did!” He mewled, bottom lip wobbling. Foolish was sure he was acting; the reaction was too great to be real.

“You were the one who dropped it, Trav.” Ted defended himself. “Not me.”

“It was definitely your fault, Ted,” added the person sitting beside Ted. They had sharp eyes and short hair that was a shade between sooty or dusty brown, with a freckle above their lip and a playful smirk they looked friendly.

“Jabber, you wound me.” Ted huffed, watching Travis fish the handkerchief out of his teacup with a smirk. His gaze spanned the table, catching Foolish watching. “Sure it wasn’t my fault, bossman?”

Startled at being addressed by something so odd, Foolish tilted his head. It did not escape his notice how most of the table seemed to be suddenly interested in the conversation now. “If you started it, then by default it would be your fault.”

Ted hung on his words, leaning towards him like a hungry bird. “Would?”

“Travis did mess up his catch.”

“Your Highness,” Travis wailed, dramatically raising his teacup as though it had passed on. The soggy handkerchief lay on his saucer, a pool of brown water around it. “Look at what this fiend has done to me – he’s caused me irreparable heartache and distress!”

“That doesn’t sound like his issue,” Technoblade grunted, monotone.

“Hubert, get me another tea, please,” came the request to a passing servant.

“I’m afraid not, sir,” said the thin man, his dress shirt pristine and unwrinkled. “I’d rather not take you onto my roster, as we all know the incidents that occur when you are around.”

“That’s it, Hubert, you tell him!” One of the men down the table hollered, grinning like a lunatic. His vibrant ginger hair glimmered in the natural light that made the dining room seem so bright.

“Indeed, I shall, sir Fundy,” agreed the servant amiably. Hubert seemed to be getting on in the years, neck wrinkled like his face, age spots lingering along his jaw, with crows feet pulling at the edges of his glasses. His whitening hair was flicked back, gelled neatly in place. He looked fit enough to be a butler of the house, the proud way he held himself with his crooked back more powerful than how half the nobles stood at gatherings.

“Your tea, sir Traves,” a maid sprung from nowhere, setting a new saucer and teacup down before the man, agilely taking away his old one alongside the wet handkerchief.

“Rosalina!” Chirped one of the other knights. “Why won’t you go into town with me on the weekend?”

“Because, sir Boomer, I have no interest of men.”

“She’s told you that already, you idiot,” someone laughed.

“But it would be platonic!” Boomer tried again. “We could get pan au chocolat’s and watch the ducks fall into the well.”

“You would have to be cruel to laugh at such a thing,” Rosalina turned away with her load and scuttled off to the kitchen, disappearing through the small doorway.

“Oooh,” half the table chanted, the other half either silent or laughing at Boomer’s blatant rejection. The man himself didn’t look too down about it; white hair, blue eyes, a wide grin.

He shrugged it off. “I’ll get her next time, lads.”

Silently, Foolish remarked on the amount of people with posh names. It was evident Eret made it habit to take in those who would otherwise be prosecuted for being illegally named something higher than their stature. It was common for those few people named such to fall under the scrutiny of the local noble, taken in to serve as a lifelong servant; it was unending servitude or death at the hands of the local priest. Most chose to become servants, for obvious reasons.

“Sure you will,” Wisp snickered.

Boomer glared at the man. “What you laughing about?”

“I’m just expressing the thrill I have at the thought of you finally asking her out,” explained the brunette. His blue facepaint was pristine and sharp, unsmeared even after the morning training.

“Yeah right,” snorted someone else. “He’s laughing because you’re never getting Rosalina.”

“Shut the front door!” Boomer threatened playfully. At least, Foolish thought it was playful.

The maid reappeared, hurrying to set his tea before him. She stepped back and bowed, hands clutched in her lap before turning to go.

“Excuse me,” he said.

“Yes, sir?” She immediately stepped forth.

“What’s your name?”

In the silence of her hesitation, her voice came out as a wobble. “Mar, sir.”

A simple name, one most parents gave their children for fear of the ‘Rightful Name Legislation’.

Foolish turned to her, watching her gaze immediately dip to avoid eye contact. She was a trained maid, that much was evident. It was a stark contrast how other nobles trained even their less wanted maids compared to how the Iris Family could not afford any professionally trained ones at all.

“Thank you for the tea, Mar.”

She bowed once more. “It is my pleasure, sir.”

Someone cleared their throat. Mar turned and quickly dipped into an even deeper bow, quickly scurrying off.

Eret stepped where Mar had just stood, slipping into their chair. Foolish offered a bright smile that wasn’t reciprocated at first, Eret busy with shifting their leg up onto their knee. Sitting at an angle, they settled into the corner of their chair and shot a wink back in response.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” chirped Ted.

“You two have a nice night?” Dryya rose their eyebrow.

A few people along the table snickered, others shooting them both coy looks. Foolish blinked, very suddenly realising what the knights were intoning. Uncomfortable he felt his smile drop, attempting to cover his mood dip by becoming intrigued by his tea.

The table was silent. Eret was probably glaring at them again.

Their hand moved, lingering on the arm rest, though mostly flopped between them. Clicking their fingers, they caught his attention and flexed their hand when he looked down. Glancing back to them to find them watching the Head Maid pouring them their tea, Foolish took the hint and slipped his hand into theirs. They squeezed their hand shut, Foolish content to squeeze back.

“Today’s the hunt,” Eret said, the meaning of their words going over Foolish’s head as the rest of the table nodded. “I want you to pick a few of yourselves and meet us by the gates a half hour after breakfast.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the knights echoed.

Eret’s thumb trailed a pattern over the back of his hand. Their skin was warm.

Chapter Text

After breakfast found Foolish being tugged upstairs. “Your riding clothes arrived,” Eret declared, as though that meant anything to him.

The bedroom was bright when they entered, the long drapes that had been pulled over the balcony doors were tied back, the door tilted open in the slightest to let a soft breeze circulate through the room. Eret snapped their fingers and both the door they’d entered through and the balcony ones closed.

“Make sure to tuck in everything,” they offered. The small words of wisdom, although appreciated, were quite useless to Foolish at this moment in time as he had no idea what was going on. Following Eret to the walk-in wardrobe, he accepted the clothes that were pilled into his arms. There was a cotton golden button-up, a light but thin pair of black leather trousers and a pair of weird socks with straps on them.

“You don’t have to dress me,” he said, standing somewhat awkwardly as Eret fished him out a pair of boxers.

“Of course, I do,” snorted the Crown Prince. They looked as though that was the funniest thing they’d heard in years, nose scrunching in a way that wasn’t disgust but instead blatant amusement. Eret didn’t smile, though when they turned and their eyes caught the light of the glowing orbs, they sparkled as though gleeful. Lost in their aura, he almost forgot to hold onto his clothing.

“That might be you good for now. Go get changed,” they hummed, patting his pile of fabrics before gesturing for him to go back into the bedroom. Foolish obediently toted out his load and dropped it on the chaise at the end of the bed, pulling at his shirt.

A thought wormed at his brain. “Why’d we get changed into normal clothes earlier if we were gonna wear this all along?”

Was it to prove a point? That money resulted in multiple changes a day? Foolish saw that as impractical – one set of clothing should be used for more than one activity.

“You don’t like the outfits I pick out for you?” Eret chirped back. The snap of fabric being flapped out intoned that they were changing into their own new outfit.

“No!” Foolish hurried to say, “I like wearing these clothes. They’re very nice and soft.”

He dropped his shirt onto the chaise lounge, pulling the soft yellow cotton up over his skin. The way it kissed him, so gentle and nice, was such a refresher from his old clothes at the Estate. All his old hand-downs were from his adopted father, fabric all rough and ragged.

“Good. I forgot we had things to do today, otherwise we would’ve went down to breakfast like this.”

Snickering at their abashed tone, he felt a distinct sense of relief at the fact that Eret, like everyone else, could forget things too. “That’s alright,” he said and they lapsed into a gentle silence.

Stepping out of his trousers, he wormed into the leather trousers, persevering with his technique of making them fit. He tucked in his shirt when done, before realising he’d forgotten the socks. Groaning, he sat down and resigned himself to the struggle of rolling up the bottom of the trousers and pulling the socks on.

“All good?” Eret asked, stepping out in what looked to be leggings and a short pleated skirt that fell to a halt just around the middle of their thighs. They’d tucked a slim red cotton button-up into the thick rim of their skirt, hair hanging in loose curls along their back.

They were stunning.

“Thank you,” they nodded. “I do try.”

Alarmed, he squeaked, “Did I say that aloud?”

“No,” they stared. “But you’re practically drooling so I connected the dots.”

“You look beautiful,” he said, because it was a crime not to.

Eret walked with such confidence he was left unabashedly staring. Poised, regal; they were everything he’d expect the Crown Prince to be. Gorgeous and thoughtful, Foolish wanted to make them smile so he could cherish that too. The bright grin they’d levelled him with in the training room replayed in his minds eye, a warm feeling blossoming in his chest at the reminder.

“We’ll be riding, so you’ll get to break in your boots.”

A pair of leather, steel toed boots appeared beside him, Eret clutching a pair similar in their hands. Foolish gaped at the boots, taking in the fresh workmanship evident on the brown leather.

“Riding?” He echoed. “Riding what?”

Eret turned from where they’d taken to staring at themself in the bathroom mirror, applying their red facepaint. “Horses. We’re going horse riding, Foolish, what did you think?”

“Oh,” he said. That certainly made a lot more sense. “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking.”

Smirking at him, they turned around and finished up their painting. With a firm hand and a thin paintbrush they painted beautifully thin swirls along their jaw, dashing a few lines under their eyes in an imitation of eyeliner to make their white eyes brighter. They finished up with an outline of a star on the middle of their forehead, setting the brush down with a gentle chink before moving on to brush their hair again.

“What’s the meaning of the paint?” He tried to ask without sounding too disrespectful, struggling with pulling the long socks up his legs. He’d taken to rolling them up and then struggling with the garter-like straps last.

“Honour, valour, proof of identity,” Eret shrugged, their lithe fingers played with their hair, pulling only the side bits back into a tiny knot. They left it like that, seeming pleased. Turning, he was levelled with the look of a warrior; a man ready for a fight.

It was hotter than it should’ve been. Foolish tugged at his collar, hoping he wasn’t going red in the face.

“It’s a sign of the Royal Guard,” they continued on, stepping out. Giving a final brush down of their black skirt, they ensured their shirt was fully tucked in and the buttons were right before strapping hard-looking leather bracers onto their forearms. “During the war, we used it as a means to ensure we weren’t shooting friends in the face. Nowadays, its more traditional to let the citizens know it’s us.”

He’d read about things like that. Groups or people taking up a specific habit for a period of time and then not being able to stop it because it had become a defining factor of their identification.

“But you don’t wear it around the palace like the others?”

“Why should I?” They offered. “I don’t come and go as much as my knights, so there’s no real need for me to put it on unless we’re going out.”

“You didn’t wear it at the Autumn Ball?”

“I don’t need to wear it all the time.”

Picking up on their dryer responses, Foolish guessed they didn’t want to talk about it anymore. Nodding, he refocused on his socks and successfully managed to tighten one strap of one sock. Softly cheering, he celebrated his win as Eret fell silent.

Looking up, he found them staring out the balcony doors. It was sunny, the spiralling gardens Foolish hadn’t yet been out in spanning down below. Opening his mouth to remark upon the nice weather, considering the time of year, he got caught on their bleak expression. Eret didn’t exactly look sad, but they didn’t look happy either – rather, they looked stuck, jaw tight, arms heavy by their sides.

“Eret,” he called, quickly fixing his other sock and pulling the trousers down over them. Standing, he tilted his head and stepped over, trying to be as obvious as possible about his movement. He’d read about old war heroes in books, eyes catching on the words that detailed how the men were after the fighting.

Scarred.

‘Every once in a while, the General will falter with an action, or perhaps an order. He does not seem to have the same confidence he did before the great battle.’

Different.

‘Our mighty General is hesitant where he once had not been.’

“Eret?” He called out.

Their gaze swivelled to him and they stepped back. Eyes wide, perhaps unseeing, Eret’s demeanour had almost taken a complete one-eighty from earlier.

“Hey,” Foolish smiled, trying to play it off as nothing too important in case Eret got embarrassed and tried to back away and distance themself. “What are your pronouns?”

The Crown Prince swallowed. “What?”

“What are today’s pronouns?” He inquired. “You said some days you feel like different ones. What are todays?”

“Um. I–” They seemed bewildered, almost breathless as their chest heaved. “I don’t know. She/they?”

“Okay!” He grinned, mentally noting that. “Something like, ‘Eret’s really pretty today, I like her hair. Though, they always look beautiful.’”

Her eyebrow raised. “You did that on purpose,” she accused.

“What?” Foolish smiled innocently. “Are you accusing me of devious intent? Never, m’lady. I couldn’t stomach such blasphemy.”

Eret’s lashes fluttered the way they did when they rolled their eyes. “Sure,” she drawled, flexing her hands out of the fists they’d formed at her sides. Her sword, Ted’s Wrath, appeared with a belt around her waist. “Can you put your boots on alright?”

“Um, I haven’t tried yet,” he admitted. “Do I just put them on like normal boots?”

“I suppose so,” hummed the Crown Prince. She stepped over to the chaise lounge and sat down, Foolish toddling after. Staring down at her, Foolish watched her unbuckle the side of her boots, adept fingers pulling down the side zipper. Wiggling her toes before pushing her foot in, Eret pulled the boots up over her leggings before rezipping them and cinching the buckle flat to the sides, almost unnoticeable. They were tall boots, almost up to the backs of her knees.

As she pulled on her other boot, she gestured for him to sit. Foolish did so, dropping beside her and picking up his own boots. The leather was cool against his fingers, the natural feel of it being in such good condition something to be treasured.

“Are they to your taste?” Eret asked, picking up on his pause.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “They’re lovely.”

She watched him, gaze heavy with something he didn’t recognise, as he pulled the boots on. It felt like heaven for his feet, plush soles cushioning his feet like no other shoes had.

“They might be a bit uncomfortable,” she hummed. “Because they’re only riding boots. Your other boots will be much better.”

He couldn’t stop the surprised grin from spreading as he looked up to her. “Really, but these are already so soft?”

Eret blinked at him. She looked a mixture of shocked and… saddened?

Distressed because Eret was, Foolish frowned. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Eret reassured, but she stood up and didn’t look at him as he stood.

“Eret?” He tried again. “Was it something I said? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt you—”

“You didn’t,” she said, voice hard. “Don’t apologise. It’s my fault, I’m— fuck.”

Eret stopped speaking. Her hands shook.

Terribly out of his depth, Foolish felt like a statue for a moment, unable to do anything but watch the storm unfolding. “Eret?” He gasped for air.

Her head dipped, hair swirling from her shoulders to swamp her face. Her interrupted breathing was loud in the silence, Foolish’s pulsing heart almost stopping him from hearing. The blade on her hip shook.

He wanted to reach out and touch her so badly. All Foolish wanted was to scoop her up in a hug, distract her from whatever was doing this to her and making her spiral. But he couldn’t because he was afraid – terrified by how much Eret was letting him see; this was the mighty Crown Prince, the Empire’s Star, and yet here she was, shoulders shaking, back turned to him. Eret aus Enkeli was meant to be unbreaking, infallible, unkillable, more magically powerful than the Temple combined. She’d chosen him, picked him out of a room of two hundred plus, and she’d given him a chance, coddling him in pretty silks and gifting emeralds and golden necklaces.

Foolish of Cail had always been called a coward. He’d taken that title from a small age to present day, and it hung over him like a plague at the worst of times. Now, when Eret was showing him a softer side of herself, bearing herself to him, he was frozen with wretched fear. Foolish hated himself for it, despised how hopeless and weak he felt.

His hand burned cold. He pulled it back from where it hovered between them both, looking down to find it shaking against his chest.

Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself and reached out. One arm slipped around Eret’s shoulders, the other turning her bodily towards him. She was staring blankly, chest quaking with each almost non-existent breath.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice nearly too soft to be heard. “It’s alright. You don’t need to be strong all the time.”

A hand rose to her mouth and she caught herself, blinking rapidly. “Foolish,” she murmured his name as though he was her ship in the storm. Eret was the captain, pulling at the steering wheel and hoping it did something.

“I’m here,” he soothed, rubbing a hand up her back. Her breath caught again and she flinched back, stumbling out of his hold. Too late he realised he’d probably brushed his cold fingers along her scars.

Wide white eyes watched him. Foolish stared back.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

Eret shook her head, though he didn’t know if that was her dismissing him or her trying to right herself.

For a long moment, they stood there, quiet.

“You don’t have a horse,” Eret said suddenly.

He took the conversation starter with ease. “No, I don’t.”

“Let’s find you one.” She made for the door.

The stables were large, at least fifteen horses to each side. Sturdy wooden beams, thicker than Foolish’s head, held up the roof, thinner pieces serving as doors that kept the horses from the main aisle. It smelt strongly of a scent that Foolish knew had to be horse, hay littered on the floor, water buckets and satchels of food tied to the beams for the horses to eat from.

“Ma’am and sir,” a woman greeted, hand thumping off her chest. “Mingo’s already out in the field, ma’am, though I’m assuming you’re here for mister.”

“Indeed,” hummed Eret, back straight, voice unshowing of the breakdown she’d almost had just minutes ago. “Foolish, this is the master of the stables, Dibble.”

“Nice to meet you,” he smiled.

Dibble looked surprised, eyes widening to let brown eyes glimmer in the light. She bowed to him, hand pressing against her chest in another salute. “Thank you, Your Highness. Are there any horses you’d prefer?”

“A gelding,” Eret suggested, speaking when Foolish had no clue what to say. She looked to him and rose an eyebrow, “Unless you want to be fighting for control the entire time?”

“I’m alright with whatever I get,” he attempted to save his pride.

“Right this way, Your Highness-” Dibble hesitated, gaze darting between them both. “-es,” they added, “Your Highnesses.”

Eret seemed unamused, though she did not reprimand the woman like Foolish’s adoptive parents would have done should one of the servants speak as such. His adoptive mother surely would’ve had a screaming match that ended in the servant fired. (He thinks his real mother would’ve laughed along with any joke. She was nice.)

Foolish revamped his grin to encourage the woman and followed her deeper into the stables.

“This here is Sandy,” she pointed to a sand coloured horse with a shockingly dark mane of brown hair. It was dark like Dibble’s, plaited with little rings through it, much like the way Dibble’s hair was pulled up in a high pony tail with what looked to be a silver chain wrapped around it. “She’s all quiet but she can sure as heck jump.”

“And this softie is Beather,” Dibble turned to the horse beside Sandy, smoothing a hand over a chestnut coloured horse’s nose. “She’s as gentle as they come. Though not much of a runner, she’s a mare.”

Foolish had no idea what that meant.

“She mothered a foal a few weeks ago,” Eret added. “How is the babe?”

“Jup will grow up to be a strong ol’ stallion if we don’t do anything much,” Dibble grinned. She had a dimple that made her smile seem ten times happier than anyone else’s. Foolish almost envied her. What must it be like to know one is secure in a job for the Crown Prince?

“Jup?” He inquired.

“Jupiter,” explained the stablemaster. “Their Highness is an avid admirer of the stars above. We named him after the fifth planet in our solar system.”

Surprised, Foolish turned to Eret. “You like space?”

Looking almost put out, as though Foolish would laugh at her for it, Eret nodded. “I find myself partial to such, yes.”

“I love space!” Foolish grinned, bouncing in his boots. He grabbed her hand in his and kneaded at her soft skin. “You have no idea how much I love it! Iris Estate was so terrible for viewing but I can name all the constellations and we had many books on the subject! I used to go down to the bookshop and barter for star maps!”

Eret looked pleasantly surprised. “The Crystal Palace has an observatory with a wonderful telescope. Perhaps that will be our next move.”

“Oh, the Crystalline Maze is beautiful too!” Dibble agreed, swooning over a sight only she seen in her mind. “You’d love it, Your Highness.”

Evidently the Crystal Palace was another of Eret’s palaces. What did she mean by ‘next move’? Did they not plan to stay here in the Golden Palace?

He made to pull back, fingers slipping away from the gentle warmth of Eret’s hand, when she grabbed his hand instead, calluses catching on skin as she linked their fingers and let their hands swing between them. Overwhelmed by the action, he couldn’t help but smile at them.

Looking much more relaxed than they had, Eret pulled him along by their entwined hands. “I think there’s a much better horse for you, Foolish.”

Dibble trailed after them, looking somewhat unsure as Eret led Foolish down the stalls.

“This is Aphelion,” declared Eret, looking up at a tall horse with speckled white markings. It was well over six foot tall, a behemoth compared the other horses. The Crown Prince looked to the stablemaster.

Dibble rushed to explain, “Aphelion is a stallion, over six foot six at shoulder height. He rivals Mingo for speed and jump height, though he isn’t exactly friendly.”

“He’s an angel,” Eret waved her off, dismissal obvious. Foolish wasn’t sure if that meant he should be scared or not. “Aphelion means a planets orbit wherein it is at the point furthest from the sun. You wouldn’t be able to tell how well the name resonates unless you seen him during the night.”

“Is he spritely?” Foolish struggled for a laugh.

“More than spritely,” Dibble said, glancing at the horse as though he would charge for her. “I’ll go and make sure the knights are all ready, Your Highnesses.”

She bowed and left. Foolish blinked at the abrupt exit, looking over to find the stallion’s dark eyes watching the woman leave. Was she afraid of the horse? Sure, one good kick could crush ribs, but so long as the horse was in the stable, they were safe to be around. Right?

Admittedly, Foolish did not know a lot about horses.

“You’re a good boy, aren’t you, Aphelion?” Eret cooed, tone sickly sweet and doting as she summoned a golden apple from her inventory. Foolish baulked at the very rare, insanely expensive, magical item Eret was feeding a horse. “Much sweeter than that old bitch Mingo.”

A huff caught his ear. Foolish turned and jerked back in surprise at seeing another horse, soot black and as tall as him, staring down at Eret.

“Aw shit,” they huffed, rubbing at Aphelion’s nose as he gobbled down the apple. “She’s caught us.”

When the horse breathed, dark grey smoke flared from her nostrils. Her eyes had a glint of red in them; it was as if the nether had become alive and was staring at him with a pitch black mane and a lashing tail.

“This is Mingo, Foolish,” Eret chirruped. She gestured for Foolish to approach Aphelion, guiding his hand towards the horse’s nose as she left him for her horse. “Good morning,” Eret hummed, the baby voice she’d spoken to Aphelion in exchanged for one of fond exasperation.

Skittishly, Foolish touched Aphelion’s nose, trying not to sweat as the horse looked at him. Its gaze was heavy, perhaps heavier than Eret’s, though it didn’t feel judgemental or mean.

“He won’t bite,” Eret reassured, breaking her whispers with her own mount to speak to him in a soothing voice. “Aphelion’s just a big guy who doesn’t get enough love—not you, bitch, you’re a fucking menace.”

Jarred by the contrast of Eret speaking to him versus to her own horse, Foolish breathed a soft breath of a laugh.

Aphelion’s dark brown fur was soft, his nose rippling with heat under his touch. The stallion stared down at him. Foolish offered a smile. The horse pushed back against his hand, nuzzling him.

“He likes you,” Eret sounded odd. He broke the staring contest he’d unknowingly fallen into to find Eret being nibbled on by her mare. “That’s good– Mingo, get off.”

The mare did not. Foolish watched almost in slow motion as Mingo opened her mouth, sucked some of Eret’s shirt into that cavernous gape and proceeded to drag the Crown Prince out of the stables.

“Mingo—Min, wait! Baby girl, I gotta help Foolish with Aphelion—”

Foolish snickered. Aphelion snorted.

“Just us, I guess,” he murmured to the stallion as Eret’s complaints faded into the courtyard. Smoothing his hand over the big guy’s face, he quietly apologised, “I’m sorry I don’t have any golden apples. I’ve also never ridden a horse before, so I don’t know how to ride you.”

Aphelion shook his head, Foolish blinking at the action. If the stallion was going to get jumpy, Foolish didn’t think he’d be able to mount, even if he knew how to. Which he did not.

The large stallion stepped forth, nudging open the swinging door that separated his large stall from the rest of the stable. Foolish watched, unsure of the necessary action he had to take in response, and ended up staring open mouthed as the proud stallion knelt down on his knees.

“Uh,” he stuttered. Aphelion tossed his head back, as though he was telling Foolish to get on. The horse’s bare back was soft and shiny looking, though Foolish was sure he needed a saddle before even thinking of sitting on the beast. “Don’t you need to be geared up or something?”

Aphelion stared at him as though he was a fool. Much like his namesake, Foolish was quite untaught in this area. Under the hard glare of the horse, he shuffled, finely attuned to the stallion’s movement as he inclined his head and sat a little lower on his legs.

Worst case scenario, he’d get stepped on. Best, he’d succeed in not pissing off a very tall, very strong looking stallion who looked as though he could nicker and send everyone a few feet back from sheer intimidation.

“Alright, but don’t drop me,” he urged, quickly tacking on a “please” as he shuffled over and swung his leg up onto the great beast’s back. It took a bit of grappling, through which Aphelion remained still for, but Foolish managed to get a good seat on the stallion’s back, the big guy’s spine rippling along the centre.

Running his hands down Aphelion’s warm, furry back and feeling the indents of his spine up to his neck, Foolish looked to the horse and found him with his head tilted towards him, watching. There was something deeply unnerving about the action, though after being subjected endlessly to Eret’s inhumane stares Foolish was not as creeped out as anyone else would’ve been.

(Perhaps he should’ve been afraid. Any other normal person would’ve already ran away to safety, far from this odd creature that wore the skin of a horse.)

“Thank you,” he smiled to the big guy, greatly relieved that his first time mounting a horse was a gentle, easy experience. “You’re a great help.”

Aphelion inclined his head as though nodding, silky brown locks swirling along his neck at the motion. Foolish admired how regal and pristine the stallion looked; poised even whilst being kind to a guy like him.

His world tilted back. Startled, Foolish squeaked as the stallion then rocked forwards, standing up. Being so high up was disconcerting, though not something Foolish would say he hated. Aphelion was a blazing heat below him, supporting and keeping him on his back even without Foolish holding onto anything. Legs shaking against the sides of the majestic animal, hands splayed wide over his back, Foolish was awed, choking on a thrilled laugh. Though, he was sure this wasn’t proper practise, when the stallion strutted down the aisle of the stable so confidently, he didn’t have the strength to beg mercy and jump off.

Walking towards the stable doors, Aphelion took it at a steady pace. It was as though he knew Foolish wanted to savour this moment, gaze darting all around him as he tried to take in everything. The horses in the pens were staring up at him, the hay on the floor so far below as it sparkled yellow. Aphelion’s sides rippled and corded as he moved, strong muscled legs carrying Foolish towards the dark painted wooden beam that held up the centre of the stable’s doorframe. Forced to duck under it lest he loose a few braincells to a concussion, they emerged into the sunlight.

The grassy courtyard that was more of a garden that stretched for miles shimmered before him. Over by the water fountain at the front of the palace, in the centre of the cobbled drive, was a huddle of knights – likely the ones who were accompanying them on the hunt. Upon catching sight of him, their chatter abruptly stopped as they turned to stare.

Foolish offered a little wave to the knights, put off by their reactions but not willing to call out his sensitive feelings. Apehlion was strutting forwards, hooves clanging against the gravel in a crescendo of noise. The thump-thump-thump of the horseshoes scraping against the stone was akin to a march in hell, the sharp ringing of the clear sound a debatable war call.

It made him excited. Grinning massively, he gripped Aphelion’s back, the stallion in turn picking up his pace and taking off at a trot towards the dark glimmer that was Mingo and Eret in the distance, a few hundred yards in front of them. The Crown Prince and horse were standing by the beginnings of a line of trees, Eret sitting up on Mingo’s back and reaching up for the apples growing from the tremendous branches of the copse.

Aphelion did not seem to care for the possible threat of charging into the pair, instead rising to a gallop and storming past. Shocked to gleeful laughter, Foolish cackled as the stallion took him through the winding pathway of the trees, leaves and wind flicking past as the mighty animal leapt over the protruding roots of the pear trees and zig-zagged along the path of the spindly, out-reaching arms of cherry trees.

A detritus path took heed under them, Foolish marvelling at the land he’d been unaware the Golden Palace had to its front as Aphelion continued to run, masterful stride taking them across metres at a time, sinewy legs stretching out and digging into the dirt with precise, graceful bounds. The stallion was a living embodiment of unending, sides heaving as he carried them both forwards, teeth snapping at the birds that startled and flew past.

“Hey, hey!” He called out, clinging to the stallion’s back but ever so joyful. “Maybe we should turn back!”

Aphelion neighed, sound almost a roar in the silence of the copse, and veered strongly to the right. Foolish ducked low with the stallion’s back to avoid a jagged branch in the face and found the horse slowing to a leisurely trot, meandering back down the cobble path that led directly to the Palace.

Panting almost as heavily as the stallion, Foolish rubbed at Aphelion’s neck. “Good job,” he praised, not sure what he should say but knowing he needed to say something. “You’re quite the fast one, huh?”

Once more, Eret and Mingo came into view, lingering under the shade of the apple trees. Caught by how stunning Eret looked with the warm sunlight that snuck through the shawl of leaves dancing on her skin, making her glow and her straight shoulders seem soft, Foolish couldn’t help but stare. Eret stared back, something idyllic in the slant of her eyes; a thing that was not as harsh as it could’ve been, radiant and sublime.

Absolutely enamoured, both with the hue of gold that overtook her complexion and the breathtakingly striking image she made when perched upon a mare of over six foot tall, Foolish shone his brightest, most happiest grin at her. Eret’s lips quirked up into a small but equally as powerful smile and his entire world shone bright like molten gold poured fresh from the blacksmith’s cup.

“You’re a natural,” Eret chirped when they neared. Aphelion paused inches from Mingo, nuzzling the dark mare. Foolish didn’t dare look away, chest tight at the small smile that stained Eret’s lips. She looked so peaceful wearing one that it was hard to believe that this was one of the rare few occasions Foolish had seen them with a smile. He could count the number of times Eret had smiled on one hand and that just wasn’t good enough.

(It meant he had to make her smile more, because she looked much prettier when her lips curved.)

“You think so?” He replied mindlessly, still hopelessly lost in their small show of joy.

“Mhm. I’ve never seen Aphelion so lively. And no saddle – he really likes you.”

“Oh,” spluttering to explain, Foolish lifted his hands to wave them about. “He just knelt down and stared at me so I got on. Ah, now it sounds like I was peer pressured by a horse.”

Eret blinked at him. “He knelt?” She sounded incredulous.

“Yeah?”

Suddenly, Eret was looking at Aphelion as though something incredibly important had happened. “Foolish, Aphelion is the former mount of the Tyrant King.”

Surprised, Foolish attempted to process that. The Tyrant King was the man who’d been in charge of the King’s Council a decade ago, the man who controlled an entire kingdom and had plenty of power in others. Named a tyrant for the hardships and cruelty he subjected his people to, the Great War had occurred to rid the Continent of his cursed presence.

Arrogant and crude was how the history books depicted him. Partially because he had been on the loosing side and was vilified but mainly because he, apparently, really had been that bad. A few of his own former allies had agreed to such, testifying against him on their deathbeds.

“What does that mean?”

Eret replied, “Aphelion is a king’s stallion. He kneels to no one.”

“I don’t see why a horse kneeling is so important,” he said, hating to be the one to break this seeming excitement Eret had taken on. “Aphelion’s allowed to do whatever he wants.”

Suddenly, Eret grinned at him. Gone was the soft, pretty smile and instead they bared their teeth in a show of interest, teeth akin to the sharp daggers of the nether’s gates, gnashing together in a screeching clamour of deaf noise.

“Oh yes,” Eret chuckled. “I understand.”

They turned away and the spell was broken. Foolish gasping a breath, unsure of when he’d stopped breathing, not knowing why he’d been so drawn to Eret’s odd mood change. Their grin haunted him, circling his mind’s eye, her chuckle echoing.

“Eret?” He called after them. Aphelion, as if knowing what he’d done and not caring a bit for it, nonchalantly trotted after Mingo without prompting.

“Come, Foolish. We’re going hunting.”

Chapter Text

“You goin’ on the hunt, Boomie?”

Sitting in the knight’s common room, he hadn’t expected to be pestered so soon after breakfast. Looking up from the shirt he was hand-sewing a frog into, Boomer found Ted grinning down at him.

“Wasn’t gonna, man. What about you?”

“Nah,” sighed the lanky fucker, knees cracking as he eased down onto the couch beside him. He, like most of the knights, was getting on in age, older than the youngest by at least a decade or two but not old enough yet that he would be called old in any other profession. “Travis doesn’t want to go out on a horse again after last time.”

That was understandable. The last time Travis had been on a horse – an old mare with a temper – he’d been bucked off into a ditch and nearly trampled to death. It had been a lack of foresight, bringing the meanest mare with them on a hunting trip when the old girl hated trees and going into the forest. Afterwards, the Crown Prince had shouted at them all loud enough to make a mountain collapse from the echo; Boomer knew they were just afraid, equally as horrified as the rest of them at the thought of losing a member of the Royal Guard to a rearing horse.

And wouldn’t that be embarrassing? He thought. To die not to a demon but to a fucking horse.

“Valid,” Boomer nodded. “Do you know who’s actually going?”

“Eh, sort of. Wisp was chattering about it with Corvus,” noted the man, spying one of the books amidst the clutter of shit on the coffee table and leaning over to grab it. Pushing up his glasses, he made a face and flipped it to read the blurb on the back. “Iskall’s busy on patrol, but he probably would’ve gone so I think Sally’s going in his place. Boo might be going too.”

“If they need the numbers, I could go,” Boomer shrugged, back to pushing the needle through his shirt. He nearly had the head of his frog finished. It was going to be beautiful when finished, a frog with sunglasses sitting on a lily pad. Just the thing needed to brighten up his boring white shirt.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, Ted flicking through the pages of his borrowed book as Boomer squinted down at the mini masterpiece unfolding in his lap. Hasan wandered in, stretching his arms as he narrowly missed hitting his head off the door. It seemed most of the guys that congregated around the Crown Prince were all of obscure heights – Ted was a solid six foot odd, Eret stood at six foot two and Ranboo towered around six foot three despite being the youngest on the Guard. Even Foolish, the Crown Prince’s new boytoy, looked to be around six foot five.

Of course, Boomer himself was a beast, standing strong at a healthy five foot seven, which was the national average and a very good height to be at. He was not at all insecure about his height because he was average and that was good enough at this point.

If he asked anyone else about the national height average, they wouldn’t say five foot seven, but what did they know?

“Come on, Ranboo!” Came Wisp’s annoying little voice. “Join us on the hunt! You didn’t last time.”

Ranboo skulked into the room, ducking under the doorframe and folding long limbs into the couch opposite Boomer and Ted. He offered a smile to them, Boomer offering him a cheeky wink before Wisp and Kara Corvus fell through the door, twin menaces attached at the hip.

“You said you wanted to scope out the Prince’s new guy,” Corvus squawked like the crows she was named after, black face paint curling along her cheeks in an elegant imitation of feathers. She had thin tattoos zagging along her neck in old Galatic. It looked hella cool, like some sort of secret chant or prayer, but in reality, it was just ‘crow’ repeated over and over again.

“Mhm,” agreed the boy. “But I also would rather not go out hunting. I’m not fond of watching Their Highness laugh while watching a mountain lion murder a horse.”

“That was one time,” Hasan interrupted, grin overtaken by a coy smirk. Arm thrown over the back of the couch, beside Ranboo, he looked quite comfortable. “And to be fair, it was quite the shocked laugh. That brute appeared from nowhere.”

“Poor Rudolf,” Ted sighed in mock sympathy for the gelding they’d lost. “If only he had a dick. He could’ve been great.”

“You don’t need a dick to be great,” chuffed Corvus, gesturing to herself.

Ted opened his mouth. “Don’t start her,” Boomer joked. “She’s just jealous she’s not packing like you, Teddy Bear.”

Corvus squawked as the others burst into laughter. They settled with a few breaths, Wisp redirecting the conversation towards pressuring Ranboo once again.

“Ranboo,” he whined. “You said last month you’d go on the next hunt!”

“That was last month,” the kid tried.

“But you promised-”

“Hey, man,” Boomer looked over to them, noting Ranboo’s uncomfortable fidgeting. “If Boo doesn’t wanna go, he doesn’t have to. I’m sure someone else will go with you lot.”

“Will you?” Corvus raised her thin eyebrow, hand on her hip. She stood at a decent five foot six in her black heeled riding boots, a hip sash tied around her in a stark white. It covered the daggers she wore at her waist, her generally innocuous appearance mostly due to her wide eyes and the smile she could beam at anyone she wished upon prompting. Her white cotton shirt was tightened below her bust with a leather strap, another dagger latched onto that under her navy quarter-length cloak that had a drooping hood attached.

Wisp, much like Corvus, wore his uniform’s navy cloak, though the man had chosen the half cloak instead of the quarter one. Boomer personally didn’t much like the quarter lengthers, as they only barely came down to his mid-back, only grazing his shoulder blades at best. Though, undeniably, they were particularly useful for the archers.

Wisp was overly vocal of his appreciation for the half cloaks, which fell down just past his butt. Wisp’s cotton shirt was his usual baby blue colour, a leather strap across his chest meaning he’d already hooked up his folding spear to his back. Dude was being a bit brazen with his boots stopping around his calves. If he wasn’t careful, he’d get nipped when he was riding. Although, if he was lucky, his leather trousers would make up the slack and protect his legs.

“What, me?” He cackled. “You sure you want me on a horse with you?”

“I’ll make sure you get put on stable mucking otherwise,” Corvus grinned.

He paled, thinking back to the last time he’d been put on that chore roster and had been forced to muck out the stables, feeding the horses and scooping up their shit. Although, the mares and geldings hadn’t been too bad to deal with, he’d had to put up with the fucking monster that was the old Bastard King’s stallion – Aphelion. That gruesome fucker would sooner bite off his fingers than let Boomer into his stall, even if the big guy had shat all over the place.

Thank the Gods Their Highness had taken Mingo out that day. He didn’t think he would’ve coped if he had to deal with the horse that was a literal product of magic gone haywire. The mare was no horse at all – a demon wearing a living creature’s skin; the result of a banishing gone wrong, magic control slipping in the fraction of a second and a poor, innocent horse being a little too close at the wrong time.

Mean and ill-tempered, prone to mood swings – much like her master, in that aspect – Mingo was the first horse on the list of ‘Do Not Interact with Unless Dying’. Aphelion was there too, in bold capital letters, gifted second on the short but dangerous list. The thing that made the asshole so fucking horrifying was his nature of rearing up and attempting to crush who he didn’t like, factor that habit in with his constant stink eye and dislike of anyone outside of a select one (the Crown Prince was the only one he liked, and the only one who liked him; either a curse or a gift).

Trust the Crown Prince to like all the horses that would sooner kill someone than give them a ride.

“The day I die and never have to do mucking out ever again will be the day I am finally happy,” he half joked, actually willing to go above and beyond in order to skip out on that one chore. Usually, it was the stable hand’s task to clean up the horses and the rider’s to groom their horse, but Eret always said that the knights did nothing around the place, and so chores had been introduced – one a day, and limited towards tasks that involved the Knights and their duty and training, as they employed maids for a reason, but it could still be a hellish experience if given a certain one.

“To be fair, the day you almost lost your fingers, you didn’t have to deal with that mare.”

Boomer looked over to find Hasan having a thousand-yard stare moment, the man looking traumatised by whatever he was thinking about.

“You recalling that time we were on joint duty and that bitch Mingo nearly kicked out our knees?” Ted winced. “Damn, that was rough. She reared up and I’m telling you- I thought we were dead.”

“Her Highness appeared at just the right time,” Hasan sighed.

“I’m leaving if we’re talking about this.” Threatened Ranboo, sounding like he wasn’t entirely joking. “That horse gives me nightmares. I don’t need to add more fuel to my imagination, thank you very much.”

Fundy stepped into the common room, tripping over someone’s boots that they’d left carelessly by the door. Boomer snickered at him as the man groaned and cradled the knee that had taken the brunt of the wooden boards’ kiss.

“You good, bud?” Ranboo called past his laughter.

“Oh, yeah. I’m great.” The ginger sat up, glaring at everyone until the laughter died down. He flipped them all off and stood, making his way behind the ring of couches to rifle through a chest in the corner. He popped out of it with a whetstone and a rag, jumping over the back of the third couch in the square to sit and sharpen his blade. “How are we all today?”

“Great.”

“Yeah, I’m good,” nodded Ranboo.

“Feeling hot,” Hasan grinned.

“As usual,” Ted tagged on.

“We’re going on the hunt,” Corvus added. “Would you like to accompany us, Funds?”

The man looked up. “You are? Hasn’t it already been half an hour since breakfast?”

“Yeah, but the last time the Crown Prince and their boytoy vanished upstairs, they didn’t come back down for the whole night,” Wisp rolled his eyes.

Fundy winced, eyes thinning out. “I’d be careful where you say that. I think Eret really likes this one.”

“That much is obvious,” Hasan waved a hand.

Ted agreed. “Yeah, guy isn’t dead yet. Everyone can tell.”

“Maybe they’re going soft with old age,” Ranboo suggested with a snicker.

“Fuck you, I’m older than the Crown Prince,” Ted sighed.

Fundy reacted instantly, “Ha, old.”

“Old man,” pointed Ranboo.

“You poor, wrinkly old thing,” Corvus laughed.

Ted made a show of clutching his chest and falling back against the couch. Boomer, needle pressed to push back into the shirt, slipped at the movement and jabbed his own thumb. “Fuck!” He yelled, pulling a good three millimetres of the needle back out and sucking on his thumb before it could bleed over his shirt.

“You big baby,” Corvus tutted. “I seen that. That needle was nothing.”

“I’m not used to them being so thick,” he joked alongside the sting. The ones who appreciated the joke, those of which included Hasan and Ted, sent him smirks as the others sighed or rolled their eyes.

“Not to interrupt,” Fundy said as he so rudely interrupted, not looking sorry at all. “But shouldn’t you guys really get going? Saddling your horses will take enough time as it is.”

“Shit, you’re right,” Wisp jumped for the door. “C’mon Kara, grab your man.”

Corvus stared at Boomer. “Nuh-uh, I’m stayin’ here,” he spluttered.

Wisp was begging Ranboo again. He cheered when the youngest gave in.

“Please,” Corvus drawled out, pulling out puppy eyes to rival Hannah’s.

Sighing, he dropped his sewing kit and shirt into his inventory. “Fine, but you’re buying me lunch next time we go downtown.”

“I’ll even buy you boba tea,” Corvus grinned.

“Gimme a min to get changed,” he bartered and jogged off through the door opposite the one everyone had entered, bee-lining for his room.

Each knight had a fairly large room with an en suite. Taking a left down the corridor of what was an entire wing reserved solely for the knights, Boomer stepped up his pace a little and made it to his room a lot quicker than walking would’ve gotten him.

A wooden door swung open to reveal a wooden floor. He’d bought a large ornate carpet once when he was at a market and it lay heavy under his bed, his eyes rewarded with a bright spiral design leeching out over strings instead of the plain old sight of the wooden boards. His bed, a neat double, barely held the mass of pillows and blankets he’d layered it with over the years.

Boomer was sure it was a chore for the maids when they washed his bedclothes alone. He almost felt bad, though he prioritised his sleeping far more when hit in the face with the fact that he barely got nine hours a night. That was mostly due to his bad habits of going to bed late after playing around in the games room with the boys, but also in part due to the fact he, like all the other knights, had to wake up at the ungodly hour of five in the morning to complete morning training.

More like unholy training. He didn’t understand why the knights had to suffer because the Crown Prince couldn’t sleep in past four in the morning. Some mornings, the sun hadn’t even risen when he was getting up for training!

There was a widespread conspiracy theory amongst the Palace staff that the Crown Prince liked seeing the knights in pain. Boomer was a believer of this theory because it wasn’t so much theory as it was real.

Against the wall, he’d rucked a large chest. It was old, nearly five years old, and scratched up by how many times he’d kicked it on his way to bed when drunk or not being able to see in the darker winter nights. The Golden Palaces was one of the many the Crown Prince, and hence the Royal Guard, frequented often. He was pretty sure it was because Eret liked the gardens and the free space in the surrounding countryside where she could ride Mingo, though they’d never really confirmed anything.

Humming a little tune, he stepped over to the chest and kicked it open. Its hinges squeaked, revealing a veritable goldmine of clothing and gear he’d hidden deep inside. The old thing worked much like an inventory, storing what it couldn’t physically hold in magic little bubbles called subspace pockets. The name was fancy because it had actual meaning, something about warping space to create them, pinching little sections of reality off to hold people’s random junk in little areas, though Boomer was much more focussed on digging out a pair of boots he could afford to get muddy if he had to jump off the horse in the middle of a mushy forest.

Last time he’d been hunting, the foretold mountain lion incident had occurred. Though, that was at least eight months ago, if not more, he still mourned the boots he’d lost to it. Forced to jump off his beauty Marigold, a stunning white and brown speckled mare with the prettiest eyes this side of the Continent, he’d dropped straight down into a mushy wasteland of dead leaves and rotting animal carcasses in the effort to get to the downed horse and assess its situation. His hunting boots had been demolished by the end of the night, and although the Crown Prince had bought all the ones involved a new pair, it didn’t change the fact he’d lost his favourite pair of boots.

Coming up for air with a pair of brown leather boots with a white strap over the front of them, Boomer decided they were good enough and sat down on a ragged chemise he’d left sitting in the middle of the room from the last time Hannah had a miniature fashion show with her latest town-bought clothes. Dropping his massive dumpy on the comfy fabric, he kicked off his shorter boots and quickly made sure his socks were pulled up high before shoving his feet into the knee-high riding boots. Zipping them up along the sides, he closed over the precautionary button at the top rim and made sure nothing was sticking out for his foot to get caught on something on the horse’s saddle that could result in him losing a leg he very much needed. His safety check came up clear, and he sniffed the white shirt he was wearing before deciding it smelt alright and would do.

Standing, he rocked on his heels and checked his inventory. His sword and backup axe were safely in the two primary inventory slots, a few snacks taking up the next three, a backup cloak shoved in one of the back slots that sat there eternally in case he got rained on during patrol. Alongside that, there was a few bits and bobs scattered around, including his shirt and sewing kit. Deciding he wouldn’t die if he kept his inventory the way it was, Boomer strolled into his en suite for a quick piss and made googly eyes at himself in the mirror the entire time.

After washing his hands and fixing up a spot under his eyes where his green upside-down triangles had smeared slightly, Boomer strolled back into the common room and caught up with the group just as Ranboo pulled his boots on.

“Ready?” Corvus asked. At a round of affirmatives, she led the way out, Boomer blowing Ted a mock kiss in parting. Hasan shouted for one just as he slipped out the door, his argument with Ted for the kiss to be heard all the way down the hall.

Five minutes later, the decently warm midday sun glinted down upon them. Boomer whistled at the nice weather, remarking upon it as Dibble bounded out of the stables and grinned at their group as though deeply relieved.

“How abouts you guys get your horses saddled up?” She prompted, joining their small group for a moment. Mingo was off a few hundred yards to the left, sniffing at the apple trees; Dibble eyed her warily as the horse looked up, seeming to stare directly at them.

“All good, Dibs?” Boomer wasn’t afraid to ask.

Dibble fidgeted. “Their Highness is introducing His Highness to him.”

“I need way more context than that,” Boomer laughed. “Who’s the bossman introducing Foolish to?”

“Him,” said Dibble, as though one word would unravel the mystery of the entire universe and solve every unknown function that not even the smartest man knew the deep internal workings to.

At their blank looks, she expanded: “Aphelion.”

Ranboo flinched. Boomer jerked his head in the boy’s direction and found he’d moved because Mingo was trotting towards them. The demon bitch didn’t look particularly incensed, though one could never be sure with her. Watching as she calmly made her way into the stables, Boomer looked to Dibble, who looked a tad pale.

“Chill, Dibs,” he reassured. “The Crown Prince knows what’s up. Plus, those two love her, so fae’s gonna be fine.”

“Yeah, of course,” Dibble nodded resolutely. “It’s His Highness I’m more worried for… Do any of you need help with your horses?”

“We should be fine, thank you,” Corvus smiled.

“I think we’ll get our horses when the two of them are out, uh—” Ranboo started, jaw falling slack as he stared at something. Hearing the Crown Prince talking, Boomer looking away from him and over to the stables to find Their Highness being dragged by their shirt towards the copse of trees ahead of them. Mingo’s teeth were clamped into their shirt, sure to be a wet aftermath if the demon didn’t chew off the shirt completely.

Eret caught sight of them, simply glancing over before seeming to ignore them as they went back to loudly bartering with Mingo. “Let go of me and I’ll give you a golden apple right now, Min,” they were saying.

Snorting, Boomer stepped over to the large centrepiece fountain they’d stopped beside and sat down on its marble edge. A wonderful golden statue stood under the torrent of water, some sort of man with a gaping mouth and a flexible body standing in a ballerina pose that Boomer reckoned Hannah could pull off if she tried.

Ranboo sat down next to him. Once, his aquaphobia would’ve kept him miles away from this very fountain, though a few years after Eret had gotten him the help he needed, he had warned up to sitting beside, and on occasion dipping his feet, in larger pools of water.

Boomer was proud of the kid – he was sure they all were – yet, something nagged at him, pecking at his skull like a mother hen prodding her eggs. “You’ve been quiet.”

“Have I?” Ranboo turned to him like he was surprised. Boomer saw past the feigned startlement and narrowed his eyes. “Guess I’ve just been tired lately. I’m trying to get down that move Their Highness showed me a while ago.”

“Don’t kid me,” he shook his head. “Something’s up. Is this about your penpal?”

“My—? No, no, he’s fine. He moved recently into a better part of the city. I’m happy for him.”

“But you’re not really happy,” Boomer noted. “C’mon, kid, you can tell ol’ Boomie.”

Ranboo looked away. What ever he’d interpreted that offering as had went down the wrong way.

“It’s nothing to worry about, sir Boomer.”

Grimacing at the hole he’d dug himself into, Boomer tried to salvage the conversation. “I can worry about my little bro, kid.”

“I thought I was a knight?” Started the kid, springing to his feet with a brisk step. “A Knight of Their Highness’ Royal Guard! I’m not a child, yet all everyone calls me is ‘kid’. Aren’t I worthy of respect or is that just for the real Knights?”

Startled, Boomer stood too. “Ranboo, you’re as much a Knight as the rest of us. We call you ‘kid’ because we see you as our younger brother – we’re all family, here, and none of us are better than the other.”

Turning away, Ranboo refused to look back to him. Boomer grasped his own shoulder and tried to breathe through his sigh. Corvus was watching Ranboo from within her conversation with Dibble. Wisp offered Boomer a small smile and a shrug; what can you do, he seemed to imply helplessly.

A shadow seven foot tall stepped out of the stables. Boomer felt his jaw drop as a very familiar dark brown horse with white splotched along his coat in small dots paraded into the courtyard with a very familiar man on his back.

“H- Holy shit,” he gasped, breathless with fear.

Foolish was sitting upon Aphelion’s back as though it was nothing. Stories of the last person to touch the Bastard King’s Mount losing their hand replayed in his mind as though shouting, a high pitched squeal nearly deafening him as he stood, unable to do anything but stare at the sight before him.

The Noble gestured his hand in a wave towards them, obviously seeing them all staring. The entire group had went dead silent, Dibble gaping at the scene with shaking hands. Aphelion shook his head, as though dismissing the crowd of Knights, and took up a steady trot towards Their Highness and the demon horse Mingo.

In that moment, watching Foolish’s face break into a great smile, Boomer knew Eret had found the one. Their Highness watched the man coming for them, unmoving and fearless. Perhaps they were just as enraptured as the rest of them, though even Boomer breathed a sharp breath when Foolish did not appear to be stopping.

Aphelion ran faster, galloping into the copse of trees that flushed out into a wide forest as though he owned the entire grounds. To be fair, if he tried, he could’ve. Eret turned to watch the pair leave, shaking their head in mirth as Foolish’s laughter echoed across the grounds.

Yeah, Foolish was staying for a long time. Boomer was sure the man would outstay even the last standing Royal Guard.

(Because Eret had never looked that way at anyone else ever before.)

“I think it’s best to get you all saddled up,” Dibble spoke with shaking words. Her hands still shook, Boomer staring down at them. Was she really that afraid of the horse or was there something else? He’d never thought for her to be the fretful type, and Their Highness Eret seemed to be treating His Highness Foolish better than any other partner of theirs.

“That’s damn impressive,” Corvus finally breathed, pulled out of her stupor by Wisp’s tugging hand. “Who would’ve thought he of all people would be able to ride that beast of a horse?”

In the back of his mind, Boomer silently echoed the same thing. How had a backwater Noble managed to mount the Bastard King’s asshole horse?

Chapter Text

It took them fifteen minutes on horseback to reach the beginning of the trail that would lead into the forest. Foolish was enjoying his little jaunt, Aphelion surprisingly well behaved for the horror stories that the stablemaster seemed to have of him in abundance. The stallion nickered occasionally, and seemed fond of flicking his long mane to the side as though to clear his eyes of it.

Wondering if the large being would let him test out plaits on his hair, Foolish idled away the journey, aware of Eret’s sharp eyes watching him but not too concerned. Eret liked to stare, he’d learned, and even if their earlier mood swing had left him uneasy, Foolish knew she would never do anything to hurt him.

He hoped.

The descent from the stone roads to the gritty, sand-like trail was neither gentle nor rough. Aphelion treaded through everything like the ground was putty under his hooves, plodding on undeterred even as some of the Knights had to steer their horses around patches of mud or rabbit holes.

“You’d think the town over would fill these damn holes,” one of the knights sighed, Foolish listening to their conversation as he marvelled at the luscious grass that was as tall as Aphelion. It swayed around the trail, willowing in the warm breeze; the scene felt like something Foolish would sooner read about in a book than actually experience himself – Iris Estate had been dull and dark, yet everywhere else was so bright it made these new places seem bold.

Nature left wild, undaunted, was perhaps the most beautiful wonder he could’ve witnessed.

“They don’t give two shits,” snorted the knight with silvery hair. Eret had given them a few moments to saddle up, where a few had introduced themselves. If Foolish remembered right, he was called Boomer, and the woman who’d spoken before was Kara Corvus. “We come out here and do their dirty work and what thanks do we get? None, nada, zilch.”

Eret cleared their throat and the knights fell silent. Currently, the Crown Prince was ahead of the group of knights, Foolish directly beside. Sometimes, Mingo’s long braided mane flapped at Aphelion, catching his nose, however, contrary to Foolish’s fears, Aphelion did not seem to mind at all, instead snorting to the mare when her hair came near. It was nice to have such a relaxed horse – it made him feel better about being so nervous. Being able to watch how calm Eret appeared to be was also a small help, Foolish attempting to watch out for anything they would do that he worried he’d need to echo. If they had to urge the horses into a gallop or a jump, Foolish fretted he’d be left behind in his uncertainty.

The forest sprouted before them; large, dark trees with lush green leaves darker than Foolish’s eyes. Sparkling in the sunlight like the gems in the jewellery store, the trees were both thick and tall. Although they were upon a small half-hill and on their way down, the forest seemed to rise above the ledge they’d been on, spiralling up into the heavens. He’d been able to see the trees a few minutes out of the Palace, though Foolish hadn’t thought them to be quite so monstrous in size.

“This forest is over two hundred years old,” Eret spoke after three minutes of the sloping trail. The land seemed to fall into a soft recess at the bottom, before curving back up to the lip of the forest. Even from here, the innards of the forest seemed dark and shady. “There are six small towns plotted along the outskirts and once, this was a small trading route.”

Curious, Foolish asked. “What happened?”

He’d never heard of a trading route in around the Etela Regions – this very plot of land where the Golden Palace resided over, covering more than eighty villages, thirty towns and a prospering city – but then again, Foolish had never been taught in the ways of trading routes or how to handle money. If it weren’t for his Mama teaching him that three silver coins was too much to buy a loaf of bread for and how to write and read the labels on the stalls, Foolish feared he’d never have learnt those things in his life.

In a way, Eret choosing him was his second chance at life. Sure, at first, he’d been scared witless, horrified with haunting tales of a Crown Prince who knew no mercy and would sooner cut him in two than offer a smile, but as he’d settled in, he’d calmed, and Eret had proved his fears very wrong. Now, he was rebirthed, in a way, and he’d be damned if he didn’t enjoy it.

One of the things he loved the most was learning. And if it took asking questions to learn, ask he would.

“The War happened,” explained Eret in no words at all. It was odd how sometimes they looked as though they didn’t want to speak, and other times they looked as though their mouth couldn’t open fast enough. Privately, Foolish wanted them to speak more: wanted to listen to night-long rants that kept them both up but left them both satisfied; he wanted to sit cuddled in blankets with warm tea in their laps and listen to Eret regaling him with stories that Foolish would’ve never heard otherwise; he wanted the rumours, he wanted the tales, the stories of magic and true issues and secrets that would go to the grave with much stronger men. Foolish wanted the world, but his only condition was that it had to come from Eret’s words, because what was a prize if it left him unsatisfied?

In short, Foolish liked their voice.

In longer, much more complicated words, Foolish wanted to thank them profusely for giving him this second life, for being awarded with an opportunity to get away from his adopted parents and start anew. He wanted to thank Eret by listening to their stories, because they seemed much too quiet for being a Crown Prince who had fought and wore so many scars.

“The Great War affected this area?” He questioned, never having known this as a battlesite.

“War also affects places that aren’t battlegrounds,” she said, as though reading his mind. Eret’s tone was too light to be depressed, yet heavy enough that her words struck a chord within him and made his chest ache with the pictures she painted. “Economies can be left in ruins, whole countries devasted by two mass powers falling out. The increased taxing afterwards can prompt rebellions, whilst the bloodied fields may fall to ruin as crops refuse to grow on tainted land, leaving small farming towns to die without their harvest.”

From behind, one of the knights – a redheaded woman with white facepaint decorating her tan skin with scales akin to a salmon’s – added, “This area was where many bodies were laid to rest, before the mass graves came along. Out here, where no one would see, the Tyrant King ordered for his fallen troops to be disposed of.”

Sure his face had paled, Foolish bit back his grimace and rolled his head into a tilt. “I heard the first dead were given proper burials after the War?”

“Even the best stories have lies in them,” Wisp shook his head.

Boomer laughed. “Since when do you say shit like that?”

Foolish looked to Eret for answers, not irritated, per se, by the knights interrupting, but not entirely pleased either. They caught his eye: “When the call went for the ones abandoned here to be found and reburied, it was found that they were too late. The soil here is thick with magic and is thus a breeding grounds for creatures no townsfolk wants to see.”

Startled, he blinked. “You mean- what?”

“By the time the congregation arrived, there was nothing left to be found.” And as though they hadn’t just struck him speechless, Eret turned back to the looming forest ahead of them. She looked unaffected by what she’d just said, but deep down he wondered if they ever felt sorry for the other side; the ones who had lost against her battalions.

“So, wait,” he paused, words refusing to come to him for a moment as he dwelled on the fact that the old man his Mama used to leave him with would’ve called this place haunted. “What are you hunting?”

“Wolves,” hummed Eret, nonchalant and calm. If he’d been more prideful, Foolish may have envied them for how well they hid their emotions but right now, he felt an undulating spike of pity curl in his gut. How strained by pressure must they be to need to hide every detail away? It sounded like a nightmare. “They run wild here and tend to crawl out of the forest during the night. We come around every two months or so, to keep the animal population down and the human one up.”

“They kill humans?”

“Easily. There’s no shortage of people either,” she informed. “The townsfolk fear them, call the beasts ‘devils’, yet when they prowl onto their streets, they do nothing more than let themselves get killed.”

There was a sour mouthful of distaste in those words; strong enough that even a deaf man would’ve heard it. Foolish reckoned they had strong views on standing up to things – that, or they were deeply annoyed by people being unable to follow their common sense and stay off the streets at night. If he was a poor man living on the cusp of a forest, Foolish would be bolting his door at night and keeping his eyes peeled for any signs of danger. But, maybe the townsfolk’s ignorance was the product of living here for too long, used to the wolves dragging people away so much so that they no longer blinked at the sight of one on their doorsteps?

Stopping on the cusp of the forest, Foolish suddenly felt nervous. Gripping his trousers whilst running his fingers along Aphelion’s back, he stared into the forest and tried not to shy away. The darkness was no friend of his, too many days spent locked in a cold, damp garden shed, but he wouldn’t be leaving Eret alone after having come all this way.

“If you happen to dismount,” Eret warned, words sharp. “Watch your footing. There are old traps laying around from pre-War times that we’re still finding. Aphelion should be fine navigating his way around them, but be careful.”

“You too,” he responded, not wanting to be singled out.

She blinked at him, taken aback. “What?”

“You need to be careful too,” he insisted, calming himself by running his hand along Aphelion’s soft coat. “Last I checked, swinging a sword around is easier with all ten fingers.”

“Eight.”

He tilted his head in question.

“You have eight fingers and two thumbs.”

Huffing, though his smile broke his faux-serious attempt, Foolish rose a hand to cup his ear. “What was that?” He called, looking around. “Oh, yes, Eret focussing on the smallest detail? Ah, that’s right. I can have ten fingers if I want ten fingers.”

The Crown Prince shook their head, though their lips seemed to be twitched up in something close to a smirk. Relieved, Foolish deemed his job done and resettled back into his peace, sitting quietly on Aphelion’s back as the giant stallion plodded into the forest.

More gloomy and far chillier than the light, sun-kissed trail, the forest held an entirely different atmosphere. Although expected, Foolish still bit at his cheek, side-eyeing Eret as they signed a few gestures to their knights. Suddenly, Sally and Ranboo slipped into the corners, weaving around trees a few feet ahead. A glance back found that Boomer and Wisp had filled out the square, with Kara at the back. Their horses all seemed used to the forest, perfectly at ease, even with their riders having unsheathed their blades and holding them out.

Old detritus squelched under the horses hooves, the faint flicker of leaves floating from the tall heights catching Foolish’s eyes. In all honesty, the forest was beautiful – a large spindly maze of branches and wide bodies of trees, broken bark and dead plants making up a plush cushion on the ground. The forest’s ecosystem was thriving, birds chirping in the tall treetops, insects buzzing all around.

Travelling deeper in, the serenity Foolish had gotten from the natural clamour of the forest life faded. Before long, it was nearly deafeningly silent.

Looking over to the knights from the corners of his eyes, trying to make it seem like he wasn’t fretting, Foolish spied them scanning their surroundings with keen eyes. Their focus was evident, almost startingly so – it was obvious the Royal Guard were highly praised for good reason.

Aphelion swayed to the side, curling an odd path through the thick undergrowth. He was left confused at the motion, especially since the horse returned straight to Mingo’s side after seemingly circling a clump of daisies that sprouted innocently from the thigh-tall grass. Maybe the big guy disliked walking through flowers?

Something rustled. A whistle rose up from one of the perimeter knights. Ranboo and his brown mare veered into the thick bushes to the right, Wisp snapping at his horses reins and following after. The stinging sound of swords slicing through something thicker than air followed. Foolish blanched, glancing over to find Eret looking unworried.

A loud howl pierced the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of his heart in his chest. Foolish sucked a deep breath in, trying to pin where it had come from when Kara and Boomer split left. Now with the main group reduced to just himself, Eret and a red haired knight called Sally, Foolish felt more than a little nervous.

Another howl echoed through the trees. Sally looked back to Eret, who waved her on. Watching the knight and her steed gallop away, due north-west, Foolish couldn’t help but feel something bad was about to happen.

“Foolish,” spoke Eret, their voice startling him. Looking over as though his neck would snap otherwise, Foolish found them smirking at him. “There’s no need to be worried. This forest is so thick, we often split up to cover more ground.”

“Oh,” he breathed, chest still tight. “I- Sorry, it just feels like something’s wrong.”

“No need to apologise,” she reminded him. “This forest has a bad aura, and it’s your first time being here. It’s understandable you’re apprehensive of it, but nothing will go wrong—”

Just as they said that, a large black wolf prowled out from the thick muddle of bushes just ahead of them, almost as though it had been waiting to prove Eret wrong and show Foolish that yes, things will go very wrong. Aphelion made a startling growling noise, just as Mingo made a low gurgling sound.

“Fuck,” Eret swore, and that may have been the scariest thing of all. “That’s the leader of this pack. We’re probably near their den. I’d been wondering where they’d relocated to after we burnt out the last one.”

“Wait, is this bad?” Foolish blurted.

“No, not at all.” Eret shook their head, looking serene. Foolish wondered if their cursing had been an unconscious reaction, and if so, why had they sounded so alarmed? Of course, the wolf had caught them by surprise, but Eret was apparently a capable swordsman? “If we can kill her, we might not need to return for a few months.”

Ever in motion, the wolf slunk closer to them, snarling with her head dropped low. Foolish watched the animal closely, keeping his eyes on her as though a hawk. He’d never seen such a large animal, nor one that looked as feral as this one. Drool dripping from a gnarly maw that shone with jagged teeth, thin gleaming eyes full of contempt, long lithe legs filled out with sinewy muscle, perfect for lunging forward and attacking prey; he’d never seen a wolf up close before.

Her fur looked soft, gentle white spirals dancing along her sides in some sort of pattern that stood out against her grey-brown coat. The wolves he’d seen in books had never had such markings, making him wonder if they were from living in a somewhat magical forest.

“Pretty, isn’t she?” Eret seemed to know what he was thinking. “She’ll make a good rug for the fireplace.”

Looking to them in surprise, he only caught a blur of colour as they charged forward in that moment. Left behind, Foolish watched as Mingo jumped over a fallen branch that lay in the way, her hooves crunching down into the detritus just as Eret swung their long, glimmering blade.

It caught the wolf just as she lunged, metal slicing easily. Sickened at the sight, Foolish looked away. Blood wasn’t something he fainted at – it wasn’t even like he’d never seen it – but in that instance, in that encounter, where Mingo trotted gleefully around the corpse and Eret smirked down at the body, Foolish thought he might—

Patting frantically at Aphelion’s back, he begged to be let down, stumbling off the confused horse’s back to choke up his breakfast in a nearby bush. His eyes watered as his throat burned, his cold hands gripping his knees as he bent over and gagged until he couldn’t spit up anything anymore. A hand hesitantly settled on his back, Foolish blearily looking up to find Eret staring down at him, blood dripping down their cheek from where it had japed up at them from the— the very much dead wolf’s body—

They’d struck down an animal. Foolish had watched them kill an animal, mercilessly swinging their sword forth and—

Thinking of it made him choke on his bile. Too late, only when his head was back in the bush, did he realise he’d flinched away from Eret. His back felt cold where her hand had rested.

Aphelion breathed a gush of a breath onto his neck when he stood back to full height. Wiping at his mouth, feeling a little clammy still, Foolish turned and offered a strained smile to the stallion. “Sorry.”

Eret stood to the side, motionless. He couldn’t bring himself to look at her.

“No,” she said, tone soft. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d—”

When they stepped over, he flinched back, the reminder of the red dashed along their skin making his stomach twist. The jarred way they froze, stopping mid-stride, was horrified enough in body language alone that he instantly felt bad for making them feel like they were the problem.

“It’s not you,” he hastened to assure. Bringing his shaking hands towards himself, he clutched his cold fingers by his stomach, looking down at his feet, angled so that he could only barely see Eret’s boots. “There- you, uh, have— on your face.”

A few seconds later, a handkerchief dropped to the floor. Eret shifted, prompting Foolish to risk a glance over, but the cold look in their eyes made him stutter back, gaze instantly back down to his feet.

They sighed and it was as though his heart cracked in two. “For what it’s worth, I apologise,” they murmured, but this one felt less sincere than the first time they’d said it. Now, they sounded tired. Biting on his tongue, Foolish tried to will away the tears that pricked at his eyes – he would not cry now, not when he’d went so long without having a crying fit for the first time in years.

(But he’d caused that. He’d made Eret sound like that – Eret who had to be poised and regal at all times, carefully controlling each action, covering every emotion with a steely expression. It was his fault, he’d made them annoyed with him and he wanted to cry because Eret was the only nice thing he’d had in his life for a very long time.)

(But if they control every action, why did they sigh like that? Questioned a more quiet voice. Do they want you to react like this?)

Mingo trotted over to Eret. The chink of them preparing to re-mount was drowned out by a rustle of the bushes.

Afraid, Foolish shied into Aphelion’s side, the great horse tilting his head to offer a small nuzzle. Eret’s boots thumped back onto the forest floor, a twig cracking ahead of them, where the mother wolf had emerged from.

He closed his eyes.

A snort from Eret caught his attention. “Well, we definitely know the den was here,” they said.

Opening his eyes and chancing a squint, Foolish’s entire being went cold as he saw them raising their sword as a small grey furball tumbled out of the bushes.

The minute down-tick of their arm told him she was going to kill it too—

“Mama!” He wailed to the woman on the ground, arm bent weird, face a vibrant red—

“Stop!” Foolish shouted, barrelling towards the Crown Prince and the baby wolf they were about to murder. “Stop it,” he charged past the mother’s body, kneeling by the little ball of fluff as it attempted to get to its feet again. It was so small, so tiny, and its eyes were barely open.

Scooping it up into his arms, he cradled it softly, marvelling at the baby’s soft fur and cute little teeth as it yawned. Twisting around, Foolish glared at a stupefied Eret, whose sword was still raised.

“If you want to kill it, you’ll have to make me drop it.”

Eret stared at him, unblinking.

The tiny wolf snuggled into his chest, its wagging grey tail gently tapping his arm. With strength he hadn’t known he had, Foolish got to his feet and stood in front of Eret, staring them down.

They sheathed their sword. He was glad to see their face was clean.

“Okay,” she said, tone indecipherable. “I won’t kill it. You can put it down and we’ll move on.”

She turned on her heel and trudged back to Mingo. Foolish peered down at the little guy in his arms and felt his heart strings tug. He wasn’t an idiot – he knew if he let the little baby down to let it try and tough it out, it would most definitely die. This was no way to treat a child – kill its mother then leave it to die? Not even the Iris Family were so cruel.

“I want to keep it,” he declared, ever so afraid that this would send Eret over the edge and make them draw their blade again. Nothing but resilient, he kept on, watching the Crown Prince from their spot atop their mare.

“You want a pet wolf?”

“Yes,” he didn’t blink. Eret’s soulless white eyes dulled as they looked away.

“Alright,” they agreed, something weighted in their tone that made them seem older than they were. “Get back on Aphelion before you fall into a rabbit hole.”

That was a win. That was a very big, very good, ground-breaking win. Grinning, glad that there was something to brighten this bad day, Foolish bounced over to Aphelion and had the time of his life trying to get back on the kneeling stallion with only one free arm.

“You will go.”

Alyssa stood under her Lady’s pointed look, not daring to look up. “Yes, My Lady.”

“Good,” purred the noblewoman, strolling around in her cheap dress as though the world owed her more. When she smiled, her lips twisted horribly and her lipstick threatened to smudge.

Red lipstick was not a suiting colour for Lady Rosetta Iris of the prestigious Iris Family.

“As the informant has not come yet to inform us of the brat’s passing at the monster’s hands, we need to send a maid over. You understand that once it is killed, you will return promptly with its body?”

“Yes, My Lady.”

“Good girl,” praised the woman through sculpted teeth. She was nothing if not inferior, perhaps disgusting, to higher nobles, and even to normal peasants she seemed unkind and unapproachable.

Alyssa had never dreamed of working under a bitch of a woman like Rosetta Iris. As a young girl, she’d imagined long nights spent dancing, glasses of colourful drinks in her hand as the noblemen cooed over her. Rosetta Iris did not appreciate nor deserve what she had – if Alyssa were in her place, so late in life that child-bearing and man-swooning was impossible, she would’ve adopted as many children as possible to feed off their rising positions. If there was something not to be done by oneself, it was better to make someone else do it.

But instead of her dreams, her mother had run out of money and sent her off to the Iris Family, the only noble family who took in young children to serve life-long sentences as maids within the middling sized area of Lutivon. A small, malnourished country region, Lutivon had never had much compared to the rest of the Empire and barely held more crops than people. It was doomed to fail, said the farmers, but they still tilled the fields and sowed seeds into drying soil.

Not that Alyssa would’ve known any of that if she hadn’t of been with the stableboy a few weeks back. He’d spouted the biggest amount of rubbish that she’d been thankful when he’d been whipped by Master Iris when he’d dared looked up at the man as he passed by. It had taught him manners, and he’d been so scared that he’d ran away, freeing Alyssa from the long, boring conversations of seed growing and horse feeding.

(Maybe he’d had a dream to be the farmer his father had been. Maybe he and Alyssa weren’t that different, but the difference was that Alyssa was closer to getting what she wanted. The second Rosetta Iris died, she’d seduce Master Iris and make him see reason towards her.)

She’d been here years, toiling over making herself rise to the top. Nearly Head Maid – if not for the fact that the Iris Family were so buried in old ways that they believed women to be unable to fulfil such a position and thus one such role did not exist – she’d become a personal maid to Lady Rosetta, who was evidently more of a Lady in name than she was in personality.

And here she was. Being carted off to go watch over the rat of a creature that they’d kept locked in the garden shed more than anything. Indeed, the Iris Family would likely profit off the unwanted thing getting it up with the Crown Prince – a cruel beast known for its harsh temper and vile words – which Alyssa thought was a wonderfully smart plan, but that did not mean she had to be the one to survey it happening. Indeed, it was custom for the partner’s family to send maids and a wagon to the paired two upon their coupling, but it wasn’t like the Crown Prince needed a hand from the Iris Family.

“My glorious Lady,” she hummed softly, careful to keep her head dipped. Rosetta Iris could kick up a storm if someone disobeyed her express rule of ‘no staring’.

“Yes?” Snipped the bitch.

“May I enquire as to how you selected me to be the one to watch over the boy.”

“That thing is no boy, Alyssa,” Iris said. “You know the horrors of that thing well enough, just like everyone else in this house. It’s a good thing the monster prince likes weak little things or we might never have had this opportunity.”

“Of course, My Lady. That thing was all too much of a nightmare,” she agreed readily. Alyssa disliked the brown haired brat just as much as its supposed ‘family’ did. Nothing more than a useless layabout and an eyesore, she was glad it was gone. However, she was not glad at the thought of seeing it again.

A manicured hand closed around her shoulder. Alyssa straightened out her back and stared at the Lady, arms clasped in front of her. Iris Rosetta smiled to herself, pleased.

“I picked you, dear, because you’re something of a daughter to me.”

Alyssa listened carefully, surprised. Iris Rosetta had never shouted at her, true, though she had never thought the woman saw her as anything more than what she was (barely) paid for.

“And, because of this, I know you will do this task well.”

Pleased, she smiled. “Thank you, My Lady. I will not let you down.”

“I know,” hummed the woman. Turning, she willowed over to her dressing table and pried at her jewellery box. Alyssa’s breath caught.

Rosetta Iris had a few nice rings, gifted down from her own mother, and a few bejewelled necklaces from Master Iris himself. Thrilled, Alyssa stood where she was and tried not to let herself look too excited.

Lady Iris turned back to her with a vial in her hand. It was an ugly little thing, glass green with a dark little cap sealing its contents – of which were barely a quarter of the container. It was barely bigger than Lady Iris’ pinky finger.

“Should the monster be too comfortable with it, put a few drops of this in the tea. The payout for a child murdered by the Crown Prince will be enough to keep us for thirty years!”

Hesitantly, Alyssa accepted the vial. It was more like a tiny jar, in her hands, so small and innocuous looking. “May I inquire as to what this is, my Lady?”

“A treat,” hummed the woman as she waved her off. “Get going. The carriage ride to the Golden Palace is nearly a full day away. Make sure to write.”

“Yes, my Lady,” Alyssa bowed to excuse herself and skittered out of the room, burying the green vial in her pocket.

Chapter Text

Elizabeth prized herself on being the best Head Maid the Crown Prince could have. She organised the chore roster, kept the maids looking and acting well, and had single-handedly wrestled with Eret for a hand in the running of their Palaces. The Crown Prince had many expertly built castles with a tendency to change residence by the month, and where they went, the three hundred strong workforce of maids followed. That took planning and a great deal of control – things which had not come easy, but were steadily within her grasp.

Admittedly, she was old. Nearing her seventies, Elizabeth knew there were many whispers of her oncoming retirement. The maids may have been well behaved, but it was in the human nature to gossip.

Old but wise, was her preferred term. She hadn’t looked over the Crown Prince for so long just to be called unable due to something as piteous as age. Having known them for over two decades, she’d watched them grow, standing on the sidelines as they waged a war for a better life for the people around them. That, she always thought, was why they’d been picked as the ones to rule the new Empire. Eret’s selflessness in the field had been apparent, talked about readily by the men who had returned, and their mother’s kindness on the political court had been overwhelming, wiping out anyone who had dared speak ill against her child and their new reign.

It was no wonder, to those that knew them, that the aus Enkelis had been risen to royalty after the war they started.

(Some called Eret a bloodthirsty hound, and privately Elizabeth thought that those people were too ignorant to see the true side of the Prince.)

There were those who attempted to use Eret for their own wants. Evident in failed relationships and long brooding sessions after noblemen had said something that would’ve been a complement to anyone other than the Prince. Elizabeth had seen women fall out of Eret’s bed quicker than they could flutter their lashes; she’d heard the screams some let out at seeing their back, a saddening product of fighting in a war that was long and hard.

Plenty had visited the Prince’s bedchambers. Not many had stayed.

(And with the rumours of Eret being some sort of ‘partner killer’ after one woman had shown her true face in bed, in the form of daggers coated with poison, there had been less and less frequenting them.)

It was worrying. Watching over them, admittedly, Elizabeth had known it would be hard for them to find a partner. Indeed, the Crown Prince was somewhat eccentric, but they were thirty one summers old. Surely it was about time they settled down? Most people who had plans to do so usually began the process in their mid-twenties, though their route had been stunted by paperwork and running an Empire at their mother’s side.

Sometimes, Elizabeth felt great sorrow for her Crown Prince. Expected to give so much to the Empire, they rarely found themself with a moment to breathe, weighted by the suppositions of the people and the nobles. Each winter attested to how this affected them, the sometimes month-long pauses in work hardly a small consolation for them when they couldn’t enjoy the time.

And yet, despite her urges to find a partner suitable to settle down with, it was always a great worry for her when their Highness haphazardly brought people home. Perhaps Eret did not see their abundance of palaces as their home, but Elizabeth valued the properties above her own life. They were wonderous, magnificent masterpieces; each one a spectacle of brilliant architecture to be gazed at with wonder. And the home was to be looked after and protected – Elizabeth’s goal whenever someone new appeared.

Though, with great regret, she knew none would last, so she had never much of anything to worry about aside from the odd night. Any nights their guests spent were usually taken up in bed, and when those fleeting wants were fulfilled, Eret often did not linger, instead prowling their training grounds or filling out paperwork in their study. Such behaviour left little room for the guests to exit the bedroom and sneak through a palace so well guarded that it was almost impossible to siege (not that it had been tested, but Elizabeth had enough trust in the knights that she knew should such occur, the invaders would not live to see the coming sunrise).

Not that Elizabeth worried all the nobles Eret brought back with them would thieve from them in the middle of the night, but it helped to be alert. Paranoid, some of the younger maids would call her, entirely unaware how the Crown Prince could be after a little too long without sleep.

When Mister Foolish Iris, lone son of the Iris Family, of the town Cail, appeared, Elizabeth took one look at him and decreed to wash the sheets promptly. He looked to be the type to enjoy a night and leave it at that, bereft of the gleaming eyes that spoke of a malicious personality that liked to lead-on others. If anything, her first glance told him to be arrogant and haughty, likely someone who had sought out the Prince, if only to boast of sharing their bed for a night.

It wasn’t often she was wrong.

“Head Maid,” called one of the younger maids, a new girl by the name of Tila. Bright eyed and bushy haired, Tila would make to be a great seamstress if only she could keep her mind focussed on the needle and not the knight’s physiques. (But she was young and Elizabeth knew what it was like to be young all too well.) “The hunting party is returning.”

“Thank you, Tila,” she nodded, folding away one of the fluffy towels into Eret’s cupboard. They’d used more in the past two days than they had in a month – having picked up a terrible habit of using magic to dry themself. She’d told them off for it more than once, seeing how dry it made their skin, but they were nothing if not stubborn. Maybe Mister Foolish was turning out to be a positive influence (a good thing; considering how long he seemed to be staying).

Tila nodded and scurried off, tottering down the hall, likely to find Meir and gush over whichever knight had given her the message. Smiling to herself, Elizabeth strode down the hall and lifted her dress as she descended the grand stairs.

Two knights, as always, stood by the pillars of the stairwell. “Head Maid,” one of them greeted.

“Knight Hasan,” she nodded back. “How are you fairing with those cotton sheets?”

“Ah, much better, thank you,” the man was kind, eyes scrunching as he grinned. Eret had a keen eye for picking out the experts in their field and ensuring they were suitably down-to-earth. Knight Hasan, a sharp eyed, tan man with a pleasant grin, was one of the best sweet talkers in the Empire, and no slob with the sword. “My back practically sobs in relief now, rather than pain.”

“I am glad it has helped,” she said genuinely. A task well done was one to be proud of, and she wanted everyone under her care to be as comfortable as possible. “And greetings to you as well, Knight Fundy.”

“Head Maid,” the ginger-haired man smiled. Once an hunter who had lived alone out in the forests of Oltei, the Crown Prince had stumbled upon him during a rare carriage ride to the Kishern Palace. He’d been promptly taken into the ranks once it became apparent he could withstand Eret’s biting tongue. “I hope your day’s been well.”

“Indeed, it has,” she hummed, though it felt prone to change. “I heard their Highness is returning?”

Hasan agreed, “We received a message just now. The party is on their way back.”

“Has something happened?” She enquired, hands folded in front of her, shoulders pulled back but relaxed. Worried a great deal by the changing of Eret’s usual schedule, Elizabeth was not so unskilled as to show it. “Usually, the hunts take hours. They’ve barely been gone for one.”

“We’re not aware of anything having happened, no,” Hasan shook his head, though his expression was a tad pinched. Fairly so; it was highly unusual for the Crown Prince to return early from a hunt.

She only hoped none of them had been injured. The best outcome would be one of the knights having forgotten their sword, though she doubted such a thing would have actually happened with Eret’s keen meticulousness prominent in every breathing moment of theirs.

Elizabeth nodded her partings and gestured to the line of maids standing in wait. They stepped forth from the sidehalls of the foyer, joining her as she walked out the grand doors. Stepping out into the brisk, midday chill, she further straightened her shoulders and took up helm at the steps, watching the maids filter down the steps and line along the pathway to the fountain. A few stableboys scurried up to join the ranks, standing closer to the end, where it would be easier to drop off and deal with the horses.

The first time Eret had been greeted like this was on their return from war. Elizabeth had never seen them look so surprised, nor so close to tears. It had been an emotional time, she thought to herself. The war had not been easily won, and not without great cost.

The evergreens that lined the copse at the edges of the path that led further into the Golden Palace’s grounds swayed peacefully in the cold breeze. Autumn was nearly gone and done, and soon winter would be hurling upon them. Elizabeth did not doubt they would be moving residence in the near week – Eret liked to be in the comfort of familiarity during the winter, and she was sure this year would be no different.

It was always warmer in the sandy region where the Palace of Levande lay.

Etela region’s paths were not as dry as some of the desert regions, so there was no cloud of dust that rose up and called attention to the returning group. Instead, Elizabeth stood stoically as the gates at the end of the path opened, seemingly by themselves to the naked human eye, and seven horses burst onto the warded land of the Golden Palace.

Snapping to attention, she hovered her hand over her heart in a gesture of servitude she could not embody more than she already did. It was a reverent salute, one brought about after Eret’s great shows of valour during the war, the popularity fueled by the wonderous war stories and many tales the returning soldiers spoke freely of. The White-Eyed Prince was to be respected, they had said, and the people had agreed.

A hand folded into a fist over one’s heart was the most formal form, though Elizabeth had been given special permission years ago to simply hold her hand flat against her chest after her brittle bones refused to bend one day. Her arthritis was sporadic, and nagging her today, but she made sure to use the proper, most respectful salute when she could. It was the least they deserved.

Eret led the group, the great mare Mingo galloping her way to the fountain. Disembarking briskly, the Crown Prince abandoned their horse with nothing more than a pat on the neck, leaving her to trot off into the courtyard by herself. Elizabeth knew full well none of the stableboys would dare go near her, so the damned mare would probably take her time in eating the apples of the corpse trees unless the Prince did something about it.

But as the Crown Prince strode past her without a word, face set in a firm line, Elizabeth did not think there would be much done about the horse.

With her Prince climbing the marble grand stairs at an alarming rate, not even having greeted their Knights, Elizabeth turned and nearly had a heart attack.

Aphelion was kneeling low, allowing the Iris boy off his back. The noble clutched something grey in his arms, clutching it as though it would end the world should he drop it. Why a noble would be lording over a piece of fur was beyond Elizabeth, who kept a keen eye on the man. Aphelion was nothing but a horse, there was no reason to be gaping at his choices like everyone else; rather, she pondered what it was that the brutish horse had seen in such a man that Eret had also.

Iris took an unsure step forward, before finally being nudged by Aphelion, who then went to prance around with Mingo. For a noble, he neither walked with poise nor acted with it, instead smiling at the maids and calling out for Aphelion to ‘play nice’. As the boy approached the entrance steps, he looked down to the fur in his arms and cooed. It was then she noticed the grey lump in the boy’s arms was not simply fur, but in fact a live wolf pup.

Suddenly putting together the lack of a wolf draped over the saddle of Mingo and the uncomfortable looks on the knight’s faces, who had tied up their own wolves, Elizabeth steeled her expression.

“Mister Iris,” she called sharply, quite unhappy this one night stand had interfered with Eret’s most enjoyed hunt. The Crown Prince did not have a lot of activities they could often indulge in that were as good de-stressors as hunting was, and even then, this boy had managed to spoil their day.

The boy looked up, face pale. He looked as though he stood upon thin ice, feet shaking under him.

Good, thought Elizabeth, colder than the wind. There was no room for an uptight, prissy noble in the ranks of the Crown Prince’s people. Iris would not last the week. She would drink when he was gone.

“Bring yourself and your accomplice inside,” she ordered. “One of the maids will run a bath for you.”

It was best to ensure Eret had the free space they needed. If that meant distracting the Iris boy with the new toy he’d picked up, then so be it. In the meantime, she would run damage control.

“Thank you,” the boy beamed; Elizabeth was not so young that she fell for his bright smile.

Eret was in their study. Knocking upon the heavy door, she waited a moment before entering.

The Study of the Golden Palace was wider than the Palace of Ushna's but not as long as the Yenik Palace’s. Their customary book shelves sat in the far left corner, curling around the square walls to make the room seem more circlish and warmer. The fireplace with a burning ember of magic nestled inside was the actual heater, with it sitting regally in the middle of the room, a strong gold crest curling in intricate waves around the pit. The golden railings in front of it curled as though beautiful vines defying gravity, a swarthy painting of the shimmering lands the Golden Palace stood upon pictured in a picture frame above the mantlepiece. The light wooden floor was softened by peaceful golden threaded rugs, one the shape of a rising run curling around the shelves as the full sun sat under the stretch of Eret’s desk.

Even now, in one of the quieter regions, their desk was filled with paperwork. Stacked in organised piles, their ink and quill only barely noticeable past the mountain of white. Stepping around the sight, Elizabeth found her Prince sitting in their chair, hunched over what could’ve been anything from a treaty to a plea for more land from a farmer.

She’d told them countless times to appoint Counts to manage the land, maybe Barons if they weren’t comfortable with giving away such power. Unfortunately, Eret was nothing if not stubborn, claiming the Empire had all the nobles it needed (and perhaps it did, with a few too many lurking in the crevasses). Privately, Elizabeth pondered if it was possibly due to their past friendships going anywhere but up; one killed in battle, the other a traitor of the Empire.

“What?” They grunted.

“Mister Iris has been suitably accommodated. What are your instructions concerning the wolf?”

Eret let out a heavy breath and sat back in their chair. The paper they’d been inspecting was a quarterly territory inspection report – looked like the farmers were having more and more trouble trying to grow crops around the centre of the land, though in the sparser, demon-lurking lands they were having productive yields. “Buy the things necessary for pup rearing,” they said. “No sooner than after dinner.”

The Crown Prince did not like animals. Distrusting of cats and spiteful towards dogs, with a horrid fear for certain eight-legged cretins, Elizabeth had been sure no domestic animals aside from horses would enter the grounds of any Palace.

“My Prince?”

“Head Maid,” they returned.

“You hate animals.”

“He wants to keep it.”

“I see,” Eret was whipped for a thing nearly a decade younger than them. In a way, she pitied them. “The arrangements shall be made. Shall we remodel one of the third floor rooms?”

“No. It would be best if it was one of the ones on the second.” Their Study was on the fifth floor. Eret did not care for things being far away from a certain place in the Palace. “Foolish might want to have it close.”

“A wolf howls,” she reminded.

“Call in a trainer,” they responded. “And a veterinarian.”

“Yes, my Prince.”

Elizabeth remained where she stood, peering over Eret’s shoulder as they glared down at the paper before them.

Eret asked, “What is it, Elizabeth?”

“What happened during the hunt?”

“Nothing,” they claimed. If they hadn’t of been in such a foul mood as they entered the Palace, Elizabeth wouldn’t have been able to call them out on their lie.

“You didn’t return with a wolf.”

“I forgot to grab it.”

Staring down at the prince, she frowned. “You are by no means limited to just one person, my Prince.”

They were silent.

“If one relationship does not work out, it is alright to end it and start another with someone else.”

“I like him,” they whispered. “I actually like this one.”

Her hands shook where she held them. She gripped them tighter.

“Do you really?”

“Yes,” said Eret.

“Shall I run you a bath, my Prince? It is of ill taste to attend dinner whilst smelling of wolf.”

Eret glared at the report. “Alright.”

She hummed. “Will you be joining Mister Iris?”

“I will,” they decided. Elizabeth forced her hand into a fist and thumped it against her chest as she bowed, turning away to set the preparations in place. “Elizabeth.”

“Yes, my Prince?”

Glancing back to them, she found those piercing eyes centered on her. “His name is Foolish. Address him with the same respect you do for me.”

That will be hard, she thought, but for her Prince she would try her hardest.

“Of course, my Prince.”

A maid with her brown hair pulled into twin plaits started a bath for him, dropping all sorts of things into the water that Eret hadn’t. Some coloured sandy ball that fizzed in the water, alongside some silky looking mixture that made the water bubble and foam. It all smelt very nice, and the little guy in his arms stirred, little tail slapping against his arm.

“Thank you,” Foolish smiled, still antsy from the earlier hunt but calmed down a little by the soft splashing of the water filling the tub. Turned out there was a place where a faucet appeared if you touched it, allowing the deep bathtub to be filled by manners other than magic.

“It’s no problem, Your Highness.” Chimed the woman, bowing with her hand in a firm fist over her chest. Flustered at the show of respect, Foolish felt his ears flush with warmth as the maid stepped back and set out a few fluffy white towels on one of the side tables. “Please enjoy your bath. You can call on me if you need anything.”

“I will,” he nodded, then looked down to the little tyke in his arms. “Oh, can you see if there’s anything to wash this little guy with?”

“Of course, Your Highness.”

The maid dipped out of the room, leaving Foolish to stand in the large bathroom alone. It was still huge, but without Eret’s presence in the room over it felt almost empty. Disconcerted, he sat on the closed toilet lid to get his boots off and stood again to shuffle out of his trousers whilst cradling the little pup. It yawned in his arms, nuzzling into his arm just as he got around to taking off his shirt.

Carefully keeping it held in one arm as he used one hand to unbutton his shirt and slip it off his right arm, he transferred the little guy into his right arm and dropped the button-up beside his trousers on the floor.

“Such a little cutie,” he murmured, looking down at the little furball as it yawned again. Carefully, he stepped down into the bath, keeping the pup close to his chest. He wasn’t sure if baby wolves could swim at this age, though he doubted it.

The bath was nice and warm, but not too warm for him or the little pup. Gently, he lowered the pup’s little paws into the water, pausing when it whined. Lifting it back out as though the whine had burned him, he stared intently at the little guy.

“Did that hurt, baby?” He fretted, blinking as the wolf wagged its tail and opened dark eyes to stare at him. Nearly drowned by its cuteness, he rubbed his fingers along its belly. It’s little tail was whirring as though it could help it fly should it be airborne.

Laughing softly, Foolish lowered the little thing back to the water, observing as it whined again. It didn’t look scared or sad; maybe whining was a sign of happiness in wolves? Shifting over to the steps, where the first one was shallow, he let the pup stand by itself, smiling as it splashed around and managed to toddle from one side to the other with no problems.

“What to name you?” He wondered, only just realising he was missing one crucial detail. Plucking the pup from the water, he lifted the wriggly pup up and checked something. “So, you’re a boy.”

Holding the wolf as though he was some sort of miracle child, Foolish let him back into the water as he barked. The little guy splashed around the surface water, swimming quite well, as Foolish mulled over names.

He thought on the tall grass that had lapped at his ankles as he clutched the pup, the wide area that felt like a shivering vastness of eerie space. Bushes lined the edges, trees looming around to make an enclosed area of darkness.

“Bentley,” he decreed, peering down at the little wolf. Bentley looked up at him and barked, tail a whirring propeller as he splashed towards him. Foolish scooped him up, rubbing at the little guy’s ears as the pup nuzzled into his arms.

A knock echoed in the room. “Your Highness?” Came a familiar voice.

“Come in,” he called, easing back onto one of the seats along the bath’s sides. Bentley pawed at the water lazily.

Mar turned the corner. In her hands, she clutched what looked to be a jar of something. “Pikya said you were looking for something to wash your dog with?”

“I was, thank you.” The girl blushed, quickly scuttling over to give him a jar of yellow paste. It smelt of sweet honey. “What’s in this?”

“Oh,” the girl startled, standing and fiddling with her hands. “Honey, water and some rosemary oil. It’s an old mixture my mother used to make to clean our cat, so it should work for your dog until we can buy something proper.”

“You made it?” He asked, scooping some of the buttery mixture into his hand. Bentley sniffed at it, before deeming it uninteresting and went back to splashing at the water. Smoothing a cool dollop of it along the pup’s back got him a yelp, and a face full of bathwater from his splashing tail. On the smelly pup, the honey concoction smelt even better.

“I- I did, Your Highness.”

“Thank you, Mar,” he said honestly, offering the surprised girl a smile. “And Bentley is a wolf.”

Mar stuttered. “P- Pardon?”

Another knock rang out and a woman asked, “May I enter?”

Foolish tilted his head in the direction of the door, not recognising the voice to be any of the maids from earlier.

“That’s the Head Maid,” Mar whispered.

“Ah,” he mouthed his thanks. “Come in.”

The Head Maid, an ageing woman with silvery hair that was pulled back into a loose but graceful bun appeared. She stared at Mar with an expectant look. “You may leave,” she said.

Mar quickly bowed, fist held close to her chest. “Have a nice bath, Your Highness.”

As the younger maid left the bathroom, Foolish was left with the Head Maid staring him down.

“Their Highness will be joining you promptly,” explained the woman, looking quite stiff as she stared down at him.

Uncomfortable, Foolish was tempted to go back to washing Bentley and quickly get out of the bath, but he felt like he’d be letting the stern woman win if he did that. She looked as though she wanted him out of the bath, but if Foolish got out and Eret avoided him afterwards, how was he going to explain to them that he really wasn’t blaming them for anything.

Because he hadn’t been able to muster the courage with the five knights listening in on the ride home, but maybe in the solitude of the Master Bedroom’s ensuite, he could pretend to be a little stronger.

So, he said, “Thank you.”

She watched him, sharp thin eyes darting from him to Bentley. “A room will be set aside for the wolf.”

“What?” He echoed. “That’s not necessary.”

“You may talk to their Highness if you are unhappy,” the Head Maid said, and gave a loose bow as she left.

Foolish got the distinct feeling that she didn’t like him.

Bentley barked up at him. Smiling, he scooped up more of the honey shampoo and got to work.

Chapter Text

A figure appeared in the doorway. Expecting it to be a maid, Foolish ignored them, ruffling little Bentley’s grey fur. The little guy smelt much better now that the honey soap had been used to wash him, and his fur looked much cleaner now. A bath in a royal palace was much different from rolling through a forest, he supposed.

The maid dropped something on the floor. Looking over at the loud thud, Foolish found himself staring at the ruin of Eret’s back, watching as they worked on pulling off their leggings, shirt and skirt already on the floor. Blushing fiercely, he looked away as soon as he realised what he was looking at, blinking repeatedly down at Bentley, who stuck his little pink tongue out at him as he panted.

The gentle splash of water shifting, and the ripples that lapped at his skin, alerted him to Eret getting into the bath. Not daring to chance a glance, Foolish remained with his head nearly buried in his chest, staring resolutely at Bentley until Eret settled down opposite him, submerged up to her chest in the bubbly water.

Bentley, seemingly sensing the awkward air, sniffed towards Eret and splashed his paws in the water. Attention glued to the little pup, Foolish hesitantly let the little guy out of his arms, hands hovering in the water underneath in case he needed some help. Instead, Bentley seemed remarkably fine with swimming, splashing neatly in a straight line—

Towards Eret.

Heart in his chest, afraid he’d be taken away from him, Foolish drew breath into his lungs to plead. His father used to destroy whatever Foolish expressed joy with; he only hoped begging with Eret would make them feel merciful.

Bentley swam into Eret, little black nose bouncing off their chest. White soulless eyes watched him, long pale arms rising from the depths of the water for the pup. Foolish closed his eyes.

(He shouldn’t have been afraid. Eret had already promised they would be nothing like his parents; but then again, there was no one to ensure they stuck to that promise. They were the Crown Prince, no one in the entire Hiel Empire stood over them other than the Empress Herself.)

A soft huff filled the silence. The splish splish of Bentley’s tail hitting the water’s surface echoed in his ears. Opening his eyes with courage he didn’t know he had, Foolish blinked at the sight that met him.

Eret had Bentley in their arms, coddling the pup as though a babe. The neutral look they were directing at the pup was bellied by the gentle, loose hold they had on him.

“What’s their name?” They spoke. Even though their shoulders were stiff and their back achingly straight, their head was lowered towards the pup. Bentley chuffed at them, wriggling up to rest his paws on their chest. Lithe fingers curled under sharp claws and directed them over the coarse muscle of their shoulders instead of soft skin, Eret taking the pup nearly completely against their chest. Little Bentley seemed enamoured, head fwipping from side to side to enjoy the new view as his tail pinwheeled.

“Huh?” Foolish floundered.

“The pup,” Eret clarified, taking up a gentle rocking movement that had Bentley whining furiously. They eased their fingers into the scruff of his neck and massaged there, calming the little pup. “Have you found a name for them yet?”

“Bentley,” he hurried to say, peace creeping into his bones and slouching his posture as Eret really didn’t seem interested in doing anything other than sitting with the little guy. “He’s called Bentley.”

“Bentley,” murmured Eret, rose quartz lips sculpting the words so beautifully that they felt like a prayer. White eyes shifted down to him, chasing something Foolish couldn’t see. If he wasn’t daydreaming, he was almost certain they looked wistful. “Welcome home, little one.”

Inexplicably awestruck, both in heart and head, Foolish sat, gaping at the Crown Prince. His chest felt warm watching them. Everything from their quiet, genuine tone, to how they sat against the edge of the bath, carefully making sure Bentley was comfortable before they were, made his world tinge pink. Roses and quartz stones couldn’t reflect the same colour that his sheer happiness was.

In that instant, Foolish felt ten times younger. He was light, relieved of the rose thorns that scratched his fingers and the family that stung his heart. Resting in a bath with the Crown Prince with Eret, he was happy. Happier than he’d been in a long time.

Could people cry from happiness? Because Foolish thought he might just weep.

He felt so warm, so full, bursting with the feeling. His chest was full, each breath was warm, the soft curling steam of the bathroom was serene, the stone at his back the only thing that supported him as he drank in what he was seeing.

Now he understood.

He knew why people called Eret the monstrous Crown Prince – because everything they did outside of the safe walls of their Palace was meant to be mean and crude and scary, because they were afraid to let just anyone into their heart. Eret let no one past their barriers aside from express few.

It was easy to forget things. Even simpler to call people harsh and rude for no reason at all, but the truth was, Eret had fought in a war for the Empire. She had set foot outside, on the lands of the Tyrant King, still so young, only twenty-one, and she had waged a war in her Mother’s name. Nobody could return from a one-sided, singlehanded massacre and be the same. Those who had stood by their side understood and clung onto them, praising them, inviting them to parties, catering specifically for their taste – not because they were the Crown Price, but because Eret was possibly one of the most misunderstood soldiers who had fought in that war, attitude and demeanour brought to light by the attention people lavished on them when they returned home to an entirely new home, attention people pushed and forced onto them, when likely all they wanted was to rest and grieve those they’d lost.

When Eret returned from the war, they had not been given reprieve. To be crowned the Crown Prince not even a few days after the war ended, pushed onto a throne alongside their mother, told to sit straight, act proper. Foolish, who had been grabbed from the streets and pushed and shoved into a mould of what the Iris Family expected, knew what that felt like. He understood the pain, could see the lines around their eyes where Eret held the burden by herself, and now he knew the reason for why they wouldn’t let anyone else near them, not even for a massage.

They’d fought for the people, only for those very ones to call them a beast and a murderer. Foolish didn’t wholly understand, though he knew how easy it was to distrust and label them; Eret with her gleaming quartz eyes and pining gaze, her looming stature and swift hand. People feared what they did not know, and up until this moment, Foolish realised he’d never truly seen what Eret didn’t want him to see.

Now, they were open. Their chest was pried apart, and they were making the conscious decision to let him see this. After he’d insulted them, after he’d abandoned them – mentally and almost physically – on that hunt. It made him feel bad, but the very fact he felt that way reassured him. So long as he felt remorse, Foolish of Cail was ten times better than every other Nobleman or woman who’d shied away from their impressive stare and calculated stride.

“I’m sorry,” he said, whilst he still had the voice to do so.

Eret looked up at him, blinking innocent eyes. They’d taken to unwinding their tied-up hair as he stewed, and now their hair swirled around them as though a halo. Luscious brown locks cascading over their sculpted shoulders, fanning their pale face with gentle curls that bounced and looped softly. Bentley seemed quite taken with them as well, snuffling pleasantly at their hair, licking at their neck. Taken aback by their prettiness, Foolish sat like a fool, unmoving.

“Whatever for?” They enquired, head tilting down to Bentley to silently reprimand him for getting a bit too playful with their hair. The pup made an odd noise, and went back to laying his head on their shoulder.

“With the wolf, it wasn’t you.” He felt as though he needed to say everything as quickly as possible to avoid any chance of misunderstanding. “I’ve just never seen anything like that and my stomach’s been a bit weak today. Also, I – uh, I’d like to apologise for being ill in front of you and making you feel as though you were the issue, Eret.”

“What did you say?” she asked, something breathy in her tone. Sliding from the bath seat, she stepped over to him, pausing with only enough room for Bentley to lie between them.

“Ah,” he blinked, unsure what they wanted. “I’m sorry, Eret.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Eret hummed, breathtakingly close. “You never will, Foolish.”

Face warm, he gravitated forward. Eret leaned in, features softening. They met in the middle, Foolish lifting his hands to curl them around her jaw, cupping her beauty as they kissed. The moment stretched, joy and pleasure melding into a short few seconds of time where Foolish felt whole for the first time in years.

Between them, Bentley barked and wagged his tail, the soft fur rubbing along their chests and tickling them. Breaking apart, they both laughed.

Their laugh lit up his entire world.

“I promise to not kill any wolves in front of you ever again,” Eret whispered, grin blindingly stunning. “Next time, tell me when your stomach is weak.”

“Of course,” Foolish smiled back. There was a lot more words conveyed between the two of them in that small moment of happiness than there were words actually spoken.

It felt like peace.

Eret slipped onto the seat, sidling up beside him, chest pressed against his arm in a casual gesture. It felt wholly new, in a thrilling and brilliant way. His chest felt fit to burst. “Will you massage me again tonight?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, and found himself leaning in for another kiss. Eret didn’t disappoint, moving in with sparkling eyes and a squirming wolf pup in her hold. Bentley wriggled out of Eret’s arms, splashing about in the bath as the two of them relaxed in the presence of one another. Her lips were so soft it was almost as though he was pushing against cotton candy.

Eret shifted, guiding his head with her hand as she moved, keeping them together. Foolish grinned against her lips, chuffing as Eret grinned back. They basked in each other, lines between them blurring as the world faded out. She flipped her leg over his legs and eased herself into his lap, Foolish not wasting a moment as he slipped his arms around their waist, pulling them close.

They didn’t speak. There was no need to when they were harmonious. Eret curled her arms around his shoulders, slotting herself against his chest. Foolish welcomed her, sated as their head settled against his shoulder, breath lapping over his collarbone and shoring up against his neck in a humid wave. She breathed deeply, once, and released it in a gush, tickling him.

Smiling, Foolish twisted his head, moving it sideways to halt the ticklish gesture. He smothered her, face pressing against hers as he instead pushed her further into his neck. Eret snickered, hands pushing at the back of his neck as her knees, at the sides of his hips, pushed in.

Smoothing his hands over their rugged back, Foolish hummed gently, carefully trailing his fingers along the soft scar tissue. Eret’s back tensed, breathing hitching against his neck. Their hands cupped his shoulders, fingers shaking as he traced the skin. It had been chilly today and Eret hadn’t worn any more layers than he had – even though she had sensitive scars crossing over her back.

“How did you get so many on your back,” he whispered. Bentley had stopped splashing around, instead having swam over to the first step and settled there quietly. His ears perked up at Foolish’s voice, though other than that everything was still, if not for Eret’s heaving chest.

“Some are from the war,” she murmured, something hollow in her tone. Foolish pressed a tad harder than he would’ve liked on one of the thinner scars and she jerked.

“Sorry, sorry,” he hushed, leaning down again to place a few kisses along their cheekbone. With great surprise, he found their eyes were closed, face lax. It made his already warm chest feel bubbling hot – to be trusted so explicitly was a moment he was going to treasure.

Eret hummed a note, a breath of air that briefly parted her lips, and, “’s okay. Had worse.”

Foolish thought of the blades that made such carvings of their skin and cringed. His jaw tensed and his teeth gritted, something darker welling up as he thought of Eret dropping to their knees, shout catching in their throat as the enemy leered over her. He thought of the army that would cheer as they fell and felt anger so innate it made his nostrils flare.

“Foolish?” A hand slipped from his shoulder, dipping back into the water to play with the bubbles that had pooled around them in the misty water. Eret was so quiet that if the room wasn’t nearly completely silent, Foolish may not have heard her.

This was the real Eret. Quiet, reserved, gentle.

Her hand, so lithe and thin against his, rose from under the water, clasping around the shimmering bubbles as though a sea monster rising for its prey. She crushed them in her palm, fingers closing into a loose fist as it dipped back under, waiting for more bubbles to float over in their brethren’s departure.

Foolish breathed out and smiled. “Yes?”

“Can you give me a massage?” A hopeful nose poked at his neck.

“I already said I would,” he reminded.

Eret made a considering noise. “Now?”

He laughed. “Last time I gave you a massage you fell asleep. You really wanna do that in the bath?”

“We could get out,” they suggested, though made no move to do so.

“Sure,” he ran a finger up their side, jumping over the gouge of an old wound. Their back really was the worst hit, with only a smattering of scars elsewhere. Evidently, they’d been hit in their blind spot a lot more than expected. “Except you haven’t washed your hair yet.”

“I don’t need to,” they mumbled, words tickling his skin.

Foolish looked down at the length of brown hair that swirled in the water, mixing with soap and bubbles. “Of course not, so long as you’re fine with it being all clumpy later.”

The human blob on his chest groaned. “I’m tired.”

“I’ll clean it for you,” he offered, smirking into their scalp as they rolled their head, lips pressed against his collarbone. “I washed Bentley and he’s looking well.”

Eret sat up, blinking over at the wolf pup. “He looks like a wet mop,” they observed.                

Feigning insult, Foolish gasped, bringing a hand to his chest. Eret followed the moment, blinking at him.

“I’m insulted,” he explained. Eret nodded, and grabbed his wrist, tugging his hand to her head.

“Wash my hair,” they said.

Foolish looked away as they stood suddenly, getting to their feet with an agile grace very becoming of them, only to turn around and plant themself back into the water. The water licked at his chest as they dropped onto the step where his feet were, fingers tapping at his legs to make him move. “You didn’t need to stand up,” he protested, broadening his legs to let them sit between.

Eret only hummed, slipping further down into the water until her mouth was covered. There was enough room between his lap and her head for her hair to splay between them, the long locks resting against his thighs.

Foolish gathered it into one hand and stared at it. “Can you grab the shampoo?”

The shampoo appeared in his other hand. Gawking down at it, he huffed a laugh and, in retaliation for the small shock, poured some on Eret’s head. It was cool, and they jumped.

“That scared me,” he complained, reaching back to set the bottle on the side of the bath before gently rubbing the shampoo into her scalp. It was a soft pink colour and smelt sweeter than the apple and pomegranate one he’d used. She leaned into his hands, head tipping back with a sigh that rippled the water.

Evidently, he was as good a hair washer as he was a masseuse.

Around half-way through working the soap into Eret’s hair, Bentley got up. The movement drew his eye, though Eret was unmoving. The little pup had been sitting comfortably on the first step into the bath, but now he clambered up onto the dry rim and shook himself out. A few water droplets hit Foolish and he chuckled as the little guy teetered over to the antique stand that had a fluffy towel folded atop it. Almost knowing what was going to happen before it did, Foolish watched as the pup jumped up, snagged a fold of the towel between his teeth, and tugged it down. Bentley barked happily and raced into the towel, snuggling up in the misshapen mess of fluff.

Rolling his eyes fondly, Foolish moved on to rubbing the shampoo along the base of Eret’s scalp, closer to their nape. It must’ve felt good, as their entire head twitched when he rubbed over a certain area behind their ear. Repeating the motion was met with another twitch, where she pushed her head more into his fingers.

Tipping her head farther back, she cleared her mouth of the water and spoke. “Stop that,” she grumbled quietly.

“What?” he snickered, though moved his fingers away, shifting down to the hair around their back, nearly finished. “Don’t you like it?”

She grumbled and returned to her original relaxed position, closed lips tipping back into the water. They blew away a cluster of bubbles that, out of the sparse few remaining, had decided to float over in their direction but otherwise seemed content to sit unmoving as he lathered the shampoo over the rest of their hair.

The white suds made them look different, tinging them in a humorous light. With great joy, Foolish splashed the water over them, washing them down whilst simultaneously drenching them. When the wave he’d created slipped away, Eret turned their head to stare at him.

“You look like Bentley,” he grinned.

“Oh?” They echoed, hand rising up to push a string of hair out of their eyes.

“Like a wet mop.”

Eret raised an eyebrow at him.

Foolish smiled and splashed them again. Eret sat still for it, blinking at him as water dripped down her jaw.

“What was that for?”

“You had shampoo still in your hair,” Foolish said.

“Uh-huh,” Eret smirked.

He looked at their smirk. “What are you—”

They snapped their fingers and a wave splashed him. Foolish snorted as it passed, brushing his hair out of his face as a gust of warm air hit him from behind, swirling his hair everywhere.

“Eret,” he laughed, unable to see past his hair. The perpetrator had fled to the other side of the bath, leaning against the side again. She offered him a brilliant grin as the wind changed directions, swirling his hair atop his head. “Stop,” he called, laughing as the wind vanished and his hair settled. “What did you do?”

“Nothing,” Eret seemed pleased with herself.

Bentley poked his head out from under the towel and snuffed, tongue lapping out to lick at the air. Foolish poked at the mound his hair had become, feeling an intricate plait swirling along what felt like a bun. Eret was still smirking at him, although her attention shifted to Bentley, who was now licking at the air beside her, sniffing them.

“What’s wrong, little guy?” She hummed, lifting a finger to rub at his tiny snout. She bopped his nose, giggling as he sneezed.

Bentley licked at her finger, making to gnaw on it. Eret lightly tapped him again, this time frowning to show her dislike. “Don’t bite, baby boy. Go on back to your towel.”

She flicked her wrist, bringing the towel over with a drag of magic and the wolf pup barked, jumping up to lick at her fingers. He didn’t seem to find what he was looking for and instead licked down her hand until he found her wrist, little pink tongue lapping at the smooth of Eret’s skin. Eret watched the pup, Foolish tilting his head at the odd behaviour.

“Is he hungry?” He suggested.

Eret clicked her fingers and Bentley shifted his focus, licking at the small sparkle of magic that she balled into her palm. The wolf pup nosed at their clenched fingers, huffing when she didn’t let him see the magic.

“I think we’ve got ourselves a magic sensitive wolf,” Eret noted, letting the magic sparkle go. It floated upwards but Bentley jumped for it, jaws closing around the magic. He licked his nose and stood, staring at Eret expectantly.

“Cool?” Foolish offered. “Does this mean he eats magic or something?”

“Oh, he didn’t actually eat that. I let it vanish before he got to it.” Eret seemed nonplussed, if a little more interested by the wolf pup. “We won’t know if this will be useful for another few years, but if he turns out to be highly sensitive, he may make for a good magic tracker.”

Foolish wasn’t too sure how to feel about that, but thankfully Eret glossed over the details and shooed the pup back to his towel; a swirl of magic carrying away the towel and distracting him.

A knock echoed through the bathroom. Eret looked over to him and nodded before calling, “Come in.”

The Head Maid stepped in, stern expression not once wavering at the steam that partially obscured her vision; the bathroom was more like a shroud of mist, wispy white filling the corners and lingering in the open like some sort of thick cloud. Foolish bit the inside of his cheek and met the old woman’s stare as it washed over him. It felt disapproving.

“My Prince, Your Highness,” the Head Maid greeted. Foolish blinked in surprise as she nodded to him. She’d just called him Your Highness…

It made him giddy, but there was also a tinge of melancholy. When he’d been talking to the older woman earlier, she’d seemed put out at his presence, yet now she was greeting him with something other than Mister Iris. Foolish would bet three silvers it was because Eret was here.

“Dinner will be served within half an hour,” the Head Maid continued. “I assume you will be attending, tonight?”

“Of course, Elizabeth,” Eret smirked, “When have we not attended dinner?”

The Head Maid shot them a disbelieving look. “Now that you bring it to my attention, ma’am, I can’t seem to recall such a time. Forgive me for being so prudent.”

Eret rolled their eyes, huffing, and waved the woman away. She bowed and retreated out of the misty bathroom, vanishing back the way she’d came. Foolish stared at where she’d stood, feeling bleakly uncomfortable.

“Shall we get out?” Eret hummed, pulling his attention to her. She flicked a strand of wet hair over her shoulder and stood on the lower ledge, bringing her chest above the water. Stepping up out of the bath, Foolish averted his gaze as they stood, stretching out. Her back looked redder than it had, the raised, puffy skin of her scars appearing irritated.

He frowned. “Is your back alright?”

“Yeah?” Eret turned to him; a full-body turn on her heels, he noted, instead of a simple spine-twist. Thankfully, before she’d turned, she’d magicked a towel out of the cupboard to wrap around her waist.

Foolish grunted as he stood, the water pulling at him. Clambering out of the bath himself, Eret guided a towel over to him. Accepting the floating square of fluff, he quickly towelled himself down and cinched it around his waist.

Placing his hand on her bicep, he turned her around and peered down at her back, thumbing the precipice of a particularly gnarled looking slash across her shoulder blades. She was silent, though the way her entire chest flinched away from his fingers said more than words could’ve.

“Do you have cream for them?”

“No,” Eret said softly. “They’ll be fine. Just a bit sensitive.”

“After the bath?” He queried. “Did you know the water would do this?” Silence. “Why’d you sit so long, then?”

He let go of her arm, fingers grazing over the soft skin of her inner elbow as he dropped his hands back to his side. Eret stepped towards the door before she turned to face him. She looked almost sheepish, with one hand curled around the other arm.

“Because you were there.”

Foolish stared at them. His chest felt inexplicably warm at the reasoning for Eret staying in the bath with him being because she wanted to be with him. Smiling, he cupped her jaw. Eret leaned in, hair dancing along her skin as she rose to her tiptoes. Foolish’s laugh rumbled through the room, filling the silence as he placed a hand on her hip and kissed her.

Eret smiled into the kiss and he smiled back.

Chapter Text

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

Foolish looked up from the box of chocolates Eret had only just remembered about, having dropped the box onto the bed after they’d returned from dinner. They tasted very nice, though Eret didn’t seem too fond of them.

“Where would we go?” He asked.

Eret hummed, sitting beside Foolish with her legs folded and body lilting towards him. “The Golden Palace has a garden, though it’s not much compared to the Crystal Palace’s.”

During dinner, Eret had stood up and announced their departure tomorrow. It had taken a few moments and a small explanation for Foolish to realise that they moved around their Palaces, jumping from location to location every month or so. The next place was the Crystal Palace, regarded Continent-wide as having one of the most beautiful gardens.

Foolish, who’d never seen many flowers outside of dying roses and petunias, was excited to go visit.

“Okay,” he smiled, plopping one last square of chocolate into his mouth before standing. The clothes they’d dressed into after the bath were soft and comfortable, almost as nice as silk despite being cotton.

Eret nodded and they both took a few moments pulling on their shoes. The assortment of boots and shoes had arrived for Foolish when they were away during the hunt, and now meant that he had what felt like an unlimited supply to chose from. He pulled on a pair of brown shoes that looked comfortable to both walk and lounge in.

Beside him, Eret pulled on a pair of short heeled boots. They had a thing for boots, it seemed.

“Come on,” Eret beckoned, cupping his hand in theirs. Their skin was soft. It was no trouble clasping their hand, palm small in his. She looked down as his thumb slipped under her shirts cuff, thumb running down her wrist.

“Foolish,” Eret huffed, pulling his attention back up to her face. “You’re sure your stomach settled?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “Why?”

“Transportation circles can sometimes make first time users nauseas,” they explained. “As cute as you are, I don’t want you choking up your dinner over me.”

Blushing under the compliment, Foolish blinked. “Wait, transportation circle?”

“Look down,” she smiled.

He did. A soft yellow glow emanated from an almost surreal looking array below them. It looked as though pure light had been sculpted into lines and arches, moulded into an intricate looking circle with a multitude of smaller circles and looping cursive compacted within. The array stretched under them, just big enough to surround the two of them.

“Wow,” he marvelled. “This is your magic? It looks nothing like what they draw in books.”

“I suppose it wouldn’t. I funnel raw mana into what I want, which means that a lot of the configurations and arrays that I produce will look different from the ones made by casting spells which allows the universe to mould their forms.”

“Wait, there’s different forms of magic?”

“In a way,” Eret shrugged. “No one else uses mana like me, though. Normal users, like Dream, have to rely on spells they know and have to meet certain expectations of those spells, such as power limits. My casting, on the other hand, is produced through me imagining what I want to do and my mana conforming to that wish. Arguably, my method is much harder.”

He asked. “Can anyone be a user?”

The array span around them and lifted, engulfing their bodies. Foolish blinked and opened his eyes to a dusky patio. The Golden Palace loomed behind them, twin veranda doors opening up onto the cute little wooden panel. Chairs sat around, a few batches of flowers in large ceramic pots.

“You need mana to use,” Eret hummed, still holding his hand as she stepped down off the patio. There was a little wooden railing with steps that led down onto the grassy plain, a plain that opened up into an assortment of stone block paths and hallways of hedges.

The garden was large; dark green hedges and trees stretching out a great distance. Little lights twinkled along pathways that led deep into the hedges. The sun had slipped away not too long ago, the moon barely beginning its rise. There was a soft murmur of life in the garden – cicadas chirping, the rustle of trees branches as birds nested, the hum of grass being caressed by the gentle winds.

“It’s lovely out here,” he confessed, awed. Eret paused, waiting for him to step up beside her, and watched him. Foolish surveyed the area once more before naturally turning to look at Eret. In the sultry light of dusk, she was pretty as always.

“You think so?” She murmured, gaze gentle. Despite her considering tone that would’ve made one think she was looking over the garden, her eyes didn’t once leave him. Foolish almost thought it was too easy, being able to tell where she was looking.

“Almost as lovely as you,” he noted, leaning into her space. She let him, unmoving as he lifted his free hand to cup her jaw. Leaning in far enough that she tilted her head to let him kiss them, Foolish decided at the last moment to be mean.

He pulled away, snickering at the pout Eret threw his way.

“Rude,” she harrumphed. “I don’t say I’ll kiss you and leave you hanging.”

“I didn’t say I was going to kiss you,” Foolish smirked. Eret rolled her eyes, lashes fluttering. Entranced, he stared at them.

They were so pretty, he could die. There was no describable way to properly define Eret’s pure beauty. Elegant and sophisticated, holding herself tall; she walked as though she was floating, each step light and thought out, each blink calculated, every breath refined and measured.

“Don’t you get tired?” He murmured.

They looked taken aback. “What?”

“Being so gorgeous,” Foolish clarified. “Must be terribly exhausting.”

Eret blinked at him. The blush that coloured her ears made them burn red, a red swathe travelling up her neck. Her gaze flickered, fingers twitching in his hold.

“You’re so cute,” he cooed, and finally leaned in for that kiss. Eret fell into it, soft smile and warm skin blazing the way through the cool night air.

Foolish smiled against her lips, hand by her jaw slipping down to rest on her shoulder.

“You feeling me up?” Eret snickered when they parted. Foolish laughed, lifting his hand. Eret watched it drop, yet still acted surprised when it settled on her hip.

“Do you mind?”

“If you were anyone else, they’d be dead,” Eret whispered, breath tickling his neck as she tugged him into her with her free arm. Foolish didn’t doubt her for one second, fingers pulsing against her clothed hip. “Oh,” she squeaked. “That felt nice.”

“This?” He rubbed his fingers along her shirt, slowly sliding down to cup at her trousers.

“Mm, up a bit,” they murmured, nodding as he kneaded at the hem of their trousers. “Your hands are cold.”

“You can feel that?” He smirked, pushing his fingers under their shirt. Eret gasped, moving away.

“You’re mean,” she pouted, letting go of his hand.

“Aw, Eret,” he called after her, unable to stop laughing as she walked away, shoving her shirt back into her trousers. Following her, Foolish threaded through the spikey arms of slightly overgrown hedges, content to watch Eret’s hips sway.

The little fairy lights that sparkled over the garden were nice, though gave off little light. He ended up following Eret’s shadow more than their back.

“Take your time,” Eret appeared beside him. Foolish, who’d been lengthening his strides to catch up with them, startled and nearly fell into the hedge across from him. She grabbed him before he could topple, easing him upright with a snicker. “Alright there, sweetheart?”

Blushing at the way she seemed to replicate ‘sweetheart’ the exact way he said it, Foolish hurried to nod. Eret curled around his arm, taunting him with her smirk.

“I’m fine,” he said, standing to his full height. Eret was forced to look up at him as she pawed at his chest.

“Oh, my big manly man,” she wheezed, rising on her tiptoes to plop a kiss on his cheek. Foolish huffed a breath, lungs at some point between breathlessness and being too full.

Silently, Eret relinked their hands and walked them out of the mass of hedges. Strolling towards the dip of sparkling waters that began to glisten in the night, it became evident they were standing atop a small cliff. Foolish unlinked his hand and stepped forwards, nearing the edge of the small cliff as he stared down into the dark waters.

It was a pond.

“Don’t stand too close,” Eret hummed. “This area isn’t very stable after a couple mudslides a few years back. The pond on this side opens up into an underwater cave but if you stepped in a few feet over it’s so shallow you wouldn’t even know.”

“Huh,” he said, and took a step closer—

“Foolish—”

Dinner was a pleasant affair.

Foolish enjoyed his prime view over the entire table where he sat opposite Eret, watching them engulf their dumplings as the Royal Guard watched the two of them keenly. No stranger to the gaze of others, and feeling quite at home now that he’d realised a few things, Foolish was content to sip at his soup (the cooks had been more than alright with his spanner in the works admittance of not liking pelmeni).

“What’d you name the skitter?” Ted breached the topic, nodding down to little Bentley, who had sniffed curiously at Foolish’s meal before curling up on his lap. Mar had promised she’d find a lob of steak for the pup, but Foolish wasn’t overly concerned if there wasn’t any. They were in a Palace, after all, if there was no steak, he was sure there was meat of some sort to feed the little guy.

It didn’t escape his notice how the knights seemed to be checking on Eret’s reaction to the conversation. It was a tad embarrassing, knowing the entire Guard seemed to be aware of the temporary falling out they’d had, but Foolish decided to not let it bother him. He was in better spirits tonight than he’d been in years. Additionally, he was quite enjoying the skittish glances shared between strong warriors – it was funny how such strong people reacted to a little bit of perceived tension; melodramatics, the lot of them.

“He’s called Bentley,” Foolish declared, setting his spoon down to grab his baby boy and show him off. Scooping him up, Bentley snuffled and looked around the table, glancing at the prying eyes. The wolf pup’s tail wagged. Shifting back a bit to make sure Dryya’s dinner didn’t get fur in it, Foolish let the knights fawn over the pup before Bentley got restless and made to jump down.

“He’s adorable,” someone said. Foolish nodded along and let the pup go, expecting him to settle back down onto his lap. Instead, the spritely pup nudged his stomach, as though in thanks, and leapt from his legs. Watching as the little guy skittered off, Foolish decided to have faith in the pup, and returned to eating his soup after brushing his hands off on himself. He didn’t want to eat any fur, either.

“Where’d he go?” Dream blinked, sitting beside Eret. On her other side was Technoblade, the gruff man looking disinterested in the wolf pup. Foolish took a look around now that the attention was briefly off himself and noted how most of the knights seemed uncomfortable. Gazes downcast, bodies leaning away from him; the Royal Guard were loyal to Eret, that he was glad of, but that also meant after their brief spat, most of them were wary to warm up to him again. That was, if they’d ever warmed up to him in the first place.

(He knew most of them saw him as a bedwarmer. It was only fair, seeing as Foolish himself had thought he’d be one. In all regards, no one had said anything to distract from that view, so the knights weren’t making decisions based off wrong information, but it wasn’t the right either.)

Eret shifted. Foolish looked over to them, noting how they held their back stiff. He felt a bit bad about that, even if he couldn’t have known that their scars would be so sensitive to prolonged hot water. He hoped he could persuade them to go down town again, and maybe this time get some cream—

Wasn’t there a healer on the Royal Guard? Foolish blinked and found himself with a tilted view of the person sitting beside him. Either Dryya or Jabber were healers, though this he knew from brief tales of battles, not from introductions. In fact, now that he thought about it, there hadn’t really been an introduction to the Royal Guard so much as a silent greeting.

Pondering if he could discreetly corner the two to ask without Eret knowing, Foolish almost missed Bentley jumping up onto Eret’s lap.

The knights who’d been chittering amongst themselves went silent. Foolish smirked at how dramatic everyone was, leaning on his elbows as he watched Eret bat the pup away from the cup of tea they’d balanced on the edge of the table.

“No, Bentley,” they scolded, “That’ll burn you. No touching.”

Of course, the pup nudged the cup with his nose anyways. With a wave of their fingers, the tea was caught mid-air, held floating in the same splash pattern it had began to fall in. Bentley yipped at the magic, bouncing in Eret’s lap in his hurry to turn around, licking furiously at their wrist and hand.

Eret puffed a breath and smiled, curling their other hand around the pup’s middle and dragging him away from their hand, allowing them to magic up a napkin and clean their wet wrist. The tea cup returned to its upright position, floating back onto the table as it filled once more with the saved liquid. Although, this time it was further away from the wriggling wolf pup.

The knights looked as though someone had fallen into a hole in the ground right in front of them. Foolish eased back against the tall back of his chair and grinned, watching as Eret tapped the pup on his nose but otherwise seemed content to be silent, sitting with the pup nuzzling their chest.

Behind them, the large doors into the dining hall opened. A maid approached Eret cautiously, stooping to whisper into their ear.

(It was here divergence occurred.)

“Is that so?” Eret hummed. “Took them long enough. Bring them in.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the maid nodded and scuttled off after a deep bow. Moments later, a boy clamoured into the room, hefting a large leather bag. He was a stablehand, obvious from his brown cap and the horse brush sticking out of his pocket. Giving the room a deep bow after dropping the heavy bag on the floor with a thud, hand hurrying to grab the brush before it fell out, the boy turned tail and fled, scurrying past a woman.

Foolish’s good mood evaporated.

Alyssa stepped into the room, wearing a long navy dress that fell to her ankles. She curtseyed, long hair pulled up into a swirling up-do plait that curled around her head. Her lips were glossed pink. Her cheeks flushed.

“Honour to the Crown Prince,” she smiled happily. “The House of Iris wishes you great joy upon your union with the First Son.”

Bentley’s ears had dropped from their astute perk. The pup looked skittish now, and deeply afraid. He glanced over to Foolish, big puppy eyes wide, and Foolish nodded, beckoning him over.

He jumped onto the table and, miraculously evading the platters and plates of food, including the pesky cup he’d nearly shattered not five minutes prior, and moseyed his way back into Foolish’s lap, curling there as though hiding from the woman in the doorway, tail flicking over his eyes.

Frowning down at the pup, Foolish soothed a hand through his fur and braced himself. Looking back up into the eyes of a woman who had willingly joined his parents in their abuse and enjoyed it, he bit his tongue to stop himself from saying something rude (mostly to save himself the embarrassment in front of the Guard and Eret).

“The House of Iris is late,” Eret said, tone cold as ice. She hadn’t turned to look at the woman; instead, her gaze bore into Foolish’s, prompting him to look away from the horror in the doorway and meet their stare head-on. Whatever they shared in that glance, though it felt small and unseeming, was enough for Eret to nod. “And you are not welcome here.”

The table was quiet. For a long moment, it felt as though no one breathed. Suddenly, Foolish was glad the knights thrived on these tense moments and revelled in them, for the sheer silence allowed him to properly digest the stunned look on Alyssa’s face.

It felt good.

It felt good seeing her gaping like a fish.

It felt good watching her fidget in her panic.

It felt good listening to her stutter her way through a sentence.

It felt good being on the other side.

Foolish grinned at the woman, thrilled as she gawked at him. His head tipped back, and he looked down upon her with a slanted view, fingers prodding and rubbing Bentley’s soft fur. Alyssa blinked furiously, eyes glinting with wetness, and seemed to beg with him.

He was not as kind as she seemed to remember.

“Pardon, Your Highness?” She finally came out with. “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

This was his safe place.

She wasn’t meant to be here.

She was not allowed to be here.

“Get out,” boomed Eret, getting to their feet and turning on the woman as though fuelled by the wrath of a thousand snakes. Their eyes gleamed, shoulders straightening as they stood tall and approached the woman. Alyssa cowered as they stopped before her.

Foolish couldn’t see her expression. He cleared his throat.

Eret stepped to the side. It gave him a perfect view of how terrified the woman looked.

Eyes wide, tears running through the blush of her cheeks. Already she seemed dishevelled, panting as her legs trembled. Alyssa wouldn’t look up at Eret, eyes bulging out of their sockets as she burnt a hole in the ground. At the movement, she dared a glance up, and seemed to quail at whatever she seen in Foolish’s stare.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, apology faker than the podium she stood upon.

“Not accepted,” came a voice. Foolish took a moment to recognise it as his own, and then found it to be terribly exciting how deep he’d managed to go without trying. The knights, too, needed a few seconds to clock it as him, and the delayed, almost complete, flicking of everyone’s gaze to him was nearly enough to make him laugh.

Disinterested in the knights, Foolish watched Alyssa. Her hands were shaking, jaw springing up and down as she clenched and unclenched her teeth. She had a bad grinding problem, she’d told Foolish once, complaining as usual.

“Do you have issues with your jaw, brat?” She’d asked rhetorically. Foolish, ever the idiot, had taken a moment to consider the not-question and had been rewarded with a sudden slap across the face.

She’d missed his jaw. But his face had hurt for a week after, phantom pain springing up whenever he seen her.

His mother had called him ugly. His father had sneered.

“If— if you won’t accept me as a personal maid,” she stuttered. “Then please, allow me to give you your mother’s gift.”

“My Mother is dead,” he remarked. “Killed by your Masters.”

“My…” Alyssa blinked in shock, mouth wide open. She wasn’t equipped to deal with his confidence, it seemed.

“You are not wanted here,” Eret murmured, taking a leisurely step left. Alyssa flinched back, even though they’d stepped away from her. The Crown Prince snickered, sword materialising in a swathe of crisp shadows. The maid shrieked at the sight of the blade, falling back onto her backside, scrambling desperately away.

The doors slammed shut seconds before she crossed their threshold.

“Have mercy,” she pleaded. “I’m only a maid! If you find grievance with the Iris House, I had no part of it!”

Foolish laughed and it sounded ugly; deep and curling, the exact opposite of what his adoptive mother had told him his laugh should sound like.

He liked it. He reached for the tea sitting in front of him and cradled its warmth, just to remind himself that this was real.

(Was it?)

“I didn’t know you were good at telling jokes, Alyssa,” he said.

Eret took a step forward. Alyssa scrambled towards the table, away from Eret, then seemed to decide against moving towards the larger enemy, and began crawling towards the kitchens to the left.

“Please,” she begged.

Sneering down at her, Eret paused. Their blade vanished in a swirl of smoke. Alyssa was quivering, shaking on the floor.

“Get out,” was the demand.

The doors flew open. Alyssa scrambled to her feet and ran.

“Would you have killed her?” He asked later in bed.

“If you’d asked,” Eret said, laying over his chest. Her head rose, white eyes gleaming as she stared down at him. She was a ghost in the room; a devil on his chest; a hound of death lapping at his collarbone, searching for the collar around his neck and digging in sharp nails, pulling it away and away and away, giving him air to breathe through the thick smoke that flared from her nostrils and fanned over his body. The mist that clouded the room was toxic, her body pinning him to the bed, a blood moon shining through the windows, but the draw of Eret was far too much to be ignored.

He kissed her. She kissed back.

“Foolish!”

 He gaped awake. There were arms around him, one around his waist, the other on his chest. He felt heavy, clothes soaked. Water droplets squirreled down his brow, obscuring his vision as he opened his eyes.

“Eret?” He croaked, blinking a few times to right himself. They were sitting in the pond, the moonlight shining down on them, the water lapping at his back. Eret was clutching him, shaking, chest heaving in sync with his. Raising his hand to cup their jaw, his stomach dropped as he found them staring at him, eyes wide, skin pale.

They looked horrified.

“Eret?” He echoed.

“You- you—you fucking idiot,” they wailed, collapsing into him. Foolish struggled to catch himself, hand shooting out to steady them both as Eret gripped his soaked shirt and

and she

sobbed.

“Eret?” He choked, distressed. “What? I’m sorry, please don’t cry—”

“You nearly- you could’ve drowned, Foolish!” They shouted, shaking, heaving, shivering in the cold. “I was so scared, I told you- I told you to not stand too close, oh Foolish. Foolish, my love. Please, never, don’t—don’t do that again, please.”

The tremor in their voice caught his heart and squeezed. It made his breath hitch and his lungs shake. No one had ever sounded so genuine when he’d ever been hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, wrapping his arms around them. Had he been drowning? Was that what he’d seen? His vision had painted Alyssa’s arrival as some big revelation, when in reality, he’d been too startled to even speak and Eret had waved her away without a glance, a maid leaving to show her the shared maid quarters. “I won’t do it again.”

Eret cried into his chest, tears mixing with the pond water. The moon shone down on them, glinting silver. Foolish frowned into the night and rocked Eret, making an effort to soothe them while he himself felt more detached than he ever had. Staring blankly into the surrounding hedges, he shivered against the chill of the shallow pond water splashing around them.

Chapter Text

“Foolish,” Eret warned. “You’re standing too close to the edge.”

The ground crumbled. Foolish dropped out of view.

She baulked. The splash echoed up to her ears, ringing in them.

“Foolish!” She called, heart pumping at an increased rate as she stepped over. The edge was unstable, just as she’d said; loose soil running off into a scrabbled slope that marked exactly how the land that Foolish had been standing on had slipped away, into the water below.

He’d fallen into the darkest part of the pond – the darkest and deepest. Below where she stood now, a vast underwater cave stretched out, pitch black and filled with boulders that could easily trap a foot or arm between the crevasses. Currently, the surface water was a flurry of bubbles, the figure of Foolish invisible in the shadowed gloom.

Swim up, she thought, wondering why the other wasn’t—

Can he swim?

Panic set in.

Eret kicked off her boots, attempting to make herself as light as possible, and jumped in, diving into the dirty water as soon as she gasped a breath. The world whooshed past her, water swallowing them up. The glint of the moon vanished for the depths of the pond, shifting shadows dancing around her, taunting her.

The water dragged her down, pulling her into its embrace as she pushed her arms out far and swept back. Deeper, deeper, deeper she went, swimming into the abyss, white eyes lighting up the particle-filled void just a few centimetres in front of her face.

It was almost impossible to see Foolish, though she seen him nonetheless. He was hers; nothing could keep a thing as stubborn as she away from something she’d claimed. The entire Universe knew this.

The Universe knew, yet still tried to dig its ugly claws into Foolish and drag him away. It curled shadowy tendrils around Foolish and pulled him deep into the cave, his body limp, eyes closed.

Eret grabbed him, struggling with breathlessness, struggling with the weight of the water pressing down on her, struggling in the sheer dark that she couldn’t really see in. Her arms wrapped around his waist, fingers gripping, arms straining. She was strong, she could do this—

They floated down, engulfed by water. Eret kicked, tried to aim upwards. Foolish was limp in her hold, head tossed back on her shoulder. He was pliant for the Universe’s latest plan, its terrible plot to keep them alone, to have Eret keening for her Mother and kneeling at every beck and call.

(The Universe knew Eret was too strong, so it tried to weaken her.)

She held onto Foolish. She refused to let go.

The water swirled around them. Eret wanted to shout, wanted to scream, but everything was pressing down, in, through, and her lungs were burning and the water was warping reality, pulling bubbles into breaths and breaths into bubbles.

Her lungs were empty. They burned, begging her to let go, let the boy go, swim up, forget him—

Her world splintered. Foolish was still against her chest. The enclosing void sharpened, and grew tighter, drawing crudely around her waist, clenching her insides, grasping her neck.

Arms tight around Foolish’s waist, her spine rippled. The boulders that rushed to meet them were pushed away, a multitude of arms feelingtouchingmoving. Her eyes shot wide, and the cracks of the cave became illuminated, shining white. The opening of rocks beckoned, though the sheer gap in reality that loomed below, a blurred ring of umbra, gaped its maw wide and seemed to bite up towards them.

Eret’s skin burned, spine aching, skin seizing, tail wrapped around Foolish’s leg, gripping tighttighttight because he was hers and no one else was allowed to have him, not even the Universe itself could have HIM.

Teeth gritted, she reached out with her mana, fingers spreading over every crack, every crevice, nails digging into the fabric of reality, palms grazing the curtains of the Universe, wrists drenched in the serum of life, and she pushed away from it all.

They breached the surface, mana withering away to dust in the night air. With a roar, the pond mourned its lost meal, the Universe shuddering as the stars above winked out in dismay. A flurry of bubbles followed them out, arms folding back into her spine with eerie pops, Eret’s eyes slipping shut to the sting of fresh air.

Her eyes shot open not a second later. Her two arms moved in a flurry; moving, feeling.

Foolish wasn’t breathing. His skin tinged blue, bordered pale. His chest was hollow with the breath he’d lost, fingers lax at the stolen fight.

The Universe had tried to kill him. Eret wondered if it truly hated them or if there was something else to tonight’s mishap.

Choking in a breath of her own, she spat pondwater and dipped to breathe into his mouth, pinching his nose closed. The first breath did nothing whilst the second rose his chest. Eret made a weird noise, something almost human.

She sucked in a lungful, throat aching, eyes smarting, fingers gripping into his soft, shallow skin. Skin that was cold.

Pressing her lips back against his, she forced everything into his lungs, runes and sigils burning at her fingertips as her mana swirled around them both.

Foolish gasped awake, coughing and hacking and spluttering. Lifting him upright, mostly out of the water, Eret held him, making sure he spat out the wretched water from his lungs and breathed his own hearty breaths.

“Foolish!” Eret exclaimed, caught in the tides of relief.

She tried not to dwell on how warm his body felt, fingers prickling as the runes faded away. A momentary panic stole her, making her shoot a glance behind herself, before the lack of any extra limbs reassured her. Eret turned back to wet eyelashes prying open, revealing glossy eyes.

“Eret?” He frowned, voice dull and dry.

Eret’s composure snapped. 

It seemed as though she cried more over the predicament than Foolish himself did. Perhaps, it was because he did not truly realise the issue, or understand what had happened. As Eret told, he had nearly drowned, but in honesty, Foolish had nearly been another victim of an unforgiving, greedy Universe that took and took and took until there was nothing left and its worshippers were nothing but empty husks.

Eret refused to become a product of the Universe’s whims; it was one of the reasons she had agreed to overthrow the Tyrant King – a god on a throne originally built for humans and thus driven mad with humane greed. The Universe had dictated its favoured child would remain upon the throne, but Eret (and her Mother) had disagreed.

Though, Mother had mainly wanted the throne for herself, to make it pretty and gold. She’d wanted to wash it of the blood and fill it with her own, building an Empire from the roots up. And now, rewarded with grand, vast roots, the Empire flourished, and the throne stood tall.

With a former god dead at the hands of a demon.

“Let’s go back,” Eret suggested, though her own voice felt distant. Foolish, obviously thrown off after his predicament, agreed quietly.

He had to help her up. When she stood, her knees wobbled. Foolish watched her with worry, lips pulled down into a frown.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again.

Eret was too tired to correct him.

It wasn’t your fault.

Blame the Universe.

It wanted you dead.

What would I do if I lost you?

You’re lucky I was here.

All these things, she tried to say. All these things, she failed to say.

“It’s okay,” she said instead, and couldn’t look at the keen, bright eyes that followed her; irises green for the Universe’s doomed one. Its gaze was on him, and Eret couldn’t have felt more helpless than she had barely ten minutes ago, pulling him up from the grasp of a pond that had never before claimed a life.

Together, they walked back to the Golden Palace. For Eret, who was off-kilter and unsteady, and to Foolish, who admitted his throat burned and his stomach ached, it couldn’t have been a longer walk.

Winding through the hedges, the prick of eyes watching kept Eret on guard. Foolish seemed to not notice, fingers loose, steps unburdened. Stepping out, onto the plain once more, she helped Foolish up the steps onto the patio and tilted her head back, baring her teeth to the Universe.

Back off, she threatened.

The eyes vanished. The cicadas began to sing again.

“Eret?” Came the chirrup of Foolish’s voice. Despite the near drowning, he seemed chipper.

“Coming,” she said, hand resting on her knee as she braced the steps. Foolish looked concerned as he noted her movements, reaching down to help her up before twining their arms together when she stood on the raised platform of the patio with him.

He did not mention how sluggish she seemed, and for that she was grateful.

Foolish opened the veranda doors and helped them through. Within the confines of their Palace, Eret breathed a breath and sighed. It smelt of home, a soft lull of lavender and cherries that followed them everywhere. Everywhere except for outside, where the Universe peered down upon her and planned Foolish’s demise.

Elizabeth was waiting for them. She blinked at the state of them, dripping water over the carpet, and blanched.

“Are you both alright?” The woman frowned, old hands held in front of her as though she could offer physical contact.

“We fell into the pond,” Eret said, attempting to pull themself back into character. It would not fare well for them if they showed Elizabeth just how upset they were.

Thankfully, Foolish joined the charade. He offered an awkward smile, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. “We got a bit carried away,” he agreed, looking down at the mess they were making. “Oh, sorry for the carpet.”

“Do you want me to run you another bath?”

“We’ll get a shower,” they grunted, tiring quickly of the confrontation. With a nod to their Head Maid, they curled a hand around Foolish’s arm and stretched out the roundel of a transportation circle below them. Envisioning where they wanted to appear always helped with smoother travel, so they pictured their bathroom in the Golden Palace and watched the mana rush up to envelope them.

The cold marble of the bathroom greeted them. In the room over, Bentley gave a yip, bounding into the room only to saunter to a stop upon seeing them. Slipping out of their grasp, Foolish knelt to coo at the pup, head tilting when the wolf pup refused to touch him.

“Don’t get him dirty,” Eret managed, voice feeling monotone. “You’ll have to wash him again.”

“Ah, you’re right,” Foolish retreated, offering the pup a smile. Bentley stood, tail wagging, staring up at them both. Eret looked down at the pup, wondering if those dark eyes knew what had happened outside. What would the pup have done if Foolish drowned before him?

“Alright, out with you,” Foolish succeeded in picking up the pup, carrying him out. Eret stared after the two, turning the shower on with a thought. The water gushed out, pitter-pattering.

Stripping down, mindful of her aching back, Eret stepped into the shower, barely waiting for the water to touch her skin before she was rubbing soap through her hair. Her bones felt heavy, tongue a leaden weight inside her mouth. Today had been hectic; the hunt went tits-up, then they’d reconciled, and the calming walk had gone anywhere but the direction she’d wanted.

Thunder boomed, startling them. Shoulders squared, Eret finished as quickly as possible, stepping out of the shower and clicking herself dry.

“Foolish,” she called, stepping into the bedroom. She found him sitting on the chaise lounge at the end of the bed, hunched over Bentley – the wolf pup whining as he licked the man’s tears. Something in Eret stuttered, face slackening as she observed him.

“Foolish,” she tried again, this time trying to be quieter and more gentle. “Hey, it’s alright.”

He was crying, entire back shaking as the fingers that kneaded Bentley’s fur spasmed with each breath. Wrapped in a towel, Eret sat down beside him, arm hesitating inches above his back. Would a hug be welcomed? It was her fault the Universe had set its gaze upon him, after all.

“I don’t think,” he sniffled, stuttering. “I don’t think I realised what happened. I- I almost drowned.”

Her breath caught. She was staring at what she could see of his face, studying the red eyes and the parted lips that had been sealed shut under the barrage of water, body slack in the all-surrounding doom of the cave.  

Lightning flashed. It illuminated the room in a way the cave never would be, the walls slanting inwards, shadows elongating and stretching towards them. The rain on the balcony was deafening, ricocheting up to attack the glass doors.

“You didn’t,” she said, though knew it was a weak argument seconds before it came out of her mouth. “I was there. I pulled you out—”

“And if you weren’t?” Foolish jerked upright, eyes bright. Bentley leapt from his lap, tapping away towards the bed. Eret swallowed back a flinch and stared into those eyes, sight blurring as she tried to focus on where his pupil met iris. “Eret, I would’ve died if you weren’t there. I can swim – I’ve read books on stuff like this, I know what to do, how to suppress the ‘shock gasp’ reflex. I shouldn’t have nearly drowned in a fucking pond!”

Reading books isn’t the same, she wanted to say. Just because you read someone’s life story doesn’t mean you understand it. Doesn’t mean you lived it in their shoes. Doesn’t mean you’ll understand every thought and action.

Instead, she said, “It was a deep pond.”

Foolish buried his face in his hands. The thunder boomed and roared. The lightning flashed. Blankly, Eret found they didn’t recall talk of a storm this large hitting them. If she’d known of it, she would’ve paid Mingo a visit before the rains started.

“C’mon,” she said, finally daring to touch him. Hand trailing down his back, she shifted it to his arm and pulled Foolish up off the chaise he’d collapsed onto. There was a wet patch left behind, though it would be easily cleaned. “Let’s get you showered and into bed.”

Leading the younger man into the bathroom, she flicked the shower on again and helped Foolish peel off his sodden clothes. They were dumped into the same bucket she’d dropped hers into. Eret abandoned him to wash himself, feeling as though they were lingering too long.

Walking back into the bedroom, she glanced at the wolf pup curled up on the bed. He watched her, eyes drooping as she magicked away the dirty water, cleaning the chaise lounge at the end of the bed. Lightning flashed once, twice, thrice; each time, brightening the room with a sudden burst of light. It made the bed frame seem skeletal, the bed curtains swaying in an invisible breeze.

On edge, Eret pulled on the first nightgown she found. It was some silken tulle, almost see-through. Falling to her mid-thigh, soft fabric whispering over hard skin, she sighed and stepped over to the glass doors that led out onto the balcony. The rain was heavy enough that it seemed to rebound off the ground, lashing back up. The trees were swaying with it, hedges shaking. Gone was the moon, in its place dark, heavy stormclouds.

She stood there until the shower flicked off. Bentley had fallen asleep in Foolish’s spot, so she gently scooped the mutt up, moving him further down the bed. He woke at her actions, though didn’t seem bothered as he remained in his new position.

Movement caught her eye, heart in her throat, but when she turned towards it, she only found Foolish standing there. His silhouette seemed haggard, and when she looked at him, she found his eyes to be downcast. Water dripped from short hair.

“I hope you didn’t push the excess down the drain,” she said, wondering how to broach the topic of his apparent haircut. Should she have left him in there? Was this a mental breakdown? She doubted it had been today’s dip in the pool that had made him cut his hair – it would’ve had to have been a longer lasting dislike of it, though she couldn’t understand why he would take a blade to it all of a sudden.

“I put it in the bin,” he said, voice croaky. “I cut it with the razor under the sink.”

“That’s alright,” she hummed, stepping forth to run her hands over his broad shoulders. He shuddered on a breath as she tapped his skin once, drying him off with a little bit of mana. Eret wanted to hug him, wanted to pull him into her chest and keep him there, keep him safe, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t because, Foolish or not, no one wanted her coddling them. “It looks good.”

And it did; his hair, shorn short at the sides, scraped nearly to the scalp, whilst long on the top. When dried, it curled back into some form of a quiff, framing his strong jaw and cheekbones.

“Thanks,” he whispered and seemed to stall out, with nothing to do.

Eret unwound herself, mentally berating herself for making him uncomfortable.

“Get into bed,” she suggested softly. “I’ll make you a cup of tea for your throat.”

Foolish offered her a small smile. The thunder seemed a little less loud. “Thank you, Eret.”

She didn’t respond. Eret did not deserve his thanks when it was her fault the Universe was pinning for his demise.

Turning away as Foolish sat himself on the edge of the bed, Eret padded down the steps and crouched before the ball of heat in the hearth. It was late, though not too late for the kitchen staff, but Eret didn’t want anyone else seeing Foolish like this. This sight was hers to see, hers to quell; Foolish was hers, no one else’s.

So, she knelt by the heart, knees resting on the thick stone, and formed a hook for the magic to heat, mustering up a simple kettle to hang from that hook. Waving her hand over the empty metal container, it filled with enough water for one cup. The ball of mana underneath it lapped up, licking at the base, warming the water. In the meantime, Eret summoned a dainty tea cup.

The murmuring of Foolish humming to Bentley clashed with the roar of the storm outside. Pressing her palms together, Eret imagined a tea leaf, and stared down at her creation. It wafted its way into the kettle, disappearing past metal.

Waiting for the water to boil, she listened.

“You like my hair, huh?” Foolish was chuckling quietly. There was the shuffle of Bentley’s little paws jumping on the bedding. “Alright, alright, I get it. Calm down, Benny boy.”

“If you call him that he’ll get confused,” she hummed, wondrous as her usually harsh voice seemed mellow in the room. The lightning was in the distance, barely lighting up the room now, though the thunder loomed heavy in the quiet.

“Nah, he’ll be fine,” Foolish waved her off. “Sure you will, Bentley. You’re a smart boy, aren’t you?”

Smiling softly to herself, Eret was grateful no one could see the face she was making (whenever she smiled it tended to make more than a few faint – and not from surprise).

The water hummed.

Attention shifting, she brought the water out in a stream, settling it into the tea cup. It swam a dull green colour. Imaging honey in it, to make it sweet, she swirled her finger above the liquid to mix it and finally stood.

Climbing back up onto the raised floor the bed sat on, she kept an eye on Bentley as she handed off the tea to Foolish. The pup yipped and attempted to pounce on the cup, but Eret was quicker, curling an arm under him and lifting him up. Magic sensitive pup indeed; everything about the tea was pure mana pushed into a form a human would understand, a low-level healing spell forced into solid shape – or, as solid as she could make it. Of course, the pup would want to inspect it.

Foolish observed the action with an odd look in his eye. Eret nodded down to the teacup resting in his lap, urging him to drink it.

Foolish took a slow sip after blowing on it. “Tastes good,” he smiled, eyes thinning in good nature.

“I’m glad,” she was; this was the first time she’d ever had to put a healing spell into reality. She was an active mana user, not a passive one like most healers were. For this reason, she wasn’t proficient at healing spells, but then, she supposed there was a reason for healers. The Universe always had a reason.

Bentley squirmed in her grasp. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, opposite Foolish, Eret supposed she could allow herself this much. If she was to punish herself for putting Foolish in harm’s way, she had to do it in a way Foolish would not notice. If he got worried over her, what would the world come to?

Summoning a sparkle to levitate in her palm, she distracted the pup enough that he settled in her lap, licking at her hand. Watching Foolish sip at his tea, she was content to be silent, observing him.

He seemed calmer now, than he had been after she’d emerged from the shower. That was good. His shorter hair sat nicely on him, brushed back in a gentle wave, leaving his long neck and broad shoulders free. He was someone who suited his hair short and he looked so at peace with it, Eret had to wonder if he’d grown it out on his own desire or another’s.

When he finished the tea, he offered her a sated smile. “Thank you,” he said again.

“You don’t need to thank me,” she said. The tea cup crumbled into shards of light, much to Foolish’s surprise. He spent a moment gawking down at his hands, where the cup had been, before Bentley distracted him by jumping into his lap from Eret’s. She allowed it to happen, some of the harsh jagged feelings in her chest smoothing over as the man cooed and coddled the pup.

Foolish made to lay back, so Eret stood and circled the bed, pulling the flimsy curtains shut as she went.

“Ah, Eret?” Foolish called. Pausing at the end of the bed, she looked to him just as the lightning flashed and caught his eyes, bringing the colour forth in a show of glimmering emerald.

“Yes, Foolish?”

“Can we light the candle?” Glancing over to the hexagonal candle sitting on the bedside table, Eret nodded and made for it, strolling over with a slow but long stride. “Mama used to burn the wax out when the candles were nearly done. She’d do it at night.”

“Any reason?” They hummed, bringing a flame to their fingertips. The thread of the candle caught alight easily, the soft orange flame burning contentedly.

“She said it helps the gods be with us while we sleep,” Foolish sounded comforted, so Eret did not feel the need to make a remark on the logic.

Candle lit, Eret turned and rounded the bed once more, sitting down beside him. She shuffled the blankets as she sat, peering down at the snoozing pup against Foolish’s chest. The curtains slipped shut behind her.

“Goodnight, Eret,” Foolish whispered, eyes closed.

“Goodnight, Foolish,” she hummed back.

She sat there for a long while, legs crossed, back unerringly straight. Bentley dozed peacefully and after a few minutes, Foolish too fell asleep, lips curled in a gentle smile. The rosemary candle’s smoke permeated the room, surprisingly strong for such a little thing. Before long, the scent had filled every corner, and Foolish seemed to sleep all the better for it.

Watching over him like some sort of gargoyle, Eret remained poised for hours, listening to the younger man’s calm breaths, watching as his chest rose and fell. She forgot how to breathe, and sat unmoving, simply observing. The thunder and lightning had receded, though the rains were still just as heavy.

Eventually, with the candle half-burnt and the smoke a thick cloud that curled around the room, Eret shifted from her position, long legs uncurling. Magic holding the curtain up, to avoid major disruption, she stepped off the bed, coming to a looming stance upon the podium.

The moonlight was shrouded by the clouds. She meandered over to the balcony doors and stooped there, narrowed eyes surveying the grounds below. Nothing moved, no eyes blinked back at her. The Universe had fallen quiet.

With a flick of her wrist, the candle’s flame went out. The scent lingered with the smoke. Eret opened the balcony doors a smidge and ambled out, prowling along the wet balcony for a moment as she closed the doors behind her. Here, in the unsheltered area of the balcony, the rain attacked her, pelting down with the force of an angry god. Eret stood in it, unstruck thanks to her mana forming an unseen barrier between her and the rain. It tapped off the mana, pinging away from her, just in the same way the water did not cling to her bare feet.

Stepping up onto the balcony railing, she leapt down onto the ground below, mana halting her fall and setting her down gently. Walking on as though nothing had happened, she traipsed on around the Palace, taking her time.

Heading left found her in the back gardens, staring at the dirt trail she and Foolish had walked earlier. Standing for a long moment, unmoving, she found nothing stared back, and so turned on her path and headed back in the direction she’d come. Passing their bedroom balcony, they walked on, this time going to the right.

The trees ruffled in the winds. The grass squelched under her feet, sinking down, waterlogged from hours of heavy rain. She surveyed her Palace as she strode, admiring how the shadows caught the gold, how the glass windows stretched with flickers of light, how the entire Palace glistened with wards and enchantments and runes, a large radius around the Palace itself blessed by her blood, ushering invading demons away, keeping her people safe.

Each Palace was blessed the same way. When they revisited, they renewed the blood wards, keeping the pests away. They hadn’t been to the Crystal Palace in a while. The wards there would surely be dulling. Maybe, they could take Foolish out with them, show him what they did; blood warding being an aspect of mana not one book dared talk about. Maybe, while they were out, they could bless him too, keep him safe for all of eternity.

Almost biting their tongue at the thought, Eret mused upon how attached they’d grown. No other human had been like this. With no one else had they been so interested in at the start, with that level of interest never wavering. Always, they found out something or learned about the person, and fell out of love with them, but with Foolish everything seemed new, every little breath and every twitch was interesting and everything he said was always fascinating.

If they cared, they may have been afraid. But now, after years of solitude and fightingfightingfighting, they were tired. So, what, they taunted their old self, I found someone interesting, are you going to run and hide?

Silence met them. The cicadas didn’t like the trees in the side groves.

After a few moments, they entered the courtyard and headed for the stables.

“Min?” They called out, nose long used to the smell of horses. It was an odd shift; having went from the crisp breeze of rain to the stale musk of the stables. Nevertheless, here they felt safe, sometimes more safe here than inside any Palace.

Red eyes appeared at the end of the stables. Eret quietly passed the normal horses in their stalls, coming up to their beautiful demon mare. She whinnied down at them, searching with a crude eye. In the neighbouring stall, Aphelion watched.

Their stall doors were open, saddles still on. Eret almost wanted to fire the stablehands, though knew the two horses were more than capable of taking their own saddles off if they so wished.

“C’mon, Min,” they hummed, stepping into the big girl’s space. She snorted down at them, though was pliant as Eret stepped around to her side, thumbing at the latches for the saddle. After that side’s leather was undone, Eret slipped back to the hind strap and undid it as well, slipping the saddle off and catching it with mana, slinging the heavy thing over the hook at the back of the stall.

“Good girl,” they murmured, rubbing her neck. “Aphelion, you want your saddle off now, or can I brush Min down?”

Aphelion grunted. He didn’t mind then.

“Alright,” she nodded, feeling almost like a willow-wisp as she trailed around the stables, grabbing a brush for Mingo’s hair. Returning back to the mare’s side, Eret got to work, serene as a large red eye watched them.

Brushing her down was no task at all. In fact, it was one Eret enjoyed. It gave her a reprieve from people – as most were afraid of Mingo and her bite – and allowed her to stand in a quiet lull, often times able to put off her worries and issues to the back of her mind, simply standing and doing.

With Mingo’s body brushed down, Eret moved onto her tail, gently holding the swaying braid as she undid it.

“Want another one or will we let your hair breathe?” Eret asked, stiffening as she was suddenly reminded of the sight of Foolish limp in the water, unbreathing, chest not moving—

Mingo nudged her with her nose. Eret blinked to reality, feeling rather weak on her legs. Mingo had turned in her stall, watching her, whilst Aphelion was watching them from his own stall, peering over the divide with wide eyes.

“Foolish nearly drowned,” she whispered in the hush.

Mingo whined. Aphelion growled, rearing up. Eret watched the two, almost detached from their body.

Aphelion seemed antsy, easing from foot to foot. Mingo snorted a breath at him, effectively stopping him, and returned her attention to Eret, nudging them. Hands rising to catch the mare’s large nose, Eret rubbed her skin, sighing.

A large tongue slapped their face. Laughing, Eret batted the mare away and wiped at their face. “That’s mean, Minnie.”

The mare snorted.

“We’re going to the Crystal Palace tomorrow,” they added.

Both stared at her.

Really? Was the unspoken chide.

“I know,” they looked off to the left, away from both creatures. “I’m not ready to go to Levande yet.”

Mingo shook her head.

Eret bit their cheek. “It feels like all I do is go there to be…” she trailed off, unwilling to finish that sentence.

Sighing, they didn’t bother to continue. Returning to Mingo’s hair, they unwound the braid and left it loose after a brush. They could plait it tomorrow, or whenever they got the time, but they’d let the hair be free for a bit. Moving on, they did the same for her mane, carefully unthreading the strands and brushing out each bit until they could brush the entire thing. Mingo seemed pleased, chuffing.

Aphelion nickered. Stepping out of Min’s stall, Eret entered the big guy’s, busying themself with unbuckling the horse’s saddle. Once the steed of a god, he had high expectations.

“Anything you’re not telling me?” She mumbled, hanging up the saddle with a flick of her wrist. “You don’t usually like just anyone.”

Aphelion ignored her in favour of shimmying his side into the brush. Getting the hint, she brushed him down, taking her time.

“What’s different about him?” They asked again, after having mulled over the very thought. “Is it because he smiles?”

Both horses were quiet.

“Maybe because he’s pretty? Or is he someone’s favourite?”

The silence gnawed at her.

“It’s not often the gods pick a favourite,” she broached the topic, staring at the two horses. Aphelion, best versed on the gods, shifted on his hooves. “They have, haven’t they? Damn.”

What was it the gods seen in Foolish to crown him a favourite? What was it that the Universe had against him? If he was truly chosen as a favoured child, the Universe wouldn’t dare attack him – unless, it didn’t know.

Could the Universe not know something?

Eret frowned into Aphelion’s hair. The large stallion puffed a breath down their back. Their hands rose, pushing the brush through his mane.

Eventually, there was no more hair to brush. Mingo bit at her hair as she went and Aphelion stared after her as though betrayed, but Eret left them, wishing the two a good night.

Back in the courtyard, Eret stared up at the moon that peaked past clouds. The rains had lightened up, clouds growing less dense and blooming with brightness. The chirping of cicadas echoed from all around.

Her back ached, a phantom pain slashing down her spine. Stiffening, she breathed a wince into the cold night air and turned around, walking in through the grand doors. The maids were all in bed, the Palace asleep, so they met no one on their walk towards the training room.

Once there, they let the bubble around them wither away, feet pressing against the coarse sand of the pit. Wrath writhed against their consciousness, pleading for a long overdue meditation.

“Alright,” they grunted, materialising the blade in a blur of shadow. The black metal gleamed under the soft glow of the mana orbs that lit up the room. Its dark violet handle stood out, a notable feature even with the blade in any sheathe.

Settling onto their knees, and then shifting onto their behind, they folded their legs in the sand and breathed a deep breath, closing their eyes.

“Shouldn’t you be sleeping?” Wrath greeted them.

Good morning, Wrath, they noted. The demon-slaying sword laughed at them.

Chapter Text

Foolish woke slowly, blinking against the morning sun that spilled over the blankets. The red linen shone brighter than sweet wine, and the curtains of the bedframe shimmered with a bright glow. He felt warm under the shine; warmer than he’d ever been at the Iris Estate and far warmer than he’d been last night, body plunging into the cold depths of choking, muddy water.

Movement caught his bleary eye. It was Bentley, snoozing where Eret should’ve been, tail flip-flopping in his sleep. Pushing himself upright, he fondled the pup’s head, brushing his fingers across his brow and smiling as the pup huffed a sleepy breath at him. The light caught the wolf’s fur splendidly, making it burn a vivacious, chromatic brown the hue of carob pods.

Mulling over the loss of Eret, Foolish rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and stared up at the dark wood of the bedframe. The wooden roof of the canopy stood above him, dark grain reflecting intricately carved shapes and symbols. There was what looked to be a face leering down at the bed; hovering in the center, with a large snake-like, serpentine body flowing from a messily carved human chest.

The image was simply etched into the wood, a bare layer of scratches and gouges filed over to appear softer, so there wasn’t much detail, though there were places where the blade used to depict it had been pushed in more forcefully than in other areas – the chest and the facial expression looked to have suffered the worst of this treatment, with the outline of the torso more of a ragged set of scratches, and the mouth and nose more akin to a field of grass. The field was overgrown, each reed pushed together into one unanimous myriad of green. Detail was beyond notice.

The face was lacking. Vague where not many portraits were these days; nobles admired details, wanted their fans and pets in their laps, demanded their lips be smiling and their eyes bigger. Such a rigidly carved image seemed daunting.

Foolish stared up at it, imagining red gleaming slit-pupiled eyes. The silver scales of the creature’s bodice would glimmer in the sun, or perhaps would they only shimmer in the moonlight? A monster cursed to roam in the dark, confined to the night; akin to one mothers whispered to their children, warning them from bad behaviour.

He wondered what it was.

The sun twinkled; dancing off the glass to beam a rainbow across the room. He followed its path with his eyes.

Rising, Foolish stretched and heaved himself out of bed. The wooden floor was cool under his feet. Stepping over to the rainbow, he lifted his hand up and imagined cupping liquid as molten and languid as the light. It splashed over his skin, basking him alight, and when he moved his fingers, the colour shifted and unfurled, slipping past him to flow freely over the wooden floorboards.

If he closed his eyes, he would’ve seen the colours painted along his eyelids. The ground would have become a writhing pond of pigment brighter than any mortal soul could withstand.

As it was, Foolish waved his hand a couple of times in the sunshine and smiled to himself. He continued on, goosebumps rising at the bathroom’s chilled stone floor.

Enclosed within the adjoined room, he went about the morning routine he’d slowly begun piecing together, and began brushing his teeth. The sun realised its lost chance and the rainbow disappeared, melting away into the darkness just as a curious wolf pup scuttled over to lick at where the colour had been.

Stooped over the marble sink, Foolish was staring at his reflection in the clean mirror. His short hair was light and breezy, a weight lifted – literally from his head and metaphorically from his shoulders. Cutting his hair, as he had done the prior night in a haze of panic and urgency, left him feeling a greater sense of relief than reading any book or watching the stars ever could.

Desperate, Foolish wanted to lose everything that reminded him of the Iris Family as quick as possible. Desperate, he urged himself to forget why he was afraid of a maid. He was desperate for Eret to see him as someone different from the Irises. Foolish was suddenly desperate to live without the façade he’d been wearing for years.

The Iris Family liked to meddle in things they shouldn’t meddle with at all.

Foolish did not want to be pulled down by them.

Not anymore.

Bentley’s little claws tip-tapped on the floor as he strolled into the bathroom and settled around Foolish’s feet. His fur was soft and his little body heaved minutely with each breath.

Foolish’s entire body lit up with something distinctly warm. It felt as though this was the first sign of life he’d felt in hours, even though he knew Eret had kept him close as they’d walked back to the Manor, and they’d coddled him worriedly all the way to their bedroom. Eret was alive, but Foolish wasn’t so sure that they were as warm as little Bentley was. 

“Hey, Bentley,” Foolish murmured, pleased to have someone with him. He’d slept in too late to go to training – that much was obvious from the bright sun shining in through the windows. Actually, he was pretty sure breakfast would be quite soon.

Finishing up, he nudged Bentley off his feet and got a spritely wolf pup bouncing after him. Laughing, he shooed the little guy away long enough to get in the shower.

There, he turned the heat up and basked in the warmth. Eret kept the shower settings low, but Foolish wasn’t sure he could handle a cold shower after last night’s freezing dip. Thankfully, seeing as he’d been the last to use it, it was on the warm temperature he’d left it on, so he saved himself a minute of fiddling with the controls to find the right heat.  

Letting his mind go blank, Foolish stood under the heat for a few long minutes. Bentley had sat obediently by the door of the bathroom, playing guard. Chuffing to himself at the thought of tiny Bentley growling and biting some masked assassin, Foolish rummaged for the soap and started cleaning himself up.

In the thick steam, his soul warmed like his body had under the sun. His being took to the heat like a camel in the desert, and if he blinked hard enough, the edges of the bathroom fell away into a luminescent dome. The darkness of the pond flashed towards him again, pulling at his waist and dragging him down – the presence of a thousand eyes on him, watching, seeing, waiting. A multitude of arms clasped ahold of him, coupled with the sensation of water passing not over but through him.

He emerged from the water, gasping in the humidity. Fighting for breath amidst the steam, his chest heaved. Bentley sat, unmoving, eyes dark as soot watching.

Stepping out onto the cold stone, Foolish grabbed a towel from the cupboard and wiped the water from his skin. Bentley’s tail whirled as he ran amuck in the water droplets that fell from his frame in a cascading river.

When he was suitably dried, Foolish stepped over to the door, noting how the pup was nosing at the water on the floor. “Bentley,” he called, watching as the pup looked up to him. He gestured for him to follow with his hand, giving a sharp whistle. He’d read a lot of books over his lifetime, short as it may be, and he knew that it was a good idea to have the pup trained to respond to signals before he got much older.

A wolf was a lot more dangerous than a dog, after all. And an untrained dog could be very dangerous.

Thankfully, Bentley didn’t seem to mind. He jumped to attention and scurried after him, back into the bedroom, little claws tapping out his path. The room still faintly smelt of the candle smoke. Checking on it, Foolish was happy to find it was barely burnt to the first quarter mark. That was good. He wanted to pray tonight.

Moving to nudge the little candle further into the middle of the table, his fingers made contact with the hexagon-shaped glass and it seemed as though the world brightened; the light spilling from the balcony doors was white, whispers danced over his ears, a soft touch caressed his arm. He let go of it and everything went back to normal.

Honing in on the candle, Foolish touched it again.

Nothing happened.

Bentley barked, tail slapping Foolish’s leg.

“Alright,” he hummed, dismissing what had just happened as a trick of the light. He was tired; even though he’d slept better these past few days than he had in years.

Stepping around Bentley, Foolish stepped over to the walk-in closet. Eret had added a section for him, once all the clothes they’d ordered for him arrived. It looked very nice, with an entire wall of the closet conforming to his section if he waved his hand in the air in a clockwise motion.

Picking out a pair of black slacks, Foolish held their hangar in his hand and stared down at them, assessing. He wasn’t quite sure he knew who he wanted to be, yet.

That sounded silly, but it was true.

Foolish had spent so long being told what to do, what to think, what to wear, that now he had a choice of his own, he did not know how to properly use it. Thus, he stared at the clothes on the racks, slipping the trousers back into place and grabbing what looked to be a more comfortable beige pair of chino trousers. There was a deep blue shirt that went well with the soft coloured trousers, so he pulled it on, running his fingers over the silk.

It was a wonder how some people were so rich, when others were so poor.

Bentley stared at him. Foolish stole a pair of Eret’s black socks – she wouldn’t mind – and whistled once again. Bentley sprang to life, nipping at his heels with excitement.

“Let’s go get us some food, hm?”

The wolf pup was out the door the second he opened it, skittering down the hall. A few maids stepped out of the way, and Foolish grinned at them as he hurried past. They blinked at him as though he was a mirage.

Down the stairs and halfway through the foyer, Mar appeared. She bowed deeply before him.

“Good morning, Mar,” he smiled at her. “Have you seen Eret?”

“Good morn, sir.” The maid clutched her hands as Bentley jumped and yipped around her. Though, she didn’t seem afraid of him. It would’ve been odd were she scared, for she’d been one of the first to warm up to the pup. “The Crown Prince is in the training hall, Master Foolish.”

“Thanks, Mar.” He was evidently a bit too early for breakfast, so he redirected their route to the training hall, whistling for Bentley again. The pup had a keen ear, and happily ran towards Foolish when he called.

(Behind him, unseen, Mar buried her overjoyed smile beneath her hands. She’d never had a Master so kind.)

Ted hit the ground with a shout as Foolish opened the doors. Bentley yipped at the noise and burst into the room, leaping onto the sand and quickly getting distracted by its texture. Stepping in a tad more calmly, Foolish watched as Eret – who hadn’t even looked over at his arrival – kicked the legs out from under Sally, floored a dark skinned man called Hemar and squared off against Ranboo.

There was a circle of knights around them. Some looked tense, others looked as though they were trying to slip out of the formation. Fighting Eret, even if it was a mock fight, was evidently not something many wanted to do.

The Holy Blade Wrath clashed against Ranboo’s red and black blade, the two of them exchanging blows in a way that seemed almost idyllic. It was as though they were gently swaying along on an unheard rhythm, blades sparking and slipping off one another.

Overseeing it all, was Technoblade. Slipping his socks and shoes off, leaving them on the wooden flooring, Foolish stepped onto the sand.

“Tough time, huh?” Foolish asked, mostly rhetorical, as he stepped up beside the looming figure that Technoblade made. He’d heard a lot about the former gladiator turned Commander of the Royal Guard. Most of it, from the grunted conversation and grave expression, seemed to be true. The man stood with his arms crossed, large biceps bulging underneath his linen shirt, feet spread shoulder-width apart.

“They’re peeved,” Technoblade said, observing the Knights being completely demolished by a one-man force.

Foolish waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. Taking the lull in conversation as a sign, he watched as Eret brought down Wrath with terrible force and knocked Ranboo onto his ass. Boomer rushed her, allowing another knight to pull Ranboo to his feet.

Travis bounced down the sand, putting his chest in the way and preventing Eret from parrying Boomer’s oncoming blade whilst the white haired man swept his sword above Travis’s head and came close to nicking Eret – if not for their fast reflexes and sudden dodge. It seemed like an underhanded move, as Eret obviously didn’t want to kill one of their men for a training exercise, and such a thing would not work against an enemy. Foolish doubted even a demon would be stupid enough to pass up on a free kill.

Blinking, he wondered when he’d started thinking so morbidly.

“You should grab a blade,” Technoblade grunted.

“Me?” Foolish choked on a laugh. “I’ve never even touched one before, I don’t think I’d be much match for her.”

“You might distract them,” said the Commander. “And then we’d be allowed to get to breakfast.”

Marvelled by the plot against him, Foolish hid his smile behind his hand and cast Bentley a glance to check on the pup. He was idling in the sand, kicking and making a sand mound with his digging. Having been greatly interested in the fighting just a few moments prior, he seemed to have quickly lost that interest. At least the little guy was well out of the way of the sparring.

“I’ll take one for the team,” Foolish agreed amiably, sauntering over to the wooden rack where a small selection of iron swords sat. He grabbed the first to catch his eye, testing its weight in his hand for a moment. Deciding it felt alright, he dropped back onto the sand.

Making sure to approach from behind, he joined the knight’s circle, amused as the Guard all stepped back for him to join. He got more than a few odd looks, though the people on their asses quickly doubled as Eret took advantage of their distracted states. Snapping back to attention, the knights rushed back, retreating a few steps. It effectively left him as the closest to Eret.

Foolish held his blade aloft. He’d never held a sword in his life. He’d never even looked at one so close up before, but whatever he was doing felt so comfortable the knowledge had to have come from a past life.

Settling down into a steady stance, he lunged. Eret whirled and caught his blade with her own in a beautiful parry, her form lithe and slippery. She was light on her feet, so if he got leverage, he may have been able to push her over, though he doubted such a goal would actually be fulfilled. He didn’t have the muscle-mass to take on a flower, never mind the soil-rooted tree that was Eret.

Yet, when Eret turned to meet him, she blinked wide eyes at him. Grinning back, he leaned into his strike, forcing them a step back. Unsure if it was their surprise, or (by some chance) his sheer force, Foolish followed up the hit and quickly got close, blocking their long range strikes and limiting them to quick jabs. From what he’d been watching of their earlier fights, it was here the Knights faltered – not many could withstand Eret’s intense stabs, nor their hand-to-hand combat.

So, Foolish planned to avoid both. He was in no manner skilled enough to block a punch, nor was he capable of parrying at any distance. He swung the blade and it was Eret’s job to block, or else he’d fall over from his own weight distribution.

Eret seemed to have gotten over their surprise, expression shifting down into an apathetic stare. Their eyes were cold, face gaunt with the light of the magic that lit up the room.

She slashed for his arm. Foolish danced out of her reach, only realising at the last moment that he would have great difficulty in stepping back into their space. He’d just given up land he couldn’t afford to lose.

Jaw set, he sprang back into their personal bubble, just as they rocked down into a lower stance – probably having thought he’d retreated like the rest of the knights. Rearing up, Foolish brought his blade with him, pushing his movement into his arms and shunting it forwards. The metal grazed the willowy fabric of Eret’s shirt, though did nothing much else as they adeptly straightened their back and stepped back, out of the warpath created by the momentum of his swing.

Skidding along the sand, Foolish laughed. He was sweating from only a few seconds worth of a fight but he couldn’t pinpoint a time where he was having more fun than he was now. This was a momentous occasion – a memory he already knew he’d have to keep close to his chest.

“Foolish,” grunted Eret, voice raspy. “Stand down.”

“No,” he chirped, and took another wild swing. To him, it felt terribly uncoordinated, although to the knights around him, it appeared thought-out and concise. The blow made Eret step back once more, even if it didn’t land.

Ted leapt into the fray. He came up behind Eret, cornering her into taking a side-angle to face the both of them. Foolish figured the knights were trained to adapt to each other, and continued fighting the way he had been, as he was unable to read the man’s moves. Thankfully, Ted was able to coordinate with him to a degree – striking out at Eret a few seconds after Foolish himself.

Apparently encouraged by this progress, a few other knights joined. They came around, filling up the circle as it should’ve originally been. The flurry of blades didn’t appear to overwhelm Eret one bit. She darted along, parrying and striking out as she wished, lax in her offense but strong in her defence.

They were a strong fighter. That much was obvious. Despite being largely outnumbered and overrun with their knight’s forces, Eret was unbothered and surveyed the crowd with a critical eye.

Expecting for them to label him as a weakness and strike out at him, Foolish was greatly surprised when they did not. Instead, Eret leaned towards Boomer, sword flicking out in a blur.

The man fell under their blade, unable to parry. Foolish watched, wondering if that inability to withstand a hit was the reason behind Travis’s sacrificial move earlier. If so, the Royal Guard’s Knights were more in tune with each other than Foolish had thought.

Eret swept their arm out wide, taking down three knights at once. They fell back, having been unable to withstand the force Eret hefted their blade with. Idling, Foolish laughed to himself at the notion of defeating them by himself – a thought he’d been entertaining not two minutes ago.

Technoblade stood across the room. His gaze burned.

Foolish shrugged.

The Prince had turned towards him at his laughter. Offering them a large smile, Foolish dropped the blade onto the sand, feeling the particles splash against his feet. Stepping forward, he stretched out his arms.

Unarmed, non-threatening. He was just a man. Eret lowered her blade.

Foolish wrapped her stiff form up in a hug.

Around them, the knights held their breaths.

“I’m hungry,” he whined into her ear, curling his hand through her messy braid. It looked harried, with entire locks hanging out of it, as though she hadn’t even tried to pull most of it up. That coupled with her loose flimsy shirt – which looked almost identical to the nightgown she’d pulled on last night – and the dark-as-night black trousers she’d pulled up to her waist, made her complexion appear more pale and clammy than usual.

In his arms, she shifted restlessly. The chill she emitted from her very soul seemed sharper than usual, her skin holding a tinge of frostbite in her blue fingers and awfully sharp breaths.

“What?” She asked, breathless.

“It’s time for breakfast, sweetheart,” he said soothingly, rubbing a hand up their side in an effort to avoid touching their back. Though he clutched their front, his chin rested on their shoulder as he stooped, and his angled view of their back made it out to be almost as red as it had been hours ago. Had he not thought about getting them cream for the inflamed skin?

“Okay,” Eret agreed and dropped her sword.

The Knights gawked.

“Boomer, work on your parrying.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” the white haired man nodded, looking chastised as the other knights began ribbing him for being unable to dodge, even if he couldn’t block.

“Tidy up,” Eret called, foot slipping under the handle of Foolish’s forgotten blade and kicking it up to them. They grabbed it easily out of the air and handed it off to a knight behind them, who took it wordlessly.  

Foolish whistled. Bentley leapt up from the pit he’d created and sprinted over, tail wagging, sand in his fur.

“Good boy,” bending over, he ruffled the pup’s fur, both in praise and an attempt to get some of the offending particles out of his mane. The little guy enjoyed it nonetheless, tail wagging frantically as he licked at Foolish’s hands.

Behind them, Eret said, “Travis.”

The big guy squeaked. “Yes, My Prince?”

“Next time you jump in front of my blade, I’ll cut you down.”

Foolish could practically hear the man sweating. “Y- Yes, Your Highness.”

Smiling, he turned and found Eret glaring at poor Travis. “Eret,” he called, amusement clear in his voice. “Don’t be so mean.”

“I’m not,” they said, monotone. He realised a lot of similarities between Eret and Technoblade; both monotone and blank-faced. What was it that had made them feel being emotionless would help them in life? Was there some appeal to it that Foolish didn’t see?

“You are,” he laughed. The knights flicked him looks; nosey for gossip.

Eret pouted at him – the whole deal with puffed out cheeks and narrowed eyes.

“You’re so cute,” Foolish grinned, closing the distance between them to pinch her cheeks. Eret batted his hands away, though did so slowly, letting him poke at her for a few moments. Her skin was sweaty and her cheeks deflated under his prodding.

“I’m not,” they huffed, turning away suddenly. Foolish smiled at their side-image.

He whistled, once, long, and began walking. Bentley clamoured after his heels attentively, and Eret followed a second later.

Foolish seated himself beside Eret, with Bentley on his lap. In his dream-vision-hallucination, he’d been sitting opposite them and he’d been vulnerable. His reasoning was simple. Eret would keep him safe.

Eret eased themself into their chair with a sigh. They’d had a quick shower and Foolish had washed his face, and now was finally time for breakfast. The knights had been thankful for the dismissal, and most were now late for the table as they were busy showering or freshening up before sitting down.

“What are you feeling like today?” He asked them.

Sharp white eyes opened wide, painting the picture of a keen predator glaring down at its prey. One wrong move and his throat would be slit, their eyes warned, though Foolish didn’t pay much heed.

“What,” they hissed, fidgeting. Moving their legs, once, twice, they eventually folded one over the top of the other and sat, elbows digging into the plush of their arm rests.

“Pronouns,” Foolish hummed jovially, well aware that this conversation bordered on the cusp of unreproachable due to Eret’s sudden hostility. They evidently thought he was asking something else, though it was saddening that they were reacting as such to an apparent ‘wellness’ check.

Eret deflated with an exhausted look. Foolish noted it just as it vanished, buried under the rubble of a calm façade. “I don’t care.”

“M’kay,” he responded. Foolish would bet his right foot that they did care. Maybe a tad too much, if they were reacting this way. “Thoughts on xe/xem?”

He earned no reply.

Bouncing right back, he continued, unaffected by their silence as they both waited for the table to fill. “Any neos? I think koi would be cute.”

“Like the fish?” Their eyebrow lifted. “I thought you didn’t know any neopronouns.”

“I made that up. Plus, you’re cute like koi fish are.” Foolish admitted playfully. His tone and words pulled a smirk from Eret, and he cherished it dearly.

“Alright,” they allowed. “Make a set of your imaginary pronouns and I’ll use them for the day.”

Bursting into a grin, Foolish mulled over it. “Well, if your set is they/them/theirs/themself, then ‘they’ would be ki.”

“I’m listening,” Eret nodded, paying attention. She’d leaned towards him, fingers folded over their lap.

“If ‘they’ is ki, ‘them’ would be koi. Would ‘their’ be koi or kois?”

“Kois,” Eret murmured.

Foolish thought that over and agreed. “So, ‘their’ is kois, and that makes ‘themself’ koiself.”

He was proud of himself for thinking up that on the spot. Turning to Eret, he found them with their eyes closed, head lilted in his direction.

“Give me a tester sentence.”

“Okay,” he said. “She folds her hands and smiles her pretty smile all by herself would be ‘they fold their hands and smile their pretty smile all by themself’ so…”

“Ki folds kois hands and smiles kois pretty smile all by koiself.” Eret mouthed, peeling open their eyelids to shoot him a glance. “Sounds good. Use it for me if you want.”

Foolish grinned. “Yes ma’am!”

Eret rolled kois eyes. “Don’t start that,” ki said, but ki was smiling.

“What tea do you want?”

Startled, Foolish turned. That didn’t sound like Mar? Why wasn’t she asking him for his tea?

He looked over and found Alyssa staring at him, eyes cold, frown harsh. She glared at him as their eyes met and her staunch attitude made it clear she wasn’t going to serve him lying belly-up. Swallowing nervously, Foolish gulped for a breath.

“Uh,” he stuttered and couldn’t seem to get a word out.

Mar appeared, seeming to butt in beside Alyssa whilst shooting her a glare. “We have a myriad of teas today, Master Foolish. The Head Chef found quite a few as she was packing up for the move, so we have everything from maple leaf to orange.”

“I think I’ll try orange, Mar,” Foolish smiled, thankful someone was nice. Alyssa scowled as they talked, though quickly turned away as Mar glared at her. Blinking at the small maid’s fierce glower, Foolish decided not to say anything as Mar glanced to him worriedly. “Thank you.”

“Of course, sir,” Mar bowed deeply, as she was prone to do, and raced off to the kitchens after asking him on his preferred breakfast.

Uncomfortable, Foolish turned back to himself, listening as the Head Maid nagged Eret to respond to her.

“My Prince,” the old woman was sighing, sounding exasperated. “We’ll be using the portals to move the remaining people before lunch. A good breakfast would do you some good.”

Eret was sitting with kois head tipped back against the seat’s high back, seemingly not listening.

“Erreeettt,” Foolish poked koi in the bicep. They didn’t react. He pinched her lightly.

“What?” Kois eyes slitted open.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to drink your old man tea again?”

“Hibiscus tea is not for old men,” ki argued. Elizabeth covered her mouth behind koi, though Eret turned around as though ki knew the older woman was laughing at koi. “Be quiet, you. I’m not old.”

“You are of considerable age, My Prince,” Elizabeth hummed. “Though not yet old enough to be considered elderly.”

“You just called me old, Elizabeth,” Eret was grumpy this morning; frowning heavily at the Head Maid as she bowed and scuttled away to the kitchens.

The table was mostly full now, knights dropping into their chairs to drool over their cutlery. Foolish noted that Ted had opted to sit beside him, with Technoblade on Eret’s right.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Ted chirped upon noticing his gaze.

Tilting his head, Foolish offered the knight a smile. “Morning, Ted. Did you enjoy training?”

“Did I enjoy getting put on my ass and getting glared at?” Oh. Now his question seemed stupid. “Yup! Definitely.”

Suddenly unable to differentiate between Ted’s joking tone and his normal one, Foolish smiled along awkwardly and found himself relieved as the conversation was put on pause for Ted to ask for his tea. Turning away, a teacup appeared in front of Foolish.

He didn’t need to look over to know Alyssa was the one who’d served him. Her glare was pinning him in place. The sweat was gathering on his brow. He felt too warm; put on the spot.

“Thanks,” he managed, eternally relieved as Alyssa gave a half-hearted bow and walked off without any further words. Sinking back into his seat, he peered down at the teacup. Bentley took one whiff of the cup and started growling, so Foolish nudged him off his lap and onto the floor, where he pattered away; following the long table to nip at people's ankles.

It lived up to its name. The orange tea was indeed orange, with a heavy curl of what looked to be honey around the base, creating a heavier atmosphere at the bottom of the cup. Picking up the little teaspoon on the side of the cup, Foolish mixed it. The water flushed a heavy amber colour, and it sparkled in the light of the magic orbs. Intrigued, Foolish tapped the teaspoon on the side of the cup and set the little golden thing on the saucer again.

“Isn’t this cute?” He hummed, peering down at the tea as it sparkled. He swirled it in the cup, holding it by the small handle.

“Let me see,” Eret murmured, lazily flopping their arm over the gap between their chairs. Ki groped for his teacup until he laughed and handed it over. Ki probably didn’t even care and was just looking at it because he’d mentioned it, but the thought was nice.

“It’s orange flavoured, apparently,” he said, watching as Eret sniffed it, paused and looked over to him.

“Have you drank any of it?” Ki demanded.

Surprised, Foolish tilted his head. “No, why?”

Eret took a sip.

“Wait, it’ll be warm!”

The veins around their mouth tinged black. Foolish balked.

“Eret?” He panicked. “Y- Your lips are green.”

“Your Highness,” Technoblade grunted, sounding alarmed.

Seemingly unworried, Eret opened their mouth with a crack. A vicious black flower spiralled out of their maw, dark petals dripping blood. It lilted through the opening, seeming to dip down towards their chin before it suddenly expanded, moving as though it was alive as it heaved, petals shivering as they sharpened.

The table erupted. Jabber was on their feet, hurrying to Eret’s side, hands glowing a warm yellow before they even reached ki. Foolish was frozen, staring with wide eyes as dark blood dribbled down Eret’s chin, plopping onto their white shirt and staining it with thick, blackish tear drops.

“Crown Prince, please,” Jabber was yelling, pulling at kois shoulders with their glowing hands. “Let me heal you.”

Eret batted the healer away and reached towards kois own mouth. With her own hands, she grabbed the quickly expanding flower and gave a mighty tug.

Roots dripping with blood festered from a thick flower head. It seemed to not have a stem, body compact and held within the withering ball of petals that seemed to grow and expand even in Eret’s hand. Foolish stared at it, and most of the knights cowered away.

“That’s a wither flower,” someone whispered, shocked.

“How did that get in their tea?”

Suddenly, the flower shrieked. Everyone jumped. A few fell over their chairs. The maids had bunched to the walls, afraid. Eret peered at it – peered calmly at the pulsating flower that writhed and screamed in their hands, roots flailing and searching for more blood even though it was already dripping with it.

“Hmph,” ki made a noise and crushed it in their palm. It gave a terrible squelching sound before its roots fell limp.

“My Prince,” Elizabeth appeared at their other side, in between Foolish and Eret. “Please let Knight Jabberwock heal you!”

The flower was dropped to the table, where it lay motionless; a crushed mass of black and red petals. Dream encompassed it within a bubble of magic, looking grim.

Foolish’s mind was spiralling through the event. They way ki had looked at the tea, the way ki looked at him… “Eret,” he whispered, ever so quiet. “You knew?”

Ki turned their head towards him and offered him a sickly sweet smile. Foolish felt himself grow pale as his blood rushed away.

“Eret?” He murmured, reaching out to grasp her arm. Ki was as pale as he was, skin ashen and clammy. Jabber was clasping their neck with one hand, yellow light dancing over Eret’s lips and delving down into their throat as soon as ki opened their mouth. From how long the roots had been, Foolish didn’t dare to think their throat was unharmed.

“Eret,” he demanded, not speaking until ki looked at him. “You didn’t have to drink it if you knew.”

“You knew?” Elizabeth echoed with surprise. Her face was pinched with worry, clutching the back of Eret’s chair with white knuckles. “My Prince, why would you–?”

Jabber eased back, standing uncomfortably as they stared at the flower wrapped up within Dream’s magic. They inspected the teacup and the remaining liquid, sloshing it about by the handle. “It looks to be a low-level poison at first, but it evidently isn’t.”

“I told you not to take any more poison,” Elizabeth scolded. “Just because you like the taste doesn’t mean you’ll get off scot-free.”

Foolish was a fish out of water. “You… like the taste?”

Eret’s cheeks went so red it made their pale complexion look sweaty. Ki refused to look at him.

Elizabeth sighed. “My Prince…”

Technoblade spoke up, he was already standing and he loomed over Eret, hand falling to rest on their shoulder once Jabber had retreated to their seat. “How is your throat?”

Ki shrugged.

“Eret,” Foolish frowned. “Say something.”

Ki ignored him.

“Eret,” he huffed, pinching their bicep again. Ki pulled their arm away, clutching it with a betrayed look. “I didn’t pinch you that hard, c’mon. Is your throat hurting?”

“It’s fine,” ki said, though their voice was more of a rasp. The table deflated. A glare had everyone back in their seats, Dream looking unsure.

“Uh, what do I do with this?” The mage asked.

Eret gestured for it. The magic bubble floated over to her and popped when ki touched it, scooping up the dead flower in their hands. Foolish opened his mouth to ask what she was going to do with it, before she opened her mouth wide and shoved the lump inside.

As she chewed it, the table was silent. She swallowed it and Foolish watched the lump slide down her throat. A long, black tongue slipped out to lap up the blood that lingered on their face and lips before it retreated. Eret sat modestly, as though nothing had happened.

“My Prince,” came Elizabeth’s harried call. “You better not have eaten it!”

Foolish wondered if he really knew Eret.

“Eat quickly,” ki demanded of the table. “We’ll be moving promptly to the Crystal Palace.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” came the echo.

Chapter Text

Foolish watched the inhumane tongue slip out of Eret’s lips; a long jagged thing that looked more like an old chipped blade than a tongue. He thought back to when he could’ve seen Eret’s tongue and decided that it had never been black. Was it from the flower? It had to have been…

“Foolish,” Eret turned to him once she’d addressed the Knights. “Who made your tea?”

“Uh,” sweat trailed down his back. “I- uhhh.”

“Alyssa did, Your Highness,” Mar appeared out of nowhere. She bowed deeply, hand clenched to her chest. “The new maid demanded the task.”

A growl ricocheted throughout the room. It took Foolish a moment to pinpoint it as having come from Eret. When he realised this, he blinked at ki, noting their narrowed eyes and firm frown. Perhaps this was one of the worst days for Alyssa to have attempted to poison him, because Eret was already in a terrible mood.

“Call her here,” Eret told Mar. The maid hurried away.

Sitting in his seat, Foolish couldn’t help but wonder if this would go like his vision? Although, it would be less ‘Alyssa holding a suitcase’ and more ‘Alyssa kneeling’. He wondered what Eret would do with her. Would they kill her?

Foolish didn’t know how he felt about that outcome.

The realisation set in that if he hadn’t said his tea was cute that flower thing would be growing inside his throat. He stiffened, suddenly angsty and worried, and whistled for Bentley. The little pup had skittered off after growling at the tea – evidently Foolish should’ve took heed of the little guy’s dislike.

Oddly enough, Bentley hadn’t returned. He would’ve thought the little guy would come racing at all the noise. Foolish fondly thought that Bentley probably would’ve sniffed curiously at the flower, little nose wiggling as his tail wagged.

There was a yelp – a sound that obviously had come from the only wolf pup in the entire Palace. Looking up, Foolish blanched at the sight of Alyssa clutching the pup, a sharp knife to his neck. The knights stood all at once, expressions dark.

Foolish stood to see, heart hammering in his chest.

“Bentley,” he gasped, heart seizing.

Eret glanced over and laughed – a long and sharp sound. “You’re a greater fool than I thought.”

Alyssa gritted her teeth, face twisted in an ugly scowl. “Damn you, Monster! Why couldn’t you have just killed it already?”

Foolish’s chest imploded on itself.

Don’t ask, don’t ask, don’t ask—

“What?” Eret laughed, “Kill what?”

Terrifying was the grin that Alyssa wore. Foolish collapsed in on himself, shoulders hunching, hands shaking, unwilling to hear, not wanting to be here. He was pinned; stuck in place by the cruel servant that had happily punished him in place of his adopted parents, and with a languid being with pupils filled by stolen souls and a sharp demonic tongue on his other side. It was a thing that had found him interesting, a creature far too powerful for him, for it drank poisons for fun and ate cursed beings for a snack.

“That bug beside you,” Alyssa’s words rang loud in the silent room. “The lower-born germ that should never have survived its sixth year.”

The world spun. Eret was gone from beside him, instead leering over the pitiful figure that Alyssa made. Their face was shadow, their back shrouded by dangling arms, a sharp pitchfork tail rising from the end of their spine.

“I suggest you watch your tongue,” the demon hissed, pitching the dining hall in darkness. Penumbra crawled along the walls, slithered over the ceiling, the window illusion blotted out, surrounded by squirming shadows.

Foolish gasped for a breath but choked on arid air—

He opened his eyes. The golden ceiling of the dining hall shone down at him, almost blinding him with its glare. Two shadows blurred over the glow, white and blue eyes blinking in sync. Leaning over him was Eret and Jabber, their hands clutching his arms, expressions pulled taught.

“He’ll be okay,” Jabber was murmuring.

Foolish grunted. “What happened?”

Eret made a noise and pressed kois face close to his. “Are you feeling alright? Does your arm hurt? Foolish, you really ought to say when you’re feeling faint.”

“You fainted, my lord,” Jabber was the only one to explain. Eret seemed too distracted to do so, fidgeting with the fabric of his shirt, brow creased, chilled touch lingering through the silk. “Do you feel better now?”

“Ah,” he pushed an elbow out and eased himself upright. Eret was glued to his side, acting as though they hadn’t been the one to ingest poison not ten minutes prior. He remembered it now – Eret had eaten the flower, made everyone sit back down. In the momentary calm, he’d stood, excusing himself to go to the restroom. Though, his head had went all swirly; he obviously hadn’t made it. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Eret crowed, lithe fingers curling around his wrist. They were acting weird, eyes wide as ki clung to him.

“For fainting?”

“It’s okay,” Eret chirped, prior bad mood seemingly having evaporated. She’d turned fretful and lingering in what felt like a mere moment. “I caught you before you fell but your arm hit the ground.”

“Ah,” he looked down at his arm. The skin appeared a little red. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t hurt at all.”

Eret nodded. Jabber, probably sensing the conversation would be looping around in circles, stood to return to their seat. “Make sure to not get up too quickly and eat well, Your Highness.”

“I will, thank you, Jabber,” Foolish smiled up at them. The healer bowed, fist thumping against their chest, and strode off to sit back down beside Technoblade. The pink haired man nodded at them, a silent conversation being held as Jabber rubbed at their neck, ears flushing red.

Foolish smiled, almost feeling calm. Then—

“Bentley?” He yelped, alarmed. Panic filled him at the thought that Alyssa could have him right now. “Where’s—?”

The pup slammed into his chest, yipping excitedly. His tail wagged and he wasted no time in slobbering all over Foolish’s face. Beside him, Eret looked put out by his urgency to find the pup when they were right beside him. Ki probably felt ki was being ignored.

“I had a weird dream,” he explained, watching as they dropped their disappointed expression for an intrigued one. It had to have been a dream, because nothing like that had actually happened, and Bentley was fine.

It was just… odd how he kept seeing things that weren’t happening. It made him anxious. Was he going crazy? He looked at Eret and wondered how he’d ever imagined their face as blotted out darkness. Foolish had never been a particularly creative child, although he had read many a book; just when had the idea of someone having more than two arms been conjured in his mind? When had he thought Eret would look horrifying as she threatened someone…?

He didn’t want to think about that.

Because he’d thought she was horrifying a lot recently.

“A dream?” Eret echoed, head tilting in a mirage of himself. Foolish blinked, realising how dog-like the action was and how cute it made Eret look.

Unable to help himself, he spared a hand from the cuddle pile with Bentley to poke at Eret’s cheek, grinning as they batted him away.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Ki asked.

“Because you’re cute,” he teased.

“No–” Eret seemed lost for words, huffing a breath. “I’m not cute.”

“Neither of you are cute on the floor,” Elizabeth interrupted, clearing her throat pointedly. Eret flushed and hurried to help Foolish up, guiding him back to his chair. They were about to sit down in their own when the Head Maid cleared her throat again.

Foolish watched as Eret chewed the inside of their cheek.

“Elizabeth,” they noted, seemingly nervous.

“My Prince,” said the older woman, tone one of scolding. “I do hope you didn’t eat the wither flower.”

Eret made a show of looking around. “I didn’t. Now that you mention it, I don’t know where it went.”

“Indeed,” the Head Maid harrumphed, definitely knowing full well that Eret had eaten it. “Well, I’ll be disposing of the rest of the tea.”

Ki sobered up. “Do that and bring out whoever is responsible for this.”

Foolish fidgeted apprehensively.

What if it was Mar who had tried to poison him? He liked her… The very thought of such a betrayal made his stomach churn. But then, hadn’t he had a dream about it being Alyssa? Although, even as Foolish mulled over that very idea, he felt stupid for listening to a dream.

Dreams weren’t meant to be taken seriously. They were just figments of the imagination, acting on fears or desires of the mind. Foolish hadn’t thought he was so afraid of Alyssa’s influence, although the fact he’d already dreamt of her arrival whilst drowning was probably telling. In addition, everything that had happened in that first dream had not occurred in real life.

It was just a dream, he thought and pinched himself. His thigh smarted. Bentley, knelt in his lap, sniffed where he’d pinched and looked up to him with big eyes. Foolish found himself reflected in the pup’s dark gaze, almost able to image himself swirling in a dark cesspit, being swallowed up by the petals of that wither flower.

Maybe he was unwell. He’d never had such an inventiveness before. If asked to picture a flower, he may have struggled. But now, he saw roses dripping with blood.

Meanwhile, Eret passed off prayer duty to Dream, citing a dry throat. The man stood and bowed his head, reverently rhyming off the chant, although Foolish heard none of it, sitting almost in a daze.

Why would someone want to poison him? Well, he was aware that Elizabeth didn’t like him – though her position and apparent intellect made him think that she wouldn’t dare do such a thing, especially with Eret so close by. Perhaps other maids disliked him, too? They hadn’t made much of a splash with him impression-wise if they did hate him. Most, if not all, were kind and soft-faced when they seen him, eager to help.

If not the maids, who else? The chefs were a possibility, as they made the breakfast whilst the maids made the tea and served everything. Perhaps the knights? Foolish knew he hadn’t made the greatest entrance, nor had they really shown anything other than grudging respect. The respect was definitely only because of Eret, otherwise he would’ve been treated as nothing more than a bedwarmer – thrown out once it was used.

The Royal Guard were said to be insanely loyal to the Crown Prince. Would they really brave Eret’s anger to kill him?

Eret was someone not many could defeat. The only one rumoured to ever have a chance at standing on equal grounds was Sir Philza of Agda – the Empress’s Loyal Knight and First General of the Imperial Army.

Though, Foolish had heard many people say that they thought not even Philza could stand a chance.

Others said the only best for the Crown Prince was Her Majesty the Empress Herself, although She did not fight with a blade but with words. Thus, a physical battlefield would be left unsteady.

The food appeared before him. Eret watched him keenly, pushing food towards him that he chomped down on. Although he was preoccupied by his heavy thoughts, the appetite he’d worked up whilst sparring with Eret was not to be ignored. He ate until Mar appeared in tow of Elizabeth and Eret stopped eating (though they had eaten very little in comparison, despite their prior days’ appetite), so he did as well.

“State your name,” Eret demanded, sharp faced and ever sharper toned.

The younger woman bowed so deeply her nose could’ve touched the ground had she lowered herself an inch further. She knelt before them, though lifted her head from the ground so that they could see her face. “My name is Mar, Your Highness.”

“Are you the one in charge of making Foolish’s tea?”

Mar’s expression crumbled into regret. “I should’ve been, Your Highness.”

Eret snapped. “Explain.”

Mar looked uncomfortable. She knew she’d done wrong.

Foolish’s stomach crunched in on itself and he was forced to breathe shallowly to abide the pain. “I am the one who should be making Master Foolish his tea but the new maid, Alyssa asked to be the one to serve him today.”

“And you let her.”

Eret’s voice was a growl. It reminded Foolish so sharply of the one in his dream that he glanced to them, finding a cold, emotionless face glaring down at the poor maid. He reached out and grasped their hand, smoothing his fingers over their chilled skin in hopes of soothing their foul mood. Although kois expression did not lighten, ki shifted to twine their fingers, palms pressed together.

It was obvious Mar hadn’t poisoned him, nor would she ever want to. If Foolish had come to this conclusion, it was evident Eret had as well.

“Yes, Your Highness. She asked to prepare His Highness’s tea. I felt sorry for her and so I let her prepare Master Foolish’s tea in spite of my better judgement.” Mar dropped to her knees, prostrating herself before them. “Such a mistake will never happen again, Crown Prince. I swear on it with my life.”

Eret didn’t speak. Foolish felt ill, clutching Bentley upon his lap. The pup curled in the crook of his elbow, uncaring of the situation.

“Why do you feel sorry?”

Mar twisted her hands before pulling them to her sides. “The horror of something happening to Master Foolish makes me terrified. I- he is a kind man, undeserving of bad things. If you must kill me, so be it, although I beg for you to find the one who did them and keep Master Foolish safe.”

There was a sigh. The hand not held in his moved up to rub Eret’s face, dragging over their skin as though it was of great weight. “Humans,” came the quiet murmur, a muffled complaint that confused Foolish greatly.

“Elizabeth,” Eret finally spoke, head lifting. If Foolish had looked over, he would’ve noticed the lines under kois eyes that spoke of tiredness, though his attention was on Mar, watching as her chest rose with deep but stuttered breaths.

The girl was afraid. Foolish was too.

“Yes, Your Highness,” said the old woman, walking off without an order. She returned with a skittish Alyssa.

The entire room was quiet. Foolish couldn’t look at Alyssa, so he didn’t, instead watching Eret’s face. Her expression was a hardened rock, lips pulled down as ki stared at the woman.

“Iris girl,” Eret sneered. “Give me five reasons I shouldn’t cut off your hands for treason.”

“The Iris Family sent me,” Alyssa spoke with her head bowed. Compared to Mar, who was still on her knees, Alyssa was coming off as terribly rude. Not that she would know. Or care. “So, of course, I would never poison Master Foolish. Why would I?”

“Why would you, indeed,” Eret hummed. “You must be stupid.”

Alyssa flushed. “Pardon?”

Elizabeth slapped the back of her head. “Show respect towards the Crown Prince, girl.”

The scowl Alyssa knelt with was not missed. Eret watched with an odd expression – some mix between a self-satisfied smirk and a disgraced sneer.

“Get her out of my sight,” Eret said suddenly.

Elizabeth looked at them searchingly. Foolish sat, confused.

Eret glared at the maid. “Technoblade,” ki demanded, the Commander on his feet instantly, hand raised in salute. “Ensure this pest is put under lock and key. We don’t want it eating our leaves.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” Technoblade grunted, one large hand twining around Alyssa’s bicep and dragging her off. The woman kicked and yelled, asking why she wasn’t given a chance.

“This is unfair,” she exclaimed. “Nepotism! Unjust cruelty! Unhand me, you heathen.”

“Stop saying words you don’t know the meaning of,” Technoblade’s voice echoed as he shut the doors behind them.

“Don’t get my floors dirty!” Eret called after them.

And just like that, without clear reason, Alyssa was gone. Dragged away somewhere. Foolish was none the wiser to who had poisoned him (although he certainly had his suspicions) though it seemed Eret was confident in her decision.

He sat, blinking wide eyes at the golden doors Technoblade and Alyssa had vanished through. He looked to Eret and found them sitting with narrow eyes, looking displeased. Was their bad mood back?

“Mar,” Eret spoke. The maid turned skittishly and bowed once again, waiting for her orders. “You’re now Foolish’s personal maid. See that you remember your place.”

Mar gasped, mouth wide. “Thank you very much, Crown Prince!” She dropped once again to her knees with a thud, making Foolish wince. “Thank you so much!”

Eret huffed a breath. “Take your main orders from Foolish. Understood?”

Ki looked at Foolish now. He sat up straight and nodded vigorously.

Mar was still on her knees.

“Stand up, Mar,” he hummed, offering her a smile as she got to her feet. “And, um, could I have another cup of tea?”

“Of course, Master,” she bowed and scuttled away to the kitchen.

Turning back towards the table, Eret sighed and ran a hand through their hair. It was curly, hanging in long strands after she’d tugged it out of the messy plait. “Elizabeth, tea.”

“Of course, My Prince.”

They returned to breakfast. Foolish didn’t ask where Alyssa had been taken and Eret didn’t say. Technoblade returned ten minutes later, looking no different than before.

The sun glinted down on them. They were outside, getting ready to go to the Crystal Palace. It was bright, with Bentley preening in Eret’s arms after he’d jumped up into them and refused to leave. Foolish stood beside them, with servants and knights buzzing around, and couldn’t help but feel as though he was doing too little in comparison.

“Do you need me to do anything?”

“Just hold the pup,” Eret grunted.

Foolish held out his arms and took little Bentley from Eret, smiling softly as the hyperactive wolf yipped and nearly slapped them in the face with his tail. Eret leaned out of his range and skulked over to Elaina, who was overseeing the movement of people and things. They were all gathering in the courtyard, seemingly to set off together, although Foolish only saw people clutching bags and, in a few cases, wheeling trolleys. There were no carriages sitting around, and the horses were being led out with their leashes, the stableboys taking a few of them out on a walk down the drive.

Dream tottered up beside him. “Good day, huh? Heard it’s shady in Piski.”

“Shame,” Foolish said, knowing enough to know that the Crystal Palace was located in the region of Piski. He eyed the idle mage, noting his relaxed demeanour. “Shouldn’t you be helping out?”

“Me?” Dream waved him off, laughing. “I never do anything. It’s great.”

“Uh-huh,” Foolish wasn’t too impressed.

“Anyways,” the man leaned closer to him, eyes squinted by a smile that was hidden by his mask. “Now I’m standing with you, no one can complain I’m not doing anything.”

“Because I’m not either?” Foolish felt something spring within himself. It was a negative feeling that weighed heavily on his chest.

“Yup,” Dream laughed, carefree.

Behind them, Ranboo stumbled, hefting along a few large crates. Foolish noted the disaster waiting to happen and ushered Bentley to stand, the pup spooling out at his feet with a whine. With a haughty look to Dream, Foolish stepped over.

“Hey, kid,” he called, of the understanding that Ranboo was the youngest knight enlisted. “You need a hand?”

Pushing his head around the side of the boxes, Ranboo blinked at him like a skittish deer. “Y- Your Highness,” he stuttered. “N- n- no, I’m- I’m okay!”

Wondering why the kid was so highly strung, Foolish noticed Ranboo’s gaze snap to him. That meant he hadn’t been looking at him—

Foolish turned around to find Eret talking with Elaina, tilted in his direction but not looking. Annoyance welled up as he realised what Eret had done and he reached up and took a crate from Ranboo’s pile.

The young knight squeaked. “No- please, sir! You don’t have to!”

“I want to help, Ranboo,” Foolish said, silencing him. “You looked like you could use it.”

Ranboo was silent. He seemed to internally dispute Foolish’s aid. Turning on the kid’s manufactured dilemma, because he’d suddenly decided he didn’t care if the kid was going to complain, Foolish noted the half-filled trolley with crates of the same design sitting on it.

Starting to walk over, he passed Eret and felt their gaze burn into his back. Irate at how they were acting, Foolish set the crate with the others and helped Ranboo add his own to the stack when he eventually wobbled over. A servant harried over and wheeled the trolley over to the rest, pushing it with a line of three others. A man was standing clutching a glowing purple stone, holding onto a trolley with the other hand. The servant who’d pushed over the trolleys quickly linked a piece of rope through the bars of each trolley and nodded at the man.

He disappeared in a blink. Foolish stood, eyeing the spot he’d been, noting how the servant seemed unphased. No one made a complaint about the missing man or trolleys. Not even the people who had seen them vanish.

“Um, he used a transportation stone, Your Highness,” Ranboo explained, still shaky and stuttery. Foolish figured he’d blinked a few too many times. “They’re stones with mana infused into them with the intent of teleporting. They'd be great if they didn't only work on the person holding them and whatever objects they’re touching.”

“Bad for group teleporting, then?” He figured. If a stone could only transport one human and so many other inanimate objects, it wasn’t of much use for an army. It made sense why he hadn’t heard of them, even as he read old General’s journal reprints. If the stones couldn’t transport an army, they’d have no need to use them.

“Yeah,” Ranboo nodded quickly. Eret’s gaze was boring into Foolish’s back, and was making poor Ranboo sweat. “I- I have to go!”

“Sure thing,” Foolish let the kid scurry off before turning on his heel. He made eye contact with Eret, who was watching him with an intent look, and sent back a dark glower. He was only in the courtyard, helping out; they had no need to be boring a hole through his spine.

Bentley was nipping at Dream’s ankles, making the man jump about in a fuss.

“If you can’t dodge a pup,” Foolish said as he walked back over. “I worry for what else you can’t dodge, Dream.”

“Hey!” The mage turned to him with a frown. He was sweating from avoiding Bentley. “This is different.”

He paused. Foolish wondered what had gotten into him before he felt Eret’s heavy gaze again. His jaw twitched as he tightened it. Why were they staring so much? Couldn’t he talk to people?

Dream leaned in for a brief moment. “They’re in a mood,” he stepped away and spoke loudly: “Fine, you win, I’ll go annoy Technoblade.”

Eret’s stare faded as Dream bounced away. Foolish watched as he latched onto Technoblade’s back like a monkey and started crowing at the pink haired man. Bentley dropped onto his ass and scratched at his neck, showing off sharp teeth with a wide yawn.

“Somebody’s sleepy,” he cooed, leaning down to pick up the pup. He felt Eret’s stare on him still, although it had lightened considerably. Maybe they were tired too – he hadn’t been woken by them getting up and, despite how he’d stirred awake a few times throughout the night, he hadn’t ever seen them lying down next to him in bed.

Concern sprung up. Had Eret even slept? Was that why they’d looked so tired earlier? Biting the inside of his cheek, he stepped aside for another servant pushing a trolley out into the courtyard.

No, he rationalised. Even if Eret was tired, she could exercise basic human decency and not glare people away from him. Maybe Foolish was annoyed about what had happened with Alyssa (why wasn’t she getting punished? Why was she still here? Where was she?). Or, maybe he’d gotten too much sleep and was cranky.

Whatever it was, Foolish was irritated that Eret thought they could isolate him. The Irises had done a marvellous job of that already!

He was lucky Eret didn’t blame him for the wither flower poison.

With each day that passed, it became resoundingly clear how little Rosetta Iris cared for him. If she ever had at all.

Bentley’s tail hit his chest. Turning, Foolish stepped around another trolley and headed for Eret. Now that he was walking towards her, she wasn’t looking at him, instead dead-set on their conversation with Elaina.

Hey. Who said they could be rude?

Biting his cheek lest he say something uncouth, Foolish stopped beside them and stood there.

“This should be the last of the trolleys,” Elaina was saying. “Shall I gather everyone for the circle?”

Eret nodded to the woman. As she turned away, she shot a glance at Foolish, which he returned with sharp eyes. Everyone today was bothering him, it seemed.

Left standing with the Prince, Foolish stood in silence. She flicked him a glance and slithered her hand towards his, reaching out for him in a hushed moment of closeness.

He batted her hand away. Ki blinked at him with a startled look, much to his sinister pleasure.

“I’m holding Bentley,” he excused, both of them knowing full well he could hold the pup in one arm. Eret looked down at the wolf dozing against his chest, gaze lingering for all of a moment before ki looked away. She left her hand at her side, though seemed to hold herself tighter than before.

Everyone started gathering around. Foolish presumed it was for the ‘circle’ Elaina had mentioned. Most of the staff had left with the trolleys, so it left only the knights and a few maids – such as Mar and Pikya. Elizabeth had went on with a few knights, apparently, to ensure the Palace was in good order and begin on the unpacking.

Foolish remained where he was, running his hand over Bentley’s scruff as the knights congregated. Boomer and Travis stood near him, chattering loud enough to rock the planet. Gritting his teeth, Foolish took deep breaths in an effort to calm himself, annoyed at himself for this sudden mood – just because Eret was being weird didn’t mean he had to act all pissy about it, he reasoned with himself to no avail.

Bentley perked up when Eret lifted her hands. The people around Foolish seemed unbothered, chattering away. He watched as her hands briefly glowed white, before a large array span out under their feet. It was a large circle, spinning under everyone, magic fluttering in the air – a bigger version of the small transportation spell, he noticed, eyeing familiar markings that were much larger in this form.

Eret huffed a breath and within a blink the Golden Palace was gone. He stared up at a glittering wall – a much larger, much more extravagant palace. The front door stood grand, a sleek black finish glinting in the beaming sun. The walls spread on for possibly twenty metres more than the Golden Palace’s had, with gems encrusted within the modern quarts. Black was the outlining colour, with window frames and large balconies sitting out in the colour, either in metal or brick. White corbels designed intricately held up said balconies, which stretched upwards for about five floors, with a grand circular window at the topmost of the Palace, directly above the doors, about six storeys high. Tall white towers with circular and triangular rooftops stood dotted around the roof, which itself was a dark black tile and sloped upwards and downwards in a series of triangles and flat areas.

This was the Crystal Palace.

Turning, Foolish found a swathe of green before them. There was no driveway for carriages, instead a spiralling maze of green hedges that glittered stood in the way. It stretched on, curving around the edges of the Palace.

Wondering if the famous Gardens would be behind the Palace, Foolish allowed everyone around him to disperse. Bentley was licking and pawing at the air, probably at the lingering magic from the spell. Noting how awake the pup seemed, Foolish set him down, watching as he skittered away, scuttling down the gravel pathways along the side of the Palace.

Without waiting to ask if it was allowed to, Foolish followed after the pup. Eret had said he was allowed anywhere in the Golden Palace. If he wasn’t allowed somewhere here, he might as well just take the knife and chew it before it got to him.

The maze spread along this corner of the grounds as well. The leaves were fresh and supple, the bushes well maintained and trimmed nicely. Taller than him by a few feet, Foolish decided he’d have to explore the maze as well, and decided to do so after hunting down Bentley.

Thankfully, the little pup didn’t dig into the hedges or else Foolish never would’ve found him. Bentley seemed much more excited to bark at him, waiting for Foolish to catch up to him.

When he did, he paused at the sight.

The Gardens of the Crystal Palace stood before him, entrance marked by a frail looking, thin metal doorway. Fencing of the same type surrounded the gardens, boxing it off from the rest of the grounds. However, the space was large. Twenty times larger than that pond, maybe thirty times the size of the Iris’s petunia garden (which had been terribly small to begin with).

Bentley trotted ahead by a few feet, beelining it into the gardens. Following after, armed with the excuse he was making sure the wolf didn’t eat anything he shouldn’t, Foolish stepped onto the grass and finally entered the metal framing of the garden.

Thick detritus lined the ground, with little ornamental looking mini-fences separating different types of flowers. Some were glowing in the sunlight, others seemed dull. One was flickering with a flame under its petals, whilst another actually had snowflakes fluttering from its leaves, resting on the soil by its thick blue roots.

Before each plant, some of which were wrapped around large sticks as vines, others were blooming in bushes or upon miniature trees, was a card. Their names stood bold, alongside a few facts and things visitors would generally find interesting.

He hadn’t thought the Crystal Gardens were designed for visitors, but he supposed nothing had been up to par with his expectations recently. The cards made the place feel tacky, even though there were some of the prettiest flowers here – and some of the weirdest; one had eyes dotted around its petals, which blinked all out of time with another and moved to watch him as he passed.

Some of the names were interesting.

One with dark jagged petals and soft, velvet looking pistils centered around a pure white stamen. It was called a wither ivy, and grew in multitude upon a sharp leafed bush that spiralled around a few sticks set up for it.

Another was called timespot, and seemed to be a simple looking daisy until one looked closer at its petals, which had little spots along them which looked like golden pocketwatches.

The see-see had midnight black petals with white dots like stars along it. It’s name card said it glowed at night, although Foolish would’ve related the name to that plant with eyes (which was named a diali).

There were many more. The ranunculus were a basic little flower that seemed to imitate roses but smaller, and were arranged in varying shades of colour. Chrysanthemums, roses and ‘phalaenopsis’ orchids were amongst some of the more normal ones that Foolish had seen before. The ones in this garden, though, were of great quality, with silken petals and bright colours.

“What are you doing?” A voice piped up.

Turning from where he’d been staring at what looked to be a multicoloured rose (but was instead called a jujantis), Foolish found a man standing in a scruffy gardeners outfit. His once brown gloves were scuffed, his overalls were covered in soil and mud, and his face had patches of dirt smeared over it. Even his boots looked worn, the soles peeling noticeably when he stepped towards him.

Bentley, who’d been sniffing at a honeycomb-shaped plant, turned around and growled.

“Shut yer mutt up,” sneered the old gardener. His expression was unpleasant and he spat blue spit at the pup. Foolish blinked.

“Interesting,” he said, tilting his head at the supposed man. “Which flower are you?”

“What?” The guy leered.

“You heard me,” Foolish said, usually spritely attitude dampened by his bad mood. He stared at the plant creature that looked like a man – in every aspect from his wrinkled skin to his clothes.

“Who are you to question a lisal?” Grunted the old man, stepping towards him. Foolish noticed how he only took a half step, and tipped his head behind the man to see a long stem connecting him to his plant – which looked like a large bud, about the size of Bentley. It was a vibrant gold colour. Its card claimed it was a lisal plant, just as the old man had said.

“Hm,” he said. Simply looking at the man, now that he knew the old guy wasn’t a real human, it was quite interesting.

Honestly, Foolish didn’t know what had made him suspicious of the man in the first place. Maybe the fact that Eret wouldn’t let their staff walk about looking so dirty? Or, at least, Elizabeth wouldn’t.

“I’m Foolish,” he greeted.

“Indeed, you are,” agreed the plant man.

“No,” he refuted. “That’s my name.”

“I see,” said the plant. “That still makes sense.”

Chuffing a breath of laughter, Foolish stuck his foot out in front of Bentley to calm him. Little guy was still growling, ears pressed flat against his head, eyes narrowed.

“You been here a while?” He asked.

The plant nodded its head in a fluid movement. “Been here since the garden was first planted. The lass lets me look after it.”

“Alone?” Foolish queried.

“Of course,” the plant snarled. “What? You think just cause I’m a plant I can’t do sumthin?”

“No. I was about to say you’ve done a good job if you work on this alone. The garden looks well-kept.”

The plant preened with pride. “Alright, I like you, boy. But, I ain't ever seen you here before?”

“I’ve never been here,” Foolish responded. “Eret brought me.”

“She’s back soon,” huffed the plant, hand rising to cup its chin. It had a bit of a beard growing, though mostly white, to match its light-dark hair. “Usually round winter, she heads over to that pretty desert place. Shucks up for the month to get over herself.”

Foolish racked his brain for a ‘desert place’. “The Palace of Levande?” He questioned. “What do you mean by ‘get over herself’?”

“She comes down with sumthing each solstice,” said the plant, looking haughty that it knew something Foolish didn’t. “Runs away to the heat to hide from everyone. Nobody lives up in that desert, so it’s the perfect place.”

He hadn’t known Eret got sick each winter. This was news to him, though it certainly seemed to make a few backward glances and mutterings about their sudden move to the Crystal Palace make sense. Elizabeth had seemed hesitant to leave the Golden Palace, but evidently not for the reasons Foolish had previously thought.

“I’ll try to keep her off her feet,” Foolish hummed.

“Will you now?” Laughed the plant. “And how’d you do that? You her bedmate or sumthing?”

The plant paused. It blinked.

“No,” it gasped. “Yer the lass’s mate?”

“I suppose,” he said.

The old man blinked wide eyes at him for all of a moment before suddenly retreating in a spindle of vines and fluttering petals. Foolish blinked and the plant man was gone, the purple sack he’d emerged from now bulging and full. Confused, Foolish said his goodbyes and loitered around the flowers until Bentley got bored and toddled away. Then, he went to explore the maze.

Chapter Text

Foolish wasn’t sure what he expected of the maze. It loomed all-surrounding of the Crystal Palace, leaves twinkling in the morning sun. He expected hazardous pathways, twigs that reached out for him, shadows dancing on the edge of his vision. Because the Crystal Palace was famous. It was talked of all over, from windy Litus to the damp Iris Estate. Travelling merchants had oft spoke of the Palace, stating it was a sight one only saw once in a lifetime. That, and its gardens were extraordinary.

So, by extension, Foolish had assumed the maze would be equally, if not more, worthy of many tales and grand exclamations. It sat on the same land as the Palace, kept it free of road traffic and made any entrance not via mana-powered transportation spells utterly impossible.

What he found was simply normal green bushes that spiralled along in a rigid, rectangular fashion. The hedges were well-trimmed and staunch, unshaking when he pushed them. The path was prim and straight, branching off in multiple directions, with the hedges quietly parting for it.

It was underwhelming.

Bentley scurried around the path until he went in a circle without Foolish’s help, then came puttering back with a sheepish look that was evident despite him being a wolf. Foolish sighed, quite disappointed by the plain leaves and lack of other worldliness he’d been expecting, and turned around for the exit.

This was where he first found an issue.

Where there had once been a clear path behind him, was now covered by hedges. They’d slipped over the path innocuously and silently, to the point where even Bentley seemed surprised at the sight of them. The mutt sniffed at the greenery and whined, toddling back a few steps.

Staring forlornly at the hedge, Foolish realised his day was not going to improve the way he wanted it. First a catastrophe with his tea, then Eret being snappy and possessive (which, yes; he enjoyed them wanting to be with him at all times and how they made an effort to do so, but he also greatly disliked how they went about it by glaring off anyone who even blinked in his direction) to the weird man-flower-plant who apparently looked after the garden with weird and mildly poisonous flowers in it by himself (itself?). And now… Now this.

Trapped in a maze.

Maybe that was what he got as punishment for thinking something in his life would be boring for once. Everything had been hectic since he’d met Eret and it hadn’t even been a week of knowing them yet.

When Foolish looked down for Bentley, he found the pup gone. “Bentley,” he called out, voice more of a whine than he’d admit to anyone. “C’mon, squirt, come back.”

The distant sound of little paws pattering away, scuffling over the dried dirt of the maze, was his only response.

Slapping his cheeks to get some life into himself, unsure what had come over him, Foolish perked up and scurried off, following the zig-zagging route. He located Bentley nearly two whole hedge rows over, finding the pup staring determinedly at a dead end.

“Bentley,” Foolish bent to pick him up, tone a little scolding. “This isn’t how you get out of a maze.”

As if a wolf would know how to properly find his way out of a bunch of hedges.

Turning around to go back the way he came, Foolish stopped once more. He blinked at what was before him, quickly ducking his head around to stare at the dead end Bentley had just been gawking at.

He frowned, because the way he’d came in was no longer a way out. The hedge sat, still and faux-natural. It did not move. It had covered up the path silently and effectively.

Bentley, much like his father, blinked owlishly at the second, brand-new dead end.

“Okay, what the fuck,” Foolish scowled, securing Bentley in one arm as he pushed against the hedge with his other. It didn’t budge, reminiscent of a stone wall with how he couldn’t even ruffle the leaves. What sort of trick was this? “Oh, come on. This is just stupid.”

Whirling on his heel, he pushed against the other dead end. It didn’t move, though he wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting.

Suddenly, Eret appeared beside him, startling him into stumbling back. The hedge caught him as Bentley yipped happily. Looking rather emotionless, face blank, Eret stared at him. “What are you doing?”

Tempted to snarl at her, Foolish realised that he should at least attempt to be civil when Eret was. “Exploring the maze,” he said, rather simply.

Eret surveyed the dead end rectangle he’d gotten caught in and kicked the hedge to his left. It shivered and the section she’d kicked rolled back into a doorway. “The Southern facing hedge is always fake. It took Dream six months to figure that out.”

Laughing at that, because that seemed a very Dream-like thing that would’ve happened. “Surprised he kept coming in.”

“It was a fun game.” Eret said. “The knights would enter at different points and whomever got out first would win the last one out’s dessert.”

“I take it Dream usually went without dessert.”

“Indeed. He’s too competitive to say no to things he struggles at. It took being lost for three hours before he finally fell through the false side.”

They stepped through the doorway and Eret walked alongside him as Bentley ran off. She seemed more mellow now than she had been, and the easy conversation had eased something in Foolish’s chest.

Although they walked in silence, it was not oppressive. It was peaceful and serene, with the birds chirping and the hedge leaves gently rustling in the soft breeze. Eret whistled a note and Bentley reappeared, tail whirring behind him, tongue lolling out of his mouth. Foolish knelt to met him, patting his little head and noting that he needed to start carrying about treats with him to reward the pup for his good behaviour.

Beside him, Eret stood. There was a ruffling which he somehow immediately linked to them pulling at their buttoned blouse’s sleeve. Foolish, though intrigued, continued fawning over Bentley, intent on waiting for them.

“I’m sorry,” they blurted, words pouring out abruptly. Surprised, Foolish peeled away from Bentley and turned to look back at them. Ki wouldn’t look at him, instead deadset on staring at a spot of dirt beside their foot. She had a tight grip on her left wrist, and though she didn’t appear troubled via her expression, when she swallowed, her entire throat bobbed uncertainly.

Realising this was a tender moment (and feeling it deep in his chest), Foolish was careful. “For what?”

“For…” she took a deep breath, chest making a weird noise. Foolish realised she was shaking. He stood slowly, unsure if the sudden movement would make whatever was happening worse.

Eret did not speak any further. Worried, he reached out and stood frozen as they flinched back. Chest aching, he watched as they stepped away rather uncontrolled and hit the hedge. The choked, caged noise they made sent a spike of panic through his being, but he could only watch as they dropped the length of the hedge onto their backside, both hands shaking fiercely in their lap.

Was this a cumulation of earlier; from when they’d been poisoned? He seized with fright.

“Eret,” he murmured quietly, kneeling down on the dry dirt to be level with them. They were quivering, their entire body jittering in place, chest heaving fitfully, gaze lost somewhere between their boots and their hands. “It’s alright, you’re okay.”

“M’sorry, ‘lish,” he caught a mumble directed at him, amidst her sudden panting, which sounded more like her choking on air than her actually getting any in. The colour, if there had been any in her skin to begin with, had drained out of her, leaving her a pale little thing shaking in the middle of a maze Foolish didn’t know the way out of.

“Eret, it’s okay,” he tried again, voice soft and mellow. His heart hammered in his chest as he tried to think of what to do. Stay calm, he chanted. Reassure them. “You’re having a panic attack,” he murmured, trying to be as gentle in his wording as possible. “You’ll be okay in a few minutes.”

Her hand spasmed. The movement drew his attention down to the wrist she was clutching. Something tightened in his throat as he saw her digging black claws into her skin. Black blood dripped from her pale skin, staining the ground.

Startled, he reached out and pulled her hand away, causing wide eyes to blink at him. In his clutch, her skin seemed to jitter, her pulse beading underneath the cold expanse like a worm writhing in mud. “Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart. You’re panicking. You’re in the Crystal Palace’s maze. Do—”

Something wrapped around the arm he held their wrist in. Blinking at it, he found a tail wrapping thrice around his forearm. It was soft and felt scaled, despite its black velvety appearance. At its tip, which knocked gently from side to side as it pulsed, was a sharp triangular point. Foolish gaped, realising it was exactly like the one he’d dreamed Eret having.

At his pause, Eret lethargically lolled her gaze down to what he was staring at. She stopped breathing.

Frantic, she tried to tug herself away. Her hand spasmed in his loose grip, black-tipped claws moulding back into human fingers as she writhed. “Pl’sh,” she whimpered, voice breaking. Liquid welled up along her eyelids, glittering purple against her white eyes. “M’sowy, puh- pl-eash.”

Connecting her sudden slurred words to her increasing panic, Foolish offered her a small smile. At the sight, Eret stilled, purple beginning to drip down her cheeks.

Leaning forward, he hummed gently as she flinched, and softly swiped his thumb along her cheek. Eret’s wide eyes watched him as he wiped away her purple tears, the tail that had wrapped around his hand tightening and loosening in pulses.

“You’re safe here, sweetheart,” he reassured, making sure all their tears were gone as he leaned in. Eret was still shivering as she tipped forward to meet him, their lips pressing together. Foolish curled his arm around their back, rubbing at their nape. Just like with their other massage, Eret turned to mush immediately, and sort of just spooled into him. She made a soft noise into their kiss and he pulled back, rubbing their noses together. Her breathing had settled and she now breathed normally. “Good girl. I’m so proud of you.”

They sat entwined for a further ten minutes before the shivers went away. By then, Eret had wiggled onto his lap and sat with her head tipped onto his shoulder. Her tail hadn’t once let go of him, though he didn’t dare mention it, in case it sent her off again.

“Feeling better now?” He murmured, brushing her hair out of her face. Foolish was glad he’d cut his own, as it had the perk of making it far easier to sit with her and not have everything in the way.

Obviously tired, Eret nodded slowly. Rubbing a hand up and down their sides (he was too scared to touch their back, remembering how inflamed it had been earlier) kept them sedate, though Foolish doubted they’d be filled with energy after that harsh attack regardless.

“Sorry,” ki whispered.

“It’s alright, don’t worry about it,” Foolish was quick to reassure. “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

Eret nuzzled his neck with her cold nose. He let her, rubbing a pattern into her palm with his other hand. The scratches she’d gouged into herself had healed not a few minutes after she’d made them, leaving nothing but shiny skin alongside her already rugged wrists. Foolish had stared at those red, angry-looking scars earlier, but said nothing. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know how she’d gotten them.

“No,” she murmured, “M’sorry for earlier. Bein’ rude.”

Blinking, Foolish recalled his previous anger at her. It all felt so far away, as though he hadn’t been fuming with her less than an hour ago. He wasn’t used to his days being so emotionally charged. Just this morning, he’d been sparring with her, loving each moment of it, and now he was on his butt in a maze.

“Thank you for apologising,” he said diplomatically. He wasn’t about to tell them it was alright, because quite frankly, it wasn’t.

Eret hummed a tiny off-tune note. It vibrated in his skin and scorched through his bones. “I wanna nap,” she mumbled, voice smothered against his neck.

“Alright,” he made to get up.

She tugged him back down, hands shaking. “No,” Eret shook her head. “Here.”

Looking around himself, at the dry dirt and the towering hedges, Foolish wondered what Eret saw that made her want to stay. Maybe she was too sensitive to go back to the noisy palace so soon?

“Yeah, okay,” he decided, taking his shirt off to lie on it. Eret took off her own, stating she was warm (she did look a little flushed), and wriggled atop his chest, placing her ear over his heart. It thumped loudly as he stared up at the sky, noting the position of the sun overhead.

Foolish blinked and the sun had changed position – more slanted than it had been previously; now past the half-way point where it had nearly been directly over them – and Eret was wheezing softly against his chest, thick lashes sealed shut.

He was lying on his back, shirt taken off for him to lie on. Eret’s button-up blouse was slipping off her shoulder, the sleeves slipping over her hands as she pawed at his stomach. His trousers felt loose and when he looked down, he found his belt had been taken off, the button undone, likely because the buckle and metal button had been pressing against Eret where they lay. One of his arms was slung over her back (which was very warm in comparison to the rest of her), keeping her in place, whilst the other was on his own chest, clutching their limp hand.

The scuffling of dirt directed his attention to the path behind him. Tipping his head back as far as it would go, Foolish found Dream blinking dubiously at them. The man’s face was red, and he appeared a little unsure.

“Oh, uh,” he stuttered upon seeing Foolish staring. “Sorry to bother you two. I guess we know what you were doing, huh?”

His nervous laugh woke Eret, who stretched like a cat, digging her elbows into Foolish’s stomach, back bending. He grunted as all the air in his lungs was pushed out by her action, though she simply made a husky chuckle. There was a bug bite on her neck and another on her collarbone, the little dots of a bite only visible to him, whereas Dream only saw the raised, puffy skin. The man squeaked, though quickly clapped his hand over his mouth as Eret blinked at him.

Instead of glaring at Dream (like Foolish kind of wished she would), Eret was evidently in a much better mood after her little nap. She yawned cutely, rubbing at her eyes, and made to get up. Her limbs shook no sooner than her rising an inch, and she slumped back down.

“M’shaky,” she mumbled, likely painting an all too striking picture for Dream.

“It’s alright; here,” Foolish grabbed her and gently hoisted koi up as he stood, settling koi onto her own feet. She wavered a little, but with him standing beside her, ki simply leaned on him as she stretched again.

Dream stood in the pathway, practically wheezing as he attempted to stay quiet.

Foolish knew very well what this looked like. As Eret fixed herself up, he grabbed his belt and relooped it.

“Lunch will be upon the hour,” stated their prying messenger boy. Dream wiggled his brows at Foolish when Eret was still preoccupied with making her hands contort to push her shirt’s buttons in. Scowling at the nosey man, Foolish glanced down and found Eret frowning at her shaking hands. He gently pushed his hands in between hers and finished rebuttoning her shirt for her.

She smiled lopsidedly at him. Unable to stop himself, he leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

In the corner of his vision, Dream swooned.

“Off with you,” Eret hummed, flapping a hand at her mage. He yelped at being caught and disappeared with the flash of a rune.

Foolish pulled away to brush any dirt off his trousers and shirt. Thankfully the dryness of the dirt meant his clothes weren’t too dirty – the last thing he needed was his shirt making it look like he’d fallen down a mudslope. He shrugged it back on and rebuttoned it easily.

Now that they were alone, Eret yawned again and stepped forward. She swayed a little, but evened out as she continued on. Foolish kept on course, whistling for Bentley, who appeared from around the corner. He was sort of surprised the pup hadn’t ended up in their cuddle pile, but who was he to question a wolf.

Stepping up beside Eret, he asked, “Do you want to go inside?”

Yawning again, she shook her head. Foolish took a concered note of how tired she still looked (and evidently was).

Trying to tempt her, he said, “I’ll give you a massage before lunch.”

“I’d sleep through it,” Eret mumbled, blindly reaching out towards him to loop their arms. Foolish found himself supporting most of her weight, though said nothing, blinking as her tail reappeared and curled loosely around his waist.

Last he’d checked, the Crown Prince was a human. Humans did not have tails.

(Demons did though.)

“We have to reset the wards,” Eret said. “Or we’ll have a few feral demons on our doorstep tonight.”

Never having seen a demon (usually because, for people like him, to see one was to be close enough to die), Foolish had only ever heard the horror stories of entire towns wiped out in hours. Cities had been sieged by onslaughts of the creatures, citizens killed, the survivors left to fend for themselves until the Imperial Army came to their rescue.

“Do you get a lot of demons around the Palaces?”

“Yes,” she nodded. They exited the maze after hours of being inside. To their left was the infamous Garden and to their right stood the courtyard, still bustling with people but not as busy as it had been when they’d first arrived. Eret sent a sour look towards the crowd and lead them both towards the Garden. Instead of taking the right towards the opening of the fences, Eret directed them along a thin path around the edge of the fencing, which looped back behind the mazes. As they walked, she explained: “With so many high mana users here, the demons are attracted to that power and seek it out. Just as the Temple is a target due to their priests, anywhere I go is plagued with monsters.”

“Is that just because of you?” He asked, then realised how that sounded. “Because you have so much mana?”

“Dream holds an awful lot more than the average man, Technoblade included. Jabber’s mana store is impressive, as well. Even a few of the maids have large mana capacities, although they can’t use it as they don’t have the skill.”

“So, it takes skill to use mana?”

“People are born with mana. The average person has a very small amount inside them, although some will have a lot. Only a fraction of those people with a high concentration will actually be able to use it.”

“Have there been mana users who don’t have a lot of mana?” Foolish enquired.

“I’d suppose so,” Eret shrugged. “However, there are no successful ones that I know of.”

“Who would you say has the most mana that you know of?”

Bentley circled them on the path, little tail wagging happily. They came to the end of the maze after a forty foot walk. Foolish found the path, instead of continuing on behind the maze, carried straight on and disappeared into the outcroppings of trees that surrounded the Palace grounds. Eret did not appear worried over this development, and instead walked on. The treeline was only two to three trees thick in places, mayhaps four in others, and they stepped out into a large area of what seemed like untamed wilderness.

Hills rolled for miles, settlements and farms dotted along the edges of sight. Creeks dribbled in his ears, even from where he stood, and odd little outcroppings of forest stood gaudily along roads. Foolish wondered how a demon could make it all the way to the Palace without being spotted, though at the same time realised that it was probably still standing for a reason.

“Out of living beings, currently alive,” Eret mused. “I probably have the most mana available to freely use. However, it’s entirely possible that someone has a larger capacity but is unable to use it.”

He was more interested in this than he’d thought. “And how do you know what your mana capacity is?”

Eret yawned again. Her tail untwined from his waist and bounced back and forth languidly, a few inches from the ground, giving Bentley something to swat at with his little paws.

“Dream can measure it for you, if you’d like,” she murmured, unlooping their arms to crack her knuckles. They’d stopped at a line of pebbles which stretched around the Palace’s grounds in a circle, going on as far as Foolish could see. “You’ll get a good idea of how much you can hold and use.”

Wondering why Eret couldn’t do it herself, he asked her.

“Dee’s better at gauging the real value better than I am,” she shrugged. “An’ I’m tired.”

That brought about another hot topic. “Did you get any sleep last night?”

She didn’t look at him, instead sitting down onto her butt along the line of pebbles. He supposed that was answer enough. One of her fingers moulded into a black razor-sharp claw. Foolish watched sharply as she dragged it down her wrist, catching the blood that pooled out with her more human-like fingers.

Eret did not speak as she carefully drew her blood onto a few of the pebbles. Foolish wasn’t sure he could’ve spoken anyways, as he watched her intricately map out well-worn designs. They looked a bit like Galactic letters, like the ones inscribed into old tombs that the museum had dug out of caves and brought the entire walls back to showcase. As she carefully wrote onto four pebbles with her bloodied fingers, she held her cut above the gap of two others and allowed her black blood to drip into a well there.

What may have been a trick of the light was carefully reconsidered as Foolish blinked. One moment the pebbles were little grey stones, the next, Eret’s blood shook in the puddle it had formed and spread out over each one. It created a thin sheen that lasted for all of a moment before moving on, each and every pebble turning a dark grey that made them look wet. Foolish was motionless as he stared, watching Eret tip her wrist up to reveal a healed gash. She’d pulled her scribing fingers away from the pebbles before the colour change, and now she wiped her hands on her trousers and stood.

“What you just witnessed was blood warding,” Eret turned to him, eyes bright. “And no human alive has ever seen me do it.”

Feeling a little put on the spot, Foolish struggled for words. “I take it this is a hush-hush situation?”

Eret smirked, looking down to Bentley, who now sniffed the air cautiously. “Indeed. Consider yourself treasured to be here.”

Smiling at that, Foolish offered her his arm. Eret slipped her gangly elbow through the gap and clutched him tight.

With them so close together, there was nowhere for her to run. “How much sleep did you get last night?” He asked again.

She pulled a face at him. “You seen me in bed with you.”

“Being in bed doesn’t mean you’re sleeping,” he hummed. “And, I seem to remember you meditating or something.”

Tilting her head up at him, Eret seemed to pause to think. “And what of your dreams?”

“Don’t deflect,” he teased kindly, pinching at her waist. She snorted and stepped away, dancing out of his reach. “Ah-ah,” he called, “Come back here.”

Eret laughed as he chased after her. Jumping over small creeks and weaving between thick evergreens, Foolish only ever got close enough to see her hair whirling out behind her. Bentley yapped at their feet, bouncing between them both easily, not seeming to understand that he should pick a side and help him catch Eret.

“I wasn’t deflecting,” she said to him, standing beside a tree trunk as he ran past. Skidding to a stop, he whirled on her location and found her gone – running in the opposite direction.

“Oh, yeah?” He shouted after her, though was laughing. “This seems like the definition of deflecting.”

“What are your dreams like?” She asked again from behind. Foolish span on his heel, sweating from the run, heart hammering, and found her ten-foot up a tree. Pouting up at her, she grinned and gave a cute wave.

“Like yours, I’d suppose,” he shrugged, then amended; “If you even sleep enough to have any.”

Eret’s laugh echoed in the trees as he set to scaling the bark. It wasn’t a particularly difficult tree to climb – with convenient gaps and broken branches sticking out for hand and footholds, but Foolish wasn’t a professional climber and struggled his entire way up. When he finally got to the branch Eret was upon, she took pity on his sweating demeanour and offered him a hand up. Her skin was lucid cold under his, and he nudged her over until they shared the surprisingly strong branch.

Up here, they were so high up that they saw over the other trees and could see the glittering Palace glow in the sunlight. It was practically a beacon in the vast space of nothingness; shining crystal walls standing tall and proud over sinewy hills and green trees. If he squinted, Foolish swore he could see cattle milling about on a mound a mile away – could see a windmill churning in the distance, with a beam of blue showing a great river that split the unending grasses in half and continued swooping down into the crevasses of the hills to the East.

“I do dream,” she answered, voice quiet now they were together. Bentley had settled at the bottom of the tree, occasionally breaking off to chase a rabbit. Each time he did so, though, he returned a few moments later, peering up at them with a lolling tongue and a waving tail. “Just, only when I’m really tired.”

Not sure what to respond, Foolish hummed. “Are they nice dreams?”

“Not really,” Eret seemed pained. She stared off into the distance with a longing look in the slant of her brow and the pinch of her lips. “I see old things. Things I wish I didn’t.”

Swallowing in the soft but tense air, Foolish scooped her hand up in his. “I dream of death.”

Eret’s eyes shot wide. “What?”

“I see these… segments. Parts of a reality we’re not living,” he tried to put into words what he instinctually knew these visions to be. “It’s always about something that’s happened or about to. I dreamed of Alyssa arriving, of you getting angry. And then, on another occasion, I saw you standing before her with a tail of velvet and shadows for arms.”

In his clutch, Eret’s fingers twitched.

He did not look to her, afraid of what he would find.

“When do you see these?” She asked, voice breathy.

“When I’m not awake,” he shrugged. “I saw Alyssa arriving when I was… drowning. And then, the arm one when I fainted earlier.”

“You seen one today?” Eret startled, pulling him so much towards her that he had to look.

Her eyes were wide. Shoulders tense. Her hands were shaking again.

“What?” He broached. “What’s wrong with that?”

“I—You—Who’s your mother?”

Foolish was a piece of moss stuck between a tree and a rock. Eret was the rock; unyielding and demanding. She’d nearly turned grey in her haste.

“I,” the thought was painful. “I don’t know.”

Eret worked her jaw. She nodded, then looked away, then turned back to him so quickly her hair slayed out between them in a ferocious slash. “When did she die?”

“When I was seven,” Foolish’s throat went dry. His words came out quiet and choked. “The Irises ran her over with their carriage.”

His partner did not speak. Her wide eyes spoke enough for her.

“She pushed me out of the way.”

“Do you know where you lived before the Estate? Do you remember any of your mother’s friends?”

He shook his head. “We had no home. Roamed a lot. I… remember lying under the stars a lot.” Here, his gloom was broken by a nostalgic huff. “She knew all the names to the constellations.”

Eret’s brow had furrowed. She stared at where their hands met, her skin almost like snow against his.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said honestly, looking up at him with a slant to her eyes he’d never seen before. Sorrow? “But, is it possible you’re some sort of seer?”

Foolish shrugged. This all seemed a bit too much. “I never had any of these dreams before coming here.”

“Really?” Eret frowned again, as though her thought process had been derailed. It probably had been. Foolish had read of seers – they always saw visions from birth, sometimes the more powerful ones could witness their own eyes opening before they could even see. Or so they claimed.

“It’s probably just anxiety,” he confided, not wanting to get her hopes up only for them to be squandered. Everything about Foolish was boring. He wasn’t special. He wasn’t different. He was Foolish. Foolish with no last name.

“Do you get anxious a lot?”

“I’m not sure,” he said, though knew it was a lie immediately. From the raised eyebrow Eret sported, she knew it was too. “Well, uh… Alyssa scares me.”

“She’s two heads shorter than you,” Eret clarified.

“And?” He huffed. “You’re three inches shorter than me but still scary.”

Ki laughed, smile brightening her face. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Yeah, you’d better,” he agreed amiably.

There was a subtle lull. The leaves whistled with the wind. Down below, Bentley yipped at a bumblebee passing by and scurried off after it.

When she spoke again, Eret’s voice was soft. “Why does she scare you?”

The sun glinted down on them. “She used to hit me the most when I was younger.”

Eret’s hand froze in his. She stopped moving so abruptly that he hadn’t even realised she was swaying gently with the wind until she ceased all movement. Foolish blinked at her, alarmed, and watched her chest for the rise and fall of breathing. He found none.

“Eret, you have to breathe,” he chastised, worried. Resting his hand on their shoulder, they looked down at his appendage as though they’d never seen it before. “Eret, hey, it’s not that big of an issue. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”

And just like that, Eret deflated. “I’m sorry,” she said instead of explaining. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

“It’s no big deal,” he shrugged. Something told him to bare his chest to her now; to open up his ribcage and let her pick a bone to chew on. His logic floated away and he said; “The shed was worse anyways.”

“What?”

Eret’s voice wavered.

Foolish shrugged again and explained.

At his response, whatever it was that he said, Eret went so pale that he decided for the both of them that it was time to get down from the tree. It was a good thing, as Eret’s focus was obviously hazy – she nearly walked into a thinner tree on the way back, and almost tripped over Bentley twice. Securing his arm around her to make sure she didn’t twist her ankle and drop, Foolish lead them out of the foliage and sat them both down on the path of the Palace grounds they’d first followed to get to the treeline.

It was there Travis found them; panting and terribly out of breath. He ran up to them and keeled over with his hands on his knees. Eret did not turn to greet him, so Foolish did, looking away from Eret’s face and the dark trees which she’d lost her gaze into for the first time since he’d sat them both down.

“Yeah?” He asked.

“Lunch is ready, Your Highnesses,” the Knight clarified. “I think if Head Maid Elizabeth has to shout again, she might combust.”

Smirking at the thought, Foolish stood and hauled Eret up with him. Travis’s stare burned into his back as he ensured Eret was steady enough on her feet to progress – though the arrival of one of her knights seemed to have snapped her out of her daze, prompting her to wave Travis away and hook her arm back through his.

“Let’s go back,” she hummed, acting as though this wasn’t the first thing she’d said in close to half an hour.

Nodding along whilst another’s eyes were on them, Foolish whistled for Bentley. The pup jumped after them, appearing from the treeline with a leap, yipping as though talking to them.

Eret ate very little at lunch.

Chapter Text

Thirty minutes after the beginning of lunch, Travis sauntered into the room with the Crown Prince and their boytoy in tow.

Having sat down in the chair opposite the Prince’s, Technoblade stared at the procession as the Crown Prince cautiously reached for the armrests of their chair before they sat, with the noble hovering uncertainly at their side. There was something jittery in the air as the entirety of the room eyed how the Crown Prince moved, watching as they settled down with a disgruntled firmness to the line of their lips.

An uneasy tension stirred in Technoblade’s stomach as he watched the Prince over his soup. They sat with a lethargic air to them, an unusual slant to their usually narrow eyes. Knowing better than to be caught watching, he shifted his gaze onto a more willing target; Foolish of Cail.

The noble seemed reluctant to sit, standing awkwardly for a moment. Travis, who had decided to sit beside the man, pulled his chair out for him, forcing his hand. Foolish sat down, eyes pinched as he thanked the knight.

If his goal had been to make someone pull his chair out, it had worked. Seeming displeased at having had to do such an action, Travis wrinkled his brow whilst standing behind the noble before reseating himself. Dream, who had unfortunately chosen a seat beside Technoblade, offered the knight a wink for his unprofessional action.

Had the Crown Prince been more aware, Travis would have been forced to run the perimeter without lunch. As it was, the Prince was unresponsive, staring at their empty cup as a maid scuttled over to fill it for them. Head Maid Elizabeth had thrown a fit when they had not appeared at the beginning of the hour and had passed off her serving duties to the purple haired girl she’d been training for the role upon her retirement.

Technoblade, less willing to break the silence for a reprimand that would jar the Crown Prince out of their reverie, let it pass. His reproachful glance towards Travis earned him a shrug.

Returning to his own meal, Technoblade watched as the noble dug into his with vigour. Whatever the two had been doing in the maze, whether or not Dream was telling the truth, it had worked up quite the appetite in the slight man. In sharp contrast, the Prince sat unmoving after having grabbed their teacup. They nursed it, steam rising up to buffet the air in front of them.

Looking away, he dipped some of his bread into his soup.

“Technoblade.”

Eret’s voice broke through the lull in the room; a thorn pressing through flesh.

Recognising a summons when it came, Technoblade inclined his head.

The meal passed slowly. With the Prince evidently in an odder mood than usual, especially considering how they’d been earlier this morning, the knights were hesitant to begin a loud discussion. Their chatter remained quiet and segmented, with the noble beside the Crown Prince nagging them to drink their tea and even trying to make them chew some bread.

The lack of eating was concerning. Technoblade knew it well to be a symptom, and considering the time of year, he was worried their move to the Palace of Levande would be sooner than the Crown Prince appreciated.

With the Prince ignoring him, the noble settled for making sure Eret was drinking their tea. Technoblade flitted his eyes over the pair and found Eret staring intently at Foolish of Cail as he sipped at his soup.

The glow in Eret’s stare was so foreign, it scared him. Technoblade, who was a former gladiator and now current Commander of the Royal Guard, was forced by his instincts to look away as a cold sweat gathered on his back.

Lunch passed uneventfully.

When the knights had finished and the noble had drank the last of his tea, the Crown Prince dismissed everyone with a nod. The table emptied out. Technoblade remained seated, heeding his summons. Foolish intended to linger, glancing over to the Crown Prince with a peculiar look.

“Eret,” called the man, standing at the Prince’s side whilst they remained sitting. “Are you coming?”

“I have something to do,” nullified his Crown Prince. She looked over at her boytoy with a look Technoblade found himself yet again unfamiliar with.  

He’d never seen them look that way at anyone before. It sent a chill down his spine and made his stomach stir restlessly. This chill paired with the cold sweat from earlier and left him distinctly uncertain.

Technoblade had never felt so out of touch with the person who had saved him.

Since they had jumped into the Colosseum pit with a grin and a haughty gait, Technoblade had known Eret was different. He had fought with them, ducking terrifying blows and trying to land his own to no avail. When he had been slammed into the ground, sand flying up around him and obscuring his vision, he distinctly remembered his final thought to be relieved.

He had been relieved to die to such a warrior.

And then, the final blow had not come. Instead, he had been offered a new life; a hand reaching out to pull him back up onto his feet.

Enraptured with the simple way they swung a sword yet hid such unfathomable strength behind their motion, Technoblade had not for a moment considered rejecting them. In fact, he had quickly and eagerly accepted the offering and felt innately connected to them. From then on, he had viewed the Crown Prince as someone to protect. They did not need his aid but he felt indebted to them and therefore strove to no ends to fulfil their needs.

Each winter, in their time of desperate need, he stood by their side and ensured their utmost safety. Each time the Empress called for them, he accompanied them to the doors of the Great Hall and stood in wait for their return. When he was rewarded for his vigour with the blade now sat on his hip – Orphan Obliterator – he had wept tears of joy and knelt before them, loudly swearing his allegiance already sworn to them yet again.

In conclusion, Technoblade had been serving the Prince longer than most. Dream was the only currently enlisted knight who had been in service to them before his tenure. Because of this time spent together and their shared moments, Technoblade knew the Prince well.

He understood their ticks and their cues, when to talk and when not to. It was second nature to look at them and decide if training should go on twenty minutes longer or if he should call off the night’s run and instead focus his energy into corralling them into bed.

Technoblade knew Eret. He was still alive because he trusted them. He was still alive because she had decided to trust him.

Technoblade knew Eret. But, he did not know that shimmer in their eyes.

“Oh, okay,” nodded the noble. “Well, uh— Should—”

“Go ask Dream about what we were talking about earlier, if you want.” The dismissal was evident, but Foolish took it in his stride, agreeing with a grin that blossomed over his face. Technoblade would’ve looked away were he a weaker man.

“Sure!”

“If he’s busy, you can arrange a time. I should be back for dinner.”

Ah. The Crown Prince intended to proceed at a measured pace, then. Lunch had just finished and the next meal would be no sooner than in five hours.

“Alright,” Foolish nodded. He leant over the Crown Prince and slyly tipped their chin up. Technoblade watched them kiss, the two of them spending a moment suspended in something soft and gentle.

Saliva welled in his mouth. Technoblade eyed the two as they parted and swallowed it down alongside the discomfort of seeing his Crown Prince like this. The noble was beaming, likely revelling in his victory, and bounced off through the old doorway.

Dream, who had been lurking at the doors and watching with the eyes of a matchmaker, retreated in a hurry. The unruly mage stuck his tongue out at him, cheeky despite knowing he was caught. The Crown Prince made no reaction, despite how she most certainly knew the man was lingering. Dream strutted off, only to be accosted by Foolish naught three steps out of the dining room.

“Oh, sir Dream!”

That was what he got for not teleporting away.

In the silence that soaked through the room, Technoblade sat with his cup of tea as his Crown Prince swirled their own. They flicked their hand and the maids sprang forth, always prompt, and began clearing away the mess.

In the clattering of the maids and the swishing of their uniforms as they scurried off, Technoblade stared at his Crown Prince.

As whatever lull the noble brought to them vanished, Eret grew irritated. One of her boots tapped off the stone floor, the metal heel clicking loudly despite the clattering of the maids stacking plates. With a finger tapping on the glass of their mug, the dregs of their tea being sloshed around, their shadow swirled and loomed and flared behind them.

Their eyes were sharp, lips thin. As the maids finished clearing up and quiet once again took hold of the room in the absence of all others, they crossed their legs over one another. Someone had annoyed them.

“My Crown Prince,” he finally looked away to incline his head.

“Technoblade,” came the words; not quite a sigh but something pinned between weariness and relief. “Such a good puppy, aren’t you? You wouldn’t think of being brash, would you.”

Her words weren’t questions. A spasm ran up her cheek, bleeding into a twitch of the eye and her mug shattered. The Head Maid’s protégé lingered at a safe distance, ready to move in to clean the spill the second Eret’s tail stopped slashing back and forth with the strength to behead a man.

“Of course not, my Prince,” Technoblade inclined his head. He honoured Eret and no one else. To some of the younger knights, his dedication was amusing. To those who understood it, they glanced upon him with respect. “I serve you and you alone.”

Eret let out a hiss of a laugh, voice crackling in her throat. “Yes, I know. Such a good puppy.”

Her tail flopped atop her lap. She stapled her fingers above the remnants of the mug. The maid moved in to clear up the broken glass. The Prince had not looked at it once, almost as though they were unaware of it.

He knew better. Eret knew of everything that happened, whether it be before her or behind. This talk was his warning.

Tell your eyes to look away.

Whoever this noble was to her, whatever he meant, Technoblade was being scolded for watching him.

His people had been too obvious. He wondered if Eret had actually seen Travis’ eye roll. If so, he was treading a narrow path. Travis was going to be punished for his belligerence. Technoblade fought a fierce battle to get eyes on the Prince at all times, the task made difficult by their illusive nature and propensity to randomly vanish.

He just wanted them to be safe.

In retrospect, it likely wasn’t difficult for the Prince to discern who was put on watching duty. Their senses were keener than most of the knights’ own and sometimes, Technoblade thought they knew his each and every thought when they looked into his eyes.

Technoblade’s loyalty had swayed nearly all of the Royal Guard into keeping an eye on them. Although, with the development of this unknown noble being the first to warm their bed longer than two nights, those who had been hesitant were quick to peel back their eyelids for news.

Everyone in the Crown Prince’s assortment was eager to know what was so different about Foolish of Cail. Why had he earned the right to kiss the Prince, when others had been laughed at when they tried?

He was easy on the eyes, sure, but Technoblade knew from memory alone that more than a few prettier people had not lasted the night. Obviously trained in sword play, from his show at morning practice, tall and yet meek. Foolish was an odd combination of personalities that the Prince had dated prior, and though he seemed like the most unlikely to remain in their bed, he had stayed the longest yet.

Almost a week.

“I am loyal only to you, my Prince,” Technoblade nodded. I apologise for being rash.

“Good boy,” Eret rumbled. It was a gritty sound that was full of menace and snapped nerves. They were tired – he had known from their actions this morning, but this moment proved it.

He decided, with the air soft, to chance it. “When was the last time you slept, my Prince?”

Eret scoffed. The maid replaced their tea and they hid their mouth in it.

He’d tried.

During the meal, Eret had been lax. This annoyance had not been evident, which disturbed Technoblade. He was used to the Crown Prince spitting and hissing when they were peeved, lashing out and shouting when someone wronged them. Instead, today, with that unassuming noble by their side, they had been silent and stared with odd eyes.

Abrupt mood changes in the Prince were not alarming. In fact, Technoblade had been waiting for a day like this; where they spiralled through so many personas in a matter of hours that it left those around them unsteady on their feet. Eret being moody ensured that his Crown Prince had not been swapped out with a changeling or something of the sort.

He’d been genuinely considering testing some iron against their skin. It was uncommon for them to act like this.

Whatever this was. Technoblade couldn’t find the words to describe them.

It was not often the Crown Prince found interest in a common noble.

However, it was the mood itself that alarmed him. What did that gaze mean, when their eyebrows lifted to a relaxed slant and their mouth mellowed out in a smooth line. What had that noble done to them that their reactions had shifted so thoroughly?

“We’ll be paying the maid a visit,” Eret informed him.

Nodding, he waited for them to continue. The Prince was partial to debriefs and ensuring everyone knew what they should be doing.

They spoke no further.

Instead, the Prince finished off her tea and unfolded her legs. As she stood, her hair swirled around her in a mirage and her lithe tail vanished into thin air. Technoblade waited a moment and stood as well, coming around the table to stand beside her. Eret looked over him with a sharp eye before clicking her fingers.

A blue spiralling wreath spread out under their boots. Runes scrawled within the magic circle shivered and fell into line as the Prince’s mana interlaced with the sigils spiralling around them. The magic took grasp of the two of them, rushing up in a lukewarm wave of air that created no draft. Not a blink later, the stone of the Palace faded out. The warm view was replaced by another familiar one; the damp dungeon. It was this place that housed those who had wronged the Empire and whom had the misfortune of falling into the Prince’s claws before the Imperial Guard caught them.

Sequestered in the side of a mountain, one so far away that it would take weeks to reach any nearby villages, sat a hollowed-out labyrinth of square rooms. Having teleported into the main room, Technoblade fell into step behind his Prince as they set off down one pathway of many. Dull torches lit the floors, with no markings or any semblance of a guide to find the exit.

The Crown Prince’s dungeon was not meant to be escaped. So far, not even the most proficient of their prisoners had managed to make it beyond the myriad of turning and twisting hallways that the primary level was made up of.

Technoblade knew not of who had carved out the dungeon, though a glance in any direction would find a wall carved unevenly, slashes made by long claw-like tools hollowing out the dark rock of the mountain.

(He had a few ideas on who had made this place. Most of them, led straight to the writhing amalgamation of power that was the being walking before him.)

The dungeon was large and vast. One hallway led into another and the routes back to the main room were limited to three passages out of sixteen hallways. In a sole hall, the rock sloped inwards and loomed to a point above their heads, with wooden doors lined with metal bars studded into the walls. Some doors were fake, meant to make the place look fuller than it was and intimidate anyone who managed to get out (so far, the number was a small and singular one, though that person had been quickly dealt with). Other doors were real and opened into cramped cells that housed naught more than one person, shackles buckled into the floor or walls depending on the hallway.

As of a few years back, there were no torches in the cells. They had been taken away when one man had sooner decided he would burn to death by his own volition than speak to the Crown Prince. Eret’s irritation had shaken the mountain. An earthquake had spread over the land and opened a cavern up to the sun; shimmering crystalline ore shining under the sun, formed by a burst of mana into the ground. It was the Prince’s mana, and they had excavated it before anyone could even hear of the growth.

(If the people knew the Crown Prince was so inhumanely strong as to form pure crystals of mana, they would fear the Prince. The Temple would shun them out of jealousy turned hatred and those who still believed in that god and followed the Temple would, in turn, shun the Prince. Such a turn of events would decimate Eret’s chances of gaining the people’s trust and leave a dark smear on their name.

For this reason, to protect his Prince, Technoblade would not tell a soul where the crystals had truly come from, as the only other witness to the finding of them. He would take that secret to his grave.)

(He would keep many more, without having to be told or asked.)

They had covered the Crystal Palace in that ore before it was known as any Palace.

His Prince had an uncanny ability to turn any bad situation into one of their favour. It would’ve been horrific were it not awe-inspiring.

Currently, the sole inhabitant was the recently hired maid and sole gift from that common noble boy’s family. The very maid who had attempted to poison the Crown Prince.

With all the gazes on the new entity in the assortment, it had not escaped many peoples’ notice how Foolish’s cup had been the one filled with poison. Had the maid intended to kill the noble or had he been in on it? Most likely, the noble wanted the Crown Prince dead, just like most of the Continent.

Eret was not well liked.

As they neared the cell, Technoblade hefted the torch off the wall and stood by his Prince’s side as they opened the door with a touch. The metal bars holding it in place vanished for a moment, simply winking out of existence as the door swung open.

In the darkness, something alive flinched.

His Prince allowed him to enter first. It was most practical, and he had fought with them over it for years. For him to be first in and last out lowered the risks of an attack via any weapons he had not found in the admission process. Also, being the holder of the fire, it allowed light to permeate the cell and blind the prisoner whilst the Prince sealed the door behind them.

As the light washed over the woman, Technoblade slotted the torch into the tall slot far beyond the reach of any shackled person and took up his stance in the corner of the room.

The maid was sat on the floor, legs curled up to her chest with her wrists bound to the same bolt the shackles around her ankles slotted into. As someone who had no mana, she was no threat to them, and so Technoblade had bound her wrists with coarse rope, just long enough that she could stand with a slight hunch.

He was too kind, sometimes.

When she finally opened her eyes, they were narrowed with hate. Dark eyes alight with a fire Technoblade seen in the young, the maid shot a heavy frown at them both and focussed her glare on the Crown Prince, who stood level with Technoblade as they surveyed the woman, body language loose and lax as though this were no more important than listening to Dream’s latest rant about that mage newspaper he read.

Technoblade was a fighter. Made Commander of the Crown Prince’s Royal Guard at a younger age than any other Commander, younger than all of the Empire’s Generals, he was a considerable opponent to fight against. His Crown Prince themself had fought against him, and they remained the only person he had lost to when in a true fight.

Dream ‘won’ against him all the time, but those were just play fights that got annoying. Technoblade lost those on purpose, as the mage would whine about them for weeks if he did not win. At least, with a quick victory, Dream’s mind forgot about them even quicker.

A former gladiator. A blood-stained monster. The youngest Commander of the Empire. Technoblade had many monikers, many titles. He was famous to some, unknown to others. He was not afraid to get blood on his hands.

But he was not here to interrogate the maid. He was not here to pull out her insides and taunt her family with them by bundling them in a wooden box and leaving them at their front door.

No. Today, Technoblade was to stand behind his Crown Prince and ensure they did not murder the maid before she told them everything they needed.

His Crown Prince got excited at blood. They had killed a few prisoners too early before, which usually meant Technoblade having to track down more people for them to beat the truth out of.

Today, the Guard Dog Commander of the Crown Prince was to stand behind them and do nothing.

The silence stretched on. His Prince stared at her with a blank expression. The maid looked away from their gaze, unable to hold it, and instead paid her respects by spitting at their feet.

Technoblade’s fingers twitched. If he wasn’t on his leash, he would’ve gutted her already.

Dishonour to his Crown Prince was punishable by death.

Eret kicked their boot into the spit and smeared over it with their sole. The maid watched, looking smug, eyes plastered to the ground. That smug air vanished when his Prince cleaned their boot off on her uniform.

“You bastard,” the maid burst to life. Evidently, she had been one of the higher maids back at the Iris Estate if she had such an attitude. That or, she had grown cocky with her promotion to the Palace. “This is no way to treat me! I’m just a maid. I did nothing wrong!”

He could not see Eret’s face, but their tone when they spoke was more than enough to send a thrilled shiver down his back. Gone was the sweat from before, replaced by a bristling sensation that had him eager to see this woman’s blood paint the stone.

“You will tell us everything you know about the Iris Family.”

Cut off, the maid visibly seethed. Her shoulders rose in her petulance and her lips pulled into an ugly smirk. “And if I don’t?”

The Crown Prince’s boot smashed across her face. The maid didn’t even get to blink before she was spitting teeth, tears streaming down to mingle with the blood that poured from her nose. Her jaw was out of place.

“Think carefully about your words,” spoke his Prince. They did not stoop to the maid’s level, instead bending over to reach for her face. The woman’s legs flattened out as she attempted to scrabble away but found the wall to be her resistance. Instead, with her stomach bared, she shied away. His Prince grabbed her with a clawed hand and pulled her jaw back into place. It went with a sickening pop that had Technoblade’s blood rushing in his ears.

He wanted to be the cause of that. He wanted to punch her jaw out again and listen to it pop back into place.

“If you speak now, you may survive.”

Past the hair that streamed over her eyes from her ruined bun, the fear that lanced through the woman was clearly visible. Technoblade understood; the Prince could send a grown man to an early grave with the right glare.

“Thuh— the Iris Family rhhhule over the land of Lutivon—” she spoke with a slur and the numbness of the tongue that came with a broken jaw. Despite the pain, she seemed rabid to speak, blood and spit dripping from her lips. She was quickly cut short.

“I know that,” Eret drove their boot into the woman’s bared stomach. It was a square hit for the solar plexus and she gagged, choking and spluttering for breath. His Crown Prince gave her no reprieve and wrapped a hand around her neck whilst she was still wheezing. “Tell me the more interesting things.”

In contrast, Technoblade would’ve much preferred to hear the entire tale, as to ensure the prisoner’s story aligned.

When people only had to say one thing, it was easy to lie. When they had to tell the whole story, it became much harder to disguise the little oddities.

The Crown Prince kicked the maid again. The girl spat blood, spluttering. She was crying at the injustice.

Technoblade thought it was fair. The rumours were to be listened to in cases like these. All over the Empire, people talked of the Crown Prince who dragged people off to their dungeons; those people never to return. Surely, working in a noble family’s estate, the maid knew well of these whispers.

It was always the maids who were the most hungry for gossip. Second only to the young noble daughters of high society.

“Please...” the maid wept, nose bleeding thick red clots. It was at an angle; obviously broken. From a rough look, Technoblade knew it wouldn’t heal right even if corrected.

How the girl was still speaking was a wonder. Maybe it was the adrenaline.

“Please, stop…” Her voice was nasally and weak.

“Don’t waste your breath,” the Prince sneered. “You think yourself so haughty as to threaten Foolish and get away alive?”

The maid spat. Her scrunched eyes opened wide. Technoblade stared at her renewed image of hatred, intrigued by this sudden shift.

“This is his fault!” She screeched. Coughing and spitting blood and saliva, she gurgled her way through a scalding rant. “He set me up! You should be beating him instead! We all would’ve been so much better off if he had been crushed by that carriage too—”

Ted’s Wrath manifested in a swathe of purple. Barely a second later, it was pushing through the skin of the maid’s arm. Her scream was a howl.

Technoblade’s attention was piqued. The maid was trying to rat this on the noble, but were those the pleas of someone not wanting to be interrogated or the truth?

Eret did not seem as interested in the things he was thinking. Instead, they asked, “Why do you hate Foolish?”

“He brought the darkness,” the maid choked. With metal in her flesh, she had lost the rage and become naught but a shivering fawn. “He cursed us.”

Eret’s head tilted. Technoblade stared at the peculiar action in a state of awe. He had never seen his Prince tilt her head before.

Yet another thing the noble was to blame for, he supposed.

“Expand on that,” demanded his Prince, irrespective of Technoblade’s internal dialogue. “What do you mean?”

“The clouds,” spluttered the woman. “The storms that always killed all the crops. Darkness that never lifted from day to night. He doomed us to never see the sun!”

Eret crouched and ran a finger down the smooth of Wrath’s blade. Technoblade stood sturdy and met the maid’s eyes as she shifted her attention away from the Prince and onto him. Evidently, she had discerned that Eret had no interest in her begging, nor did they entertain the thought of releasing her.

Unfortunately for her, Technoblade had no care for her life either. If his Prince demanded him to kill her right this instant, Technoblade would clamour to obey.

“Do you know who his mother was?”

An odd question, Technoblade mulled.

The maid seemed to think the same. Her brow wavered. Her attempted monologing had been cut short and the Prince was not listening to her spluttered excuses. “I don’t understand.”

“It’s a simple question,” Eret tutted. “Who was Foolish’s birth mother?”

“I don’t know.”

Her skull crunched against the stone wall. His Prince found little satisfaction in the sole action and so repeated it thrice. When blood began to drool down the maid’s face from the dark of her hairline, finally, they relented.

The maid sobbed silently. The Crown Prince of the Hiel Empire crouched before her and caressed the bare metal of their blessed weapon.

Eret Alastair aus Enkeli was the name of the earth-bound being Technoblade was indebted to. Unspeakable was their true name in the human tongue. Why someone as powerful as she was interested in a morsel such as the Lutivon noble, not one member of the Royal Guard nor maid staff knew.

The question and reaction to an unknowing response caught Technoblade off guard. It startled him enough that he had to look away when his Prince’s fingers slithered up to press at the woman’s right eye.

“Please…” came a faint sob. “I don’t know her name. No one does. She was tossed into one of the mass graves.”

If Foolish’s mother had been tossed into a mass grave, that meant she had died during a widespread death. Judging from the noble’s age, it was likely his mother had passed during the siege of the red fever; it had taken out many hundreds, if not thousands, of people in the kingdoms prior to the Empire’s rooting.

The Empire was young yet and had not faced a pandemic such as that. Naught ten years old, the Empire was a mere seed of what it would undoubtedly be in thirty years’ time. Despite its youth, many nobles and citizens were loyal to the Crown and its people.

(Whilst some hated Eret with a passion, many of those people were stuck in the past. The children born now would be raised with propaganda in their blood and would come to worship the Crown Prince. Those people would support them when they inevitably took the throne at the Empress’s death.)

As for the mother, it would be incredibly difficult to find a body to examine amidst the mass graves. Even by this point, the woman would be a mere skeleton. There was little to learn from bones without a strong soul attached. If the mother had lingered, then a limited few rituals could be used to delve into her memories, but the very chance of this working was unlikely.

His Crown Prince had surely come to this conclusion herself. She sighed and pushed Wrath a few inches deeper, much to the shaking and pleading of the maid, whose skin had taken on an ashen pallor from the blood loss.

“Who put you up to this?”

The change in topic seemed almost too much for the woman. She pushed blood out of her open mouth with her tongue and seemed unphased when it soaked further into her white apron, breaths wheezing in her chest.

Lazily, Eret sprang upright in a smooth roiling motion and kicked her again.

“I won’t ask again, maid.”

“I didn’t poison you,” the woman managed, voice thick like tar. “It was the brat.”

Technoblade wasn’t sure if he should believe her, though he couldn’t help but be uncertain of Foolish as well.

Eret breathed a short breath through their nose, seeming fed up. It was probably the lack of sleep coming for them.

“You reek of poison,” his Prince clarified, voice steady. Having shifted closer, Technoblade clearly seen the blank expression they stared down at her with. “Your hands are tinted dark with it.”

The maid checked the one hand she could move. In her concussed state, her eyes went wide.

Her hands were clean but Technoblade supposed her reaction was evidence enough.

His Prince had keener senses than most.

“Why did you poison Foolish?”

The maid dropped her hand into her lap, eyes slipping shut.

Eret shifted to kick her again.

She spoke before it landed. Eret paused with their boot inches from the woman’s mouth.

“Lady Iris told me to.”

Surprise burst through Technoblade, though it was dull and muted. It was a logical link – likely to get the money the Crown would have to give the family for a lost son – but the belief that Foolish of Cail had a moslty happy childhood (aside from the fact his birth mother had died) clashed with it. The noble was too preppy and happy to have a mother that wanted to kill him.

His Prince was silent. Their foot lowered from the woman’s face and they righted their stance.

The maid continued without further prompting. “She’s horrible and rude. If the staff didn’t support the way she raised her fake son then she would punish us too. I hate Foolish because he acted so fucking happy despite it all! It’s not fair – how can he sleep in a shed for a week and still smile?”

What?

“He never looked at us. Always smiling, eyes closed. It’s like he was ignoring the beating, ignoring the glares. Why would he let us get hit and still smile? I hate him for it. I hate him because he never lashed back, I hate him because when the maids tried to be better people, we all got in trouble, but all he ever got was a night in the shed. He’d always smile.”

Alyssa spat blood. She was crying now, heartfelt sobs wracking her as she blinked through her bloodshot eyes. “That brat Foolish isn’t right in the head, mister. I despise him for it. When Lady Iris told me to kill him so they could live off the shell out money, I didn’t want to because I am a good person. But then I came here and I seen how you treat him, how he’s actually smiling now and I remembered how I hated him so, so much.”

Technoblade didn’t think he could speak if he tried. He’d expected to stand in the corner as the maid spilled the Iris Family’s secrets. He had not expected this.

Something clicked in his mind.

Perhaps, the Crown Prince had known this. Perhaps, the reason why Eret liked Foolish so much was because they were alike.

They were both broken. Only, one hid it with smiles and the other pulled on a glare.

Technoblade curled his shaking hands into fists in the hope his Prince would not notice. Thankfully, they seemed much too entranced with the maid and her rambling speech. They did not seem surprised.

“Lady Iris ordered his death?” They spoke finally, when the maid had quelled to a hush.

The woman nodded. She sobbed quietly now, emotions bared and shattered on the very floor Technoblade stood on.

“And what of Mister Iris?” His Prince continued.

Alyssa wept. She told them and her voice tumbled out as though a gale down a mountain. “I don’t know if he knew, but he would never disagree with his wife. He would belt us after the brat for anything Foolish did wrong, like it was our fault the brat couldn’t trim the thorns off the flowers in the garden.”

“Flowers?” Eret questioned. It was an odd line of enquiry. Maybe, they were just as off-centre as Technoblade now felt.

“The red ones that always grow. Nothing else does, just those. The brat calls them rättvisa, but no one else calls them that. We don’t know what they are, not even the gardener did. The old man collapsed to a heart attack after he tried to pull them out of the ground.”

Technoblade did not hold an extensive knowledge of flowers, but at the sharp tinge of the word, he knew straight away there was no flower called rättvisa.

Eret’s head tilted again.

“How interesting,” they said. “How long have you served the Iris Family?”

“Since I was a child,” the maid answered. After her tears, she had calmed considerably. Evidently, she had either grown comfortable with the thought of death or thought she had gained the Prince’s understanding. She had also likely forgotten about the blade wedged into her hand. “My mother sold me off to cover her debt.”

“You were present as Foolish grew up?” Eret prodded further.

The maid nodded and more blood slipped down her face. “I was ten to his seven when he arrived. Quiet, always smiling.”

“Anything odd?”

“What?”

Eret worked their jaw. “Did Foolish have any odd behaviours as a child?”

“None that I can think of,” even the maid seemed caught offguard by this line of questioning. Technoblade stood unmoving for it. “He always wanted to pray and stuff. Would sit in his room and read old journals. He wasn’t allowed out much. I always thought it was because the Irises thought he’d run away.”

“You’re not sure?”

“I don’t think he had the guts to run,” the way it was spoken, it sounded like a pitied truth. It was evident that this maid had once felt kindred with Foolish, likely before the divide between them had widened at the force of the Irises. “Everyone knew it.”

“That wasn’t the question.” Eret kicked her in the stomach again. The maid accepted it with a cough.

“Mister and Missus Iris never told us why. Just said he was too dirty to leave. They only let him play with the flowers in the garden after the gardener died. Lady Iris would torment him by making him grow and look after other flowers that wouldn’t live. He was always too soft, the idiot.”

There was something sentimental in that final sentence.

Eret was silent for a long moment. The maid’s eyes had begun to droop.

“And what of his father?” They finally asked. “His birth one?”

“Dunno,” slurred the woman. “Dead long before that carriage hit his mother, that’s all we ever knew. Foolish didn’t remember much himself and nobody cared much to ask.”

That was even less than they had on the mother.

“Do you know how he died?”

Alyssa shook her head.

“Is there someone who would?” Eret kicked her again to keep her conscious.

“No,” came the wheeze. “Foolish never talked about him.”

“Maybe you should’ve asked,” Eret scowled. Their lithe fingers curled around Wrath’s handle and pulled the blade free. The maid gave a choked scream that was quickly silenced by the sword sliding into her throat.

For some reason, Technoblade felt compelled to look away. He did as his Prince unshackled the body and pulled a vial from their inventory. Uncapping it, the scent of mildew wafted from the small bottle.

Eret poured it over the body. A blue liquid poured out and began to eat away at it.

“Go back inside when you’re done,” Eret hummed, setting the tiny bottle on the stone away from the blood. The blue liquid seemed to pulse in recognition.

Technoblade was silent as Eret turned away and opened the door. He did not look at the sprites as they devoured their meal, instead taking the torch from the wall and following after his Prince.

When the door swung shut once more, Eret stood in the hallway and sighed.

Sliding the torch back into the empty bracket, Technoblade looked over at them. Their tail had slipped from the illusion once more, shoulders hunching as they stood still.

Their boots were covered in the woman’s blood.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” he grunted to them, stepping forth slowly. Eret turned their head towards him, neck twisting unnaturally before it snapped back into place. Long having grown used to such sights, Technoblade was unbothered and curled his hand around their wrist. Ted’s Wrath dripped blood on the floor, held firmly in their other hand.

He slipped it from their grasp and held it as he led them back towards the main room. There, there was a groove in the rock in the centre of the ground that opened up into a staircase upon a specific trigger.

Technoblade lifted Ted’s Wrath above the groove and allowed the blood to drip into it. From above their heads, the stone shimmered out of existence along a rectangular patch and a small stone staircase descended from the ceiling.

Eret blinked mutely as he escorted them upstairs. On the second level was the living quarters. It had been designed for a warden to stay in, however the short stay duration of most prisoners meant there was little need for a designated role of such. Hence, after most of their sessions, Technoblade used the large bath to ensure the Crown Prince cleaned up and sometimes managed to urge them into getting a few hours of sleep in the bed.

With Eret usually being the one to interrogate the prisoner and finding a sinister joy in dropping more than a few illusion spells to scare them shitless, they were often tired. Letting their true form present in the mortal plane was taxing on them.

Corralling the Prince towards the washroom, Technoblade left them to fiddle with their shirt as he thumbed over the sigils inscribed into the wall. The bathroom was a large stone room, just like every other room, with a large pool in it that could be heated or cooled on want. Technoblade tapped the sigil for warmth and allowed the mana to warm the water, which was cleaned by another sigil.

Turning around, he found Eret slumping where they stood, hands slipping from their shirt. They’d gotten it halfway off.

Stepping over, he helped them out of it, not looking at their back lest he anger himself. Eret yawned as the heat permeated the room and stood docile as he further undressed them, having them hold his shoulders as he bent to pull their boots off. With them unclothed, he eased them in the direction of the bath and helped them settle into the water.

Shucking off his own boots, Technoblade made quick work of his own trousers and shirt, all the while eyeing his Prince, who had tipped their head over the edge, eyes closed. They were close to sleep, though he knew from experience that if they fell asleep and weren’t lying on their back, they would panic when they woke up.

When he finally joined them in the water, the room was steamy and the bath was deliciously warm. Eret was on the verge, eyelids fluttering.

“My Prince,” he hummed quietly, dipping his hands in the water to warm them up before he curled them around their shoulders. Eret opened an eye to check it was really him and lost the last of their rigidness as they tipped towards him. Technoblade caught them against his chest, standing upright in the deep bath, and guided them over to the smooth seats along the edge.

Eret dozed as he grabbed the shampoo and bodywashes from the shelf that sat in the side of the bath. It took a bit of maneuvering to get their body washed, though he did it first as he knew washing their hair first would send them right to sleep and he needed them to do a lot of the work.

“Perhaps, you should think about Levande, my Prince,” he softly suggested when he finally sat down beside them and got to rubbing the soap into their hair. A deep rumble had started up in their chest as they snuggled up to him, eyes closed as they let him wash their long hair.

The only reason he’d dared bring up the topic was because he could see how close they were to falling asleep. Eret was the softest when they were like this.

“Mmm,” they murmured back, rumble morphing into a hushed purr as he washed the suds out of their locks and worked his fingers to their scalp. From what he’d heard through a maid, the noble had given them a massage and they’d turned into putty.

The maid had been right; Eret slumped into him completely, head resting on his shoulder as their face slackened.

Surprised at the response, Technoblade kept up the ministrations, allowing them to bask in the feeling for a while. He felt annoyed at himself for not having tried such sooner. There had been a few tense nights where a massage likely would’ve helped calm them down better than a blood-drawing sparring match.

A few minutes later, Eret shifted. He eased up on the massage for them to resituate, smirking as they splashed water over his shoulder to stop them from sticking together as they leaned back onto him.

“Wanted Foolish to see Crystal,” they mumbled, catching him off guard at the sudden talking. He’d honestly thought they were going nonverbal, as he’d seen them bite at their cheek in the way they did when they didn’t want to talk.

“Yeah?” Technoblade hummed back. After what the maid had revealed, Technoblade didn’t question why his harsh Prince would want to give something to someone else; he understood now.

“Mhm,” Eret agreed. “Gotta show him the stars ‘fore we go anywhere.”

“If we don’t go to Levande soon,” he began in warning.

“I know, ‘m tired.” That was always the first symptom, though it was usually overlooked by them as their own insomnia or purposefully ignored. Technoblade was glad Eret had become self-aware enough to spot the signs.

He rubbed their head, working his fingers slowly along their scalp. Eret breathed a deep breath over his skin, tail splashing gently in the warm water. He’d let them sleep for a few hours before returning for dinner.

Chapter Text

After lunch, Foolish tried to wrangle Dream into sitting down with him somewhere, not really wanting to get into the reason why he needed him out in the hallways. However, Dream had been fidgety and seemed very busy, so Foolish had let him go after shoving the conversation towards an agreement that they could talk after dinner.

He felt better about getting his mana ‘read’ with Eret in the room. It was nothing more than curiosity that made him want to find out, as he didn’t think he would have much mana to do anything with. Sure, he had weird dreams sometimes, but those had nothing to do with magic or that stuff. Foolish just had an overactive imagination, and a jumping sensation in his stomach when he thought about not having Eret standing with him whilst Dream did whatever he was going to do.

Even if he had no mana, despite what Eret evidently thought (because she had to have suggested the reading for a reason; he felt like he knew her so well already), Foolish couldn’t be too upset. It would be silly to be sad over something he’d never had.

But then… when he’d seen happy families walking around down in the town the Iris Estate sat outside of, he’d always wished that for himself. He’d been sad about the lack of parental love Rosetta and Jonathan had been able to give him. Or rather, had withheld from him.

As he was mulling over little things like that, a figure appeared behind him. He didn’t so much as see it as he felt it. Turning, Foolish found Mar bowing towards him.

“Mar,” he greeted, startled in equal measures at seeing her and at someone actually being there. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, master,” she nodded immediately. “Would you like a tour of the palace?”

Seeing as he was lost standing in the foyer, only knowing that the dinning room was to the left hall, Foolish figured a tour would greatly help. “That would be much appreciated, Mar. Thank you!”

Rising now that she had been assigned a task, Foolish found the woman’s cheeks were tinted a mellow pink. “You don’t need to praise me, master.”

“And I told you, you don’t need to call me ‘master’,” he reminded gently.

“My deepest apologies, sir,” Mar bowed even deeper. A little uncomfortable, Foolish thought back to the way everyone acted around Eret and figured that he had to accept a few formalities that would inevitably come with him being their partner.

Still, Mar had no need to bow so that she was nearly bent double.

“It’s alright,” he said, and caught her shoulder as she rose. As though struck, she froze immediately. “There,” he mused. “Bow no deeper than that.”

“But, sir,” she gasped, sounding very upset. “Such is inappropriate. A maid should not bow so shallow that she can see her lord’s feet.”

“Bow however you want when there are others present,” he decided to compromise, the Head Maid’s voice tingling in his skull as he recalled how Mar came from a strict household. He supposed, they were very similar in that respect. Even moreso, when he thought about how he easily could’ve ended up working for the Irises, had Rosetta not decided having a son was favourable to her. Foolish very well could have ended up in Mar’s place. “But when it’s just us, please don’t strain yourself.”

“I—” Mar seemed a little lost. Foolish smiled in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “Thank you very much, sir.”

When she rose, Mar stared at him, seeming startled by the instant eye contact they made and quickly dipped into another bow. It wasn’t exactly the height he’d set out as the limit she should be going to, but he supposed it was progress.

“Don’t fuss about it,” he tried to comfort her. “Shall we get on with this tour?”

“Of course, sir,” Mar hastily nodded. She rose and, at his smile and gesturing, stepped a few feet in front of him to guide him about the palace.

The Crystal Palace was not as large as the Golden Palace. However, its library was almost as big as its sibling; two floors large, with a great litany of books and colourful covers. The bookshelves were dark oak wood, much like the rest of the wood that adorned the keep-themed palace. It set a deep emotion into the floor as they walked along, making Foolish feel humble to be passing through the halls.

At least four storeys tall, with the top floor reserved entirely for stargazing and plotting, Mar apologised profusely at not being allowed up there. It was the Crown Prince’s domain, she’d spluttered, clearly upset she could not direct him everywhere. He’d told her not to worry and had put the incident to the back of his mind, deciding to ask Eret at some point later. Surely, she’d let him up to see around? Mar said that was where the towers were accessible from.

The library was only accessible by the second floor, and took up most of the eastern wing. The Crystal Palace was evidently not built to accommodate guests or balls, as the Golden Palace was, as it lacked any large ballrooms and only had a few visitor parlours. Along the walls, there were numerous paintings. Some of which he recognised.

There were a few along the hall on a second floor, leading towards the west wing, which Foolish had designated as the left side of the palace, with the dining room and kitchens directly below. Mar told him that on this level, most of the Guard had taken rooms. Along this route, just off the landing onto the second floor, Foolish paused to look at a few paintings.

Most of them depicted battle sites. Mar didn’t know the meaning behind most of them, so she remained quiet after stating she was unable to read. Foolish went along, telling her what the little bronze plaques said.

The same one he’d seen at the Tialis Estate was here, too; Sir Awe fighting, standing alongside a swathe of darkness that could only be the Crown Prince of the Empire, who hefted a gleaming sword at the enemy and led the charge.

“The Wrath,” gasped Mar, staring wide eyed at the shining blade. “I didn’t know the Holy Blades were forged so soon. The Crown Prince’s Wrath is most powerful.”

She saw him watching her and ducked her head. “My apologies, sir.”

“No worries,” he smiled. When she lifted her head again, he asked, “Can you take me to my room?”

“You’ll likely be in the Master Bedroom,” Mar said and scurried off up the large wood staircase. “The Crown Prince has a spell in the walls that allows you to transport your belongings from room to room. It should work for you… I think. If it does not work, I can fetch the Head Maid. She will know what to do.”

“Sure,” he agreed, following after her. Mar led him deep into the third floor before pausing by a pair of large double doors.

Foolish reached out and opened them when it became obvious Mar wouldn’t. The room that stretched out before him was smaller than the one in the Golden Palace, with a small couch sitting by an empty fireplace off to the right. To the left, directly opposite said fireplace, which was made of dark and old-looking stone, sat a large bed.

Stepping in, Foolish admired the room. There were warm, thick furs on the bed, underneath which sat a deep red throw. Above the bed, a scarlet sheet made up the top of the canopy, which hung down with golden tassels that seemed to glow in the light that spilled in from the large window.

Mar rushed over to open the windows to air the room out before fussing with the bedsheets as Foolish found an odd couple of sigils etched into the wall beside the doors. Tapping one, he startled as the room lit up; the fire braziers lighting with a soft, orange flame. The second one had the orb in the fireplace cycling to life – a small spark beginning before orange and yellow flames were licking out from the sphere. Hesitant to try the third, a bit disheartened at not getting the results he’d wanted, Foolish tapped the next sign. It was a small square shape.

Looking back to check the results, he was startled as the mantlepiece filled with trinkets, a pillow and throw appearing over the small couch. On the bed, a few extra pillows appeared, and another door blinked into existence at the back of the room, along the wall with the fireplace.

“Nicely done, sir,” Mar complimented, stood by the end of the bed and bowing once again.

“Uh, thanks?”

“Is there anything else I can help you with?”

Caught mid-step in his quest to inspect the mantlepiece, Foolish turned back to Mar. “Oh, uh. No?”

Still stooped in her bow, Mar nodded. “You may ring the bell for me, sir.”

“Okay,” he agreed, and watched her slip out of the room. Alone now, Foolish tried to settle in. He circled along the walls, opening drawers and checking out that new door. It was the closet, packed full of clothes and in exactly the same state they’d left it in this morning.

On the fireplace’s mantle sat a familiar wooden box. Upon opening it, Foolish looked over the little card with all the different colours of ribbons scribbled onto it. All the colours and their meanings.

Smiling at it, Foolish brought the box over with himself and sat down on the couch. He had some time to kill before dinner.

“Dream!” Foolish caught the man just as he stepped out of the dining room. The Crystal Palace’s design was flipped compared to the Golden Palace; with everything revolving around in a circular fashion. The dining table was circular, the dark black wood making it feel as though he was sitting at an ancient knighthood’s meeting, with the white curtains draped over ornate windows allowing light to splinter into the room.

The Crystal Palace, for all it was revered, was old on the inside. Old wooden planked floors creaked underfoot, the staircase alternated between wood and stone and chilled him to the bone by sight alone. Tapestries lined the stone walls where oil canvases did not.

Eret hadn’t been focussed enough to fend off a question about the design of the palace, though everyone else acted as though it was completely normal for the outside walls to be glistening with crystals (he’d read somewhere that they were naturally forming in the surrounding fields; a product of mana seeping into the earth) whilst the interior looked like an old keep.

Halfway out the circular-domed doors, which were a heavy, dark wood, Dream turned expectantly. “Yeah?”

The fact he acted confused put a jolt in Foolish’s step, though he quickly recovered. After lunch, Dream had agreed on talking after dinner. The hunter-mage had seemed very busy, though, and made a quick getaway without ironing out the details.

“Anywhere we can grab that minute?” Foolish asked, hauling Eret along after him. His partner stood beside him, hand clutching his, hip pressing more into his side with each passing moment. She hadn’t stopped yawning since she’d sat down at the table, and in the past five minutes, she’d been nearly asleep in her chair. And, though it was admittedly a bit cute – she yawned like a kitten, just like how she sneezed – Eret was obviously exhausted despite her earlier nap.

Whatever she’d left to do after lunch had left her even more drained than before. When they’d teleported in, Technoblade had practically carried them to their seat for dinner. During said meal, Elizabeth had roused her twice, mere seconds after each other, seeming concerned for kois neck whilst chastising them to eat, and Technoblade had gently shook them awake on the one occasion Foolish didn’t immediately notice koi dropping into her dumplings.

It would’ve been funny, he was sure, were he not so concerned over them. Not only had she stopped responding after he’d dumped old stories on her, but she’d also been poisoned and had a panic attack, all in the matter of a few hours. Her hands shook minutely when he held them.

Dream seemed surprised at his request, glancing quickly to Eret. “Sure, that’s fine, yeah. I’d just figured you would... postpone or something.” He nodded, seemingly more to himself as he bit at his lip. He wasn’t wearing his mask here, unlike how he’d barely taken it off at the Golden Palace. Perhaps because there seemed to be less people working in the Crystal Palace? “Uh, so, is this, like, a drawing room sort of minute, or a library one? I was gonna go there and get some reading in.”

“We can go to the library,” Foolish nodded. He swung his arm around Eret’s waist and made sure she didn’t doze off on him.

The library was on the second floor, past countless wooden beams and dark red carpets splayed over dark stone slabs. It seemed the first and third floors were wooden whilst the second floor was made up completely of stone blocks. Dream led the way as though it was second nature to him, strolling along with his hands in his pockets.

“What’s with this place?” Foolish asked finally, peering at another painting on the wall. Something about it was unsettling, despite how it appeared to simply portray a woman with long black hair in a luscious red dress. He squinted at it further and couldn’t decide what it was that disturbed him. Walking on, he pinched Eret’s side and was rewarded with her head jerking up, eyes shooting open with a start.

“What do you mean?” Dream asked, tipping his head back to look at him. His sharply pressed trousers and short cape seemed out of place on him, as though he was suited better to the scruffy garb of a peasant. The thought was terribly rude and Foolish felt ashamed at the very hint of it (though it was true; Dream did not seem like the type to walk around in expensive wares). Compared to this very palace which masqueraded as a keep, Foolish couldn’t decide if Dream was an oddity or not – the Crystal Palace had not lived up to expectations.

“This place looks great on the outside,” he said for lack of better words. “Yet, inside, it looks like an old soldier’s keep.”

“Oh,” Dream gave a puffed wheeze. “That’s ‘cause it was.”

What…?

His silence spoke for him.

Dream span on his heel to stare at him with his sharp eyes. Foolish looked into them and randomly felt that an emerald’s green would be stronger. The Hunter of the Royal Guard’s eyes were more of a foilage green; all dark shadows and roiling leaves. His eyes were incomparable to the wavering ocean of lush colour that an emerald held – more of a parakeet or lime green, in juxtaposition.

“This was a keep before the Prince decided to revive it as one of their Palaces.” He explained. “It was falling down, back then, but Eret really liked it. Plus, most of the journalists who report on the Palace have never been inside.”

“I don’t think its reputation would be so impressive if they had,” Foolish said.

Seeming surprised, Dream blinked at him. “You think? I thought it was a nice touch, having the two different sides, and all. It’s kind of like Eret themself, if you read into it.”

Dream swerved left to avoid a maid who came out of an open-doored room. The young woman bowed her head and hastily walked on, carrying a stack of linens almost up to her chin. Foolish slipped his eyes to the side and found she’d been preparing the bed of a bedroom, one that paled in quality to the Golden Palace’s.

“Anyways,” Dream said, not continuing onto that line of conversation. “This Palace isn’t as fancy as the Golden one, so you shouldn’t compare them too much. A little change in scenery is good!”

Tuning out the man who was now rambling, Foolish glanced over at Eret and found her staring at him, unblinking. Making eye contact, Foolish lifted an eyebrow in question.

Eret offered him a lopsided smile. Her head tilted and he tilted his as well, mirroring her whilst trying to get a good look at their eyes. Her fringe was flopped over her face, shading the soul-engulfing whiteness of her pupils and irises.

“You okay, sweetheart?” He asked quietly, surprising himself at how gentle he sounded.

Ki stopped walking. Foolish stopped too, arm curled around kois waist tightening a fraction. Dream, unaware of their pause, continued on, chattering to himself.

“You’re so cute,” Eret breathed, something soft yet heavy in her voice. She stepped closer to him and pushed him backwards. Foolish got three steps back before the wall met his back. Having cornered him, Eret offered a beautiful grin and pushed her chest against his, rising on her tiptoes to press their lips together. Her entire body radiated cold, however, her lips were soft and warm.

Overwhelmed by the heat of kois kiss, Foolish settled his hands on their hips and tipped down towards koi to lessen the height gap that had her stretching upwards. Eret wrapped her arms around his shoulders, a hand settling on the back of his neck as her tongue slipped between his lips and pushed into his mouth. Amused by this, Foolish lightly bit down on it, drawing a whine from his partner.

Eret parted from him, allowing him a breath. Foolish used it to chuckle in the space between them, whilst Eret’s chest shook in an imitation of breathing, a warm flush filling her cheeks from her ears. Flitting a hand up her side, he had her pressing closer to him, a ripple of a shiver following his hand. Cupping her neck to find it blisteringly warm, he smiled teasingly at her and dipped them both into another gentle kiss.

The silence in the hallway caught his attention. Drawing away, leaving Eret pouting, Foolish looked down the corridor to find Dream standing, watching.

“Oh,” the man lifted his hands when he saw Foolish looking. His grin was gleeful, scars stretching as he spoke. “Don’t mind me. I’m more than happy to watch.”

Eret waved a hand at him. Whatever she did had Dream turning on his heel, standing stock still with his back to them.

Foolish blinked before laughing. “Eret…”

“What?” She blinked innocently, face still flushed cutely. “Come back to me.”

Ki initiated the kiss, seeming to grab and pull at him, wanting him to be as close to her as was physically possible. Foolish went easily, feeling happy at how he was wanted. It made him feel more secure when Eret was so obvious with her affection.

After a few moments of indulgence, Foolish peeled away. “We should get a move on, habibi.”

“Habibi?” Eret husked, licking her lips as she stared at him. “What does that mean?”

Feeling a little nervous, Foolish looked off to the side. Dream was still standing, waiting at the end of the hallway. Eret’s lithe hand slipped around his jaw and turned his face towards her.

One of their prim brows rose. “Well?”

“I, uh, I read it in a book a while ago. It’s meant to mean ‘my love’.”

Eret’s façade stuttered. Her long tail coiled around his leg, pulsing eagerly as her face shuddered with the sight of dark veins under her pale skin. Foolish found himself enraptured with the sight, rather than repulsed or afraid, and kissed her again just as her mouth opened and closed on a growling laugh. Her teeth were sharp between his tongue but that didn’t stop him, hands curling around her waist as he hugged her tight to him.

“So adorable, my little flower,” Eret hissed into his ear when they parted.

His world paused. “What?” He asked, voice sounding distant and surprised.

Head tipping back, Eret blinked at him; surveying. She looked human again, though an inkling of darkness welled around her eyes, still. Whatever she saw had her frowning too.

“Foolish?” She hummed. “What’s wrong?”

“Mama used to call me that,” he admitted, feeling a weight on his shoulders be relieved. Foolish had made it a point to never talk about his real parents back at the Iris Estate but with Eret looking up at him, eyes clear and serene, listening, he felt soothed by merely speaking the words aloud. As he spoke, he thought of the rättvisa and how they comforted him.

A small voice wondered if Eret would plant some in the gardens for him.

“Ah,” Eret answered, nodding. Something about her, whether it be her eyes or the way she’d spoken, made Foolish feel as though she completely understood him. “Shall I call you something else, then?”

“You don’t have to,” he said, though the hesitance was clear.

“Very well, then.” Ki smirked. “Shall you be my knight in shining armour?”

Spluttering at the sudden change up, Foolish was unsure how to respond.

“Or my surly dragon? We’re in a keep – it is fitting to have a dragon in one. This would make a perfect lair, hm?”

Stuttering, Foolish worked up the words. “You don’t have to— those are very…”

“But I do have to,” Eret piped up when he trailed off. She bopped their noses together; a soft, easy peace settling between them.

No, Foolish realised. That peace had always been present. Now, it simply felt real.

“My Prince?” Eret cooed, continuing with a sly smirk. “Or would you prefer princess?”

“Aren’t you s’posed to be my prince?” He traded back, falling into the lull.

“I can be anything you want me to be,” ki winked.

Squeezing their hips, Foolish chuckled and kissed their forehead. Straightening his back to return to his proper height, he grinned down at them as they pouted up at him. There were only a few inches between them, but it was enough that Eret had to reach to kiss his lips.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he teased back, tenderly maneuvering them so that they faced down the hallway once more. “But, I do believe we’ve idled a little too long.”

“If you call that idling,” Eret snickered. “What do you call the—”

He cut them off with a finger on their lips. Eret grinned and licked it, making him jump and clean it on her shirt. As she laughed, Foolish smiled as well and slipped his hand back into hers.

“Come on,” he gestured over to poor Dream, who looked to be straining against whatever spell Eret had put him under to look back at them. “We’re wasting sir Dream’s time.”

“Dream’s time is my time,” Eret said, not intending to sound menacing but doing so anyways. “That which is spent with you, is hardly wasted at all.”

Not wanting to unpack that, Foolish shook his head in amusement and dragged her back along the hallway. When they passed Dream, Eret clicked her fingers and the man dropped to his knees, overdramatically kissing the ground as he complained.

“Hurry along, Dream,” ki called over her shoulder. “Now, you’re wasting our time.”

“Coming, Your Highness!” The man squeaked, a loud shuffling signifying his scramble to his feet. A few moments later, he was trailing behind them, allowing Eret to lead Foolish towards the library.

Eret took a seat on one of the couches whilst Foolish stood an awkward few feet away. With Eret watching rather keenly (she’d definitely woken more up during their walk), Dream stopped opposite Foolish and offered him a grin.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” The man asked.

“Uh,” he shot a glance over to Eret, who watched with prim eyes. “Eret said you could read my mana?”

“Oh, okay,” though he seemed surprised, Dream nodded along and gestured for his hands. Reaching out for the man, Foolish let the other man turn his palms up.

“This won’t hurt at all,” the man reassured him, untying his cloak and slinging it over the back of another chair. “Actually, you probably won’t feel anything.”

“What exactly will you be doing?” Foolish queried, watching as the mage tapped on a pair of gems embedded within his wrist and his gaze shifted out of focus. Was he in his inventory?

“Oh, I’ll spread a little gel over your hands. It’s sort of magic?” At Foolish’s silence, Dream hurried to explain. “It’ll make it easier for me to read your mana.”

True to his words, the man pulled out of his inventory with a blink. A clear bottle with a see-through, lightly blue liquid in it appeared in his open hand.

“This is mana water,” Dream said. “It’s really just normal water with a little mana infused. Incredibly easy to do – this stuff can heal very minor wounds, like scratches, and some people even use it like holy water to cleanse people of spirits and all that.”

“But it’s different from holy water?” Foolish followed up, something tingling in his chest at the thought of holy water. He wasn’t quite sure where the feeling had come from, or what it was, but it made him feel staticky… if that was possible.

“Yep. Holy water’s blessed by a Temple Priest. It doesn’t do a lot of the stuff that mana water does. Next to nothing, actually.”

Nodding along, Foolish watched as the man uncapped the vial bottle, which was the size of Dream’s own hand, and dripped a few dribbles into the curve of his palm. Following Dream’s instruction, Foolish rubbed it into his palm, getting it over his skin.

It felt like water. Not thicker, not thinner. It dried into his skin and left him feeling a little tingly, though that easily could’ve been Foolish’s nerves appearing.

With Dream standing in front of him and about to begin, Foolish suddenly felt his anxiety rear up tenfold.

“Mana readings are harmless, Foolish,” Eret spoke up, evidently having noted his unease. “Dream looks into your mana core through meditation. He can tell you how big or small your core is.”

“The smaller, the less mana you can store in your body and use,” Dream kindly explained. His words made it clear what he thought Foolish would have.

Feeling disheartened, Foolish pushed his palms back up to face the ceiling, as Dream had made him do earlier. Eret sat unbothered on the couch, crossing her legs over one another as she set an arm over the couch’s back.

So what if he didn’t have any mana? He would be fine. He was twenty-four summers old and had never used or thought about mana before. What difference would a confirmed null have?

Dream let him take a deep breath before he took off his gloves. Dream dropped the fabric into his inventory and Foolish watched as they disappeared completely. Inventories seemed so cool.

“Alright,” Dream offered him another reassuring smile before stepping closer to him. Foolish made sure to stand very still as the man set his hands over his, calluses grazing over his softer palms.

The man closed his eyes. Foolish stood very nervously as Dream took in a few deep breaths.

His brow scrunched. Another deep breath. It smoothed out.

Foolish began to feel impatient. He should’ve asked how long these things took…

Not a moment after he’d thought that, Dream opened his eyes. Eret was looking at him with a heavy air, as though she was annoyed about something.

“I- I’m sorry,” Dream said.

Foolish’s heart shattered. He knew it. He knew he’d have nothing. Foolish knew he would have no mana; he shouldn’t be so upset about it.

“I can’t read you.”

He blinked. Eret sat upright, both feet firmly on the ground.

“What?” Eret asked. “Try again.”

Dream opened his mouth before shutting it. He nodded and closed his eyes again. This time, his hands shook. A few seconds later, he opened his eyes once more.

Unable to get a word out, Foolish could only stare.

The shake spread up along Dream’s arms. He pulled away. “I’m sorry, I really can’t.”

Worried, Foolish looked over to Eret. She stood in a blaze, glaring Dream away, who retreated like a kicked puppy.

With Eret in front of him, Foolish felt mildly calmer.

“Mana readings are using meditation to tap into someone’s mana core.” She began, running her fingers over the ridges of his palm. “Mages like Dream can visualise the mana core in their mind and are usually able to accurately determine that person’s capacity. However, such tactics only work on normal mortals.”

“Mortals?” Foolish found his voice to echo her.

Ki nodded. “Humans,” she expanded. “They have simple cores. Simple mana. Such simple little things.”

Foolish shifted nervously. What was she saying?

“I’m sure you’ve noticed I’m not entirely human, Foolish,” Eret declared. She looked into his eyes and the dark veins returned, this time spiralling around her eyes. When she spoke, her voice echoed and rippled throughout the room. “That is because I am not. We Otherpeople are what mortals would call demons.”

Startled, Foolish could only gape at her. Somehow, he felt as though he’d already known that. The multitude of arms and sharp teeth and the dark tail that swayed behind her head even now were just small factors of that.

But he’d seen those arms in his dream?

Eret smiled at him. Her teeth glinted.

Foolish took a deep breath. The mana orbs in the room flickered.

“Eret,” he whispered. “You’re scaring me. What does this have to do with my mana?”

Her laugh held the sweetness of crushed berries. “Everything, my dear,” she announced. “Those orbs did not go out because of me.”

What?

Thunder boomed outside. Dream jumped, flinching away from where the stark light of lightning splashed through the windows at the end of the library. In the dullness of the room now that the mana orbs had shut off, he seemed pale.

Eret’s skin was a writhing mess of shadows.

“Eret,” Foolish repeated. “What are you doing?”

Her laugh echoed in the room. “I’m not doing anything, Foolish.”

He was shaking. Eret lifted her hands from his and curled her arms around his shoulders again. It was a warm motion, the action bringing a renewed memory of the sanctum he’d found in her earlier, barely twenty minutes ago.

Soft lips grazed his ear as he stooped. “Let it out,” she whispered into the shell of his ear.

Deep in his chest, something heard those words and cracked open. A dam flooded. The sea roared. Every cloud in the sky shuddered. Foolish’s veins became red hot and

he

s c r e a m e d  .

The world shook. Foolish crashed to his knees. Eret came with him.

His chest was tight. Something clawed at his skin and tore it open. As he heaved for breath, Eret coiled around him, tight and safe, and he coughed and spluttered on liquid air.

Something green splattered over the hand that had risen to his mouth. Eret’s long fingers curled around his wrist and pulled it back. Outside, the rain shattered against the ground, splintering into water that gathered in the crevices and pooled and pooled and pooled

“Let it out, Foolish,” cooed Eret.

Foolish let it out.

He opened his eyes. They were all-seeing. The darkness wavered, full of shadows and wrath.

“I gave everything I had,” Eret wept with the voice of someone who had long stopped pondering their own questions. They shook in his arms, quivering with each breath, white eyes brimming with heavy tears. “Why would she do this?”

“It’ll be okay,” he soothed, voice deeper than he recognised. His arms held Eret and his body rocked the both of them, but Foolish couldn’t help but feel dissociated from the ‘him’ he seen. It felt too surreal to be reality.

“It won’t be,” Eret sobbed, cheeks shining wet. They gripped his shoulders with lithe hands, dwarfed by Foolish’s immense broadness. “Why would Mother…? I fought for… It should be mine!”

Foolish hummed and soothed them, brushing away their tears with thick, scarred hands. He watched himself, traced the actions back to a wide body adorned with furs and gold. Eret was draped in a slim bodysuit, black as night with a sparkling red belt around her waist. There was a cloak discarded at their feet, red velvet dark as blood and hemmed with dazzling white fur like the pelt Foolish wore over his shoulder.

“We’ll win it back,” he grunted, gruff and determined. “This Empire will fall under our boots if it won’t succumb.”

He woke up.

Chapter Text

A woman glowing with the essence of youth stood before him. Foolish blinked down at her past the myriad of light and noted how her long white dress swirled in a wind he did not feel. Her rich brown hair glinted like expensive chocolate in the blessing sun and the flowers nestled in the crook of her elbow seemed to beam and exude joy. She was so bright; from her gentle aura to the way she stood.

Despite being able to clearly make out each strand of her hair as it curled and lapped in the wind, Foolish could not make out her face. When squinting at her features, he saw only a blur.

“Come along, little one,” cooed the woman. Her gentle, calm tone made something bubble in his chest. By her voice alone, he knew she was smiling.

A younger version of himself took a tumble. He was covered in mud, leaves sticking out of his hair, clothes scratched by thorns. His hair was short, curling around his ears in the same way the woman’s did. Unlike of the woman, Foolish could see his younger self’s facial features clearly.

The boy was grinning, eyes big and illuminated by the sun. When he saw the woman, his already twinkling countenance became positively ablaze. His grin was wide with excitement and love, strong enough that the sight alone made Foolish’s chest ache.

“Coming, mama!” The kid called.

Someone gave an anguished shout.

The woman and boy turned to him and Foolish realised his mouth was open from it. He had been the one to shout.

“It’s alright, my dear,” the woman hushed. Her soft hands rested on his shoulders and the heave of her chest told him she was regarding him closely. The boy clutched his trouser leg and gawked up at him, green eyes swirling with a galaxy of light and shifting colour. “You are stronger than you know.”

“I’m not strong at all,” he gasped, clutching at his own chest as it burned horribly. This was his real mother. His mama was here, looking after a younger version of himself.

What was this? What was he seeing?

“Do not doubt yourself,” his mama tutted. She lightly flicked his shoulder. A rose bloomed along her own. Foolish startled, watching with wide eyes as he noticed the vines crawling over his mama’s skin. Leaves and buds blossomed from the depths of her hair, framing her neck. More flowers unfurled along her lithe arms and made her skin glow with a faint green hue.

Her fingers curled around his jaw and pulled his attention to her face. He saw her soft lips and her closed eyes. Dark lashes licked at her pink cheeks, a sharp cheekbone making a proud but loving face.

“You are the son of the Greats,” she said. “I can only be sad that I am not permitted the path of the mortal world to see your Awakening.”

He spluttered. “What?”

Everything was spinning. The boy tugging at his leg was growing more insistent. His mama’s smile was sad; smooth, pale lips twisting downwards like a drooping lily.

“Mama,” he whispered. Foolish had so many questions: what did she mean by the mortal world, why could she not walk it (because she was dead?), why was he seeing this, what did she mean by ‘the Greats’, why was he here, who was he, what was he? “What’s happening?”

“Your mana has woken,” she smiled and opened her eyes. Fresh, wet soil fell from the pits where her eyes should have been. Foolish felt a bolt of shock pulse through him – sharp and crude as if a spear had pierced his flesh. Yet, the boy did not flinch. His mama watched on as though she had expected such a reaction, and for a moment Foolish wished desperately to know what way his face had twisted, though she carried on without much of a pause. “Old magik unfurls from the depths of your body and it will envelop you. You will change, my son. Your true skin will unveil and your honest presence will grace the mortal world.”

Foolish felt his heart thundering in his chest.

“I can’t wait, mama!” the boy burst forth, jumping over to cling to his mama’s leg instead of Foolish’s. His grin was wide, sharp teeth glinting menacingly despite the boy’s carefree expression. “Will I get påskyndar like—"

Everything went green. A deep, rich emerald colour that he saw his reflection in.

“Your Highness,” came a frantic yelp. “Should I get Jabber?”

“Shut up, Dream,” Eret’s voice lulled the haste. She sounded calm, though her vowels hitched with something akin to eagerness.

The room was startlingly silent aside from Foolish’s roaring heart. Blood gushed through his veins, making his fingers shake and his arms grow warm. His throat was dry but shook with sound – coincidentally, at the same time, an eerie growling began to echo in the stagnant air. It ricocheted off Eret and swam around a quivering Dream, giving Foolish an immediate knowledge of where the two were.

Eret was kneeling beside him, her hands curled in her lap. He hadn’t seen her but he knew that was what she was doing.

Foolish looked up from the puddle of green on the floor and his eyes found a swathe of her clothing. Following her form with his gaze, he found her sitting unbothered, looking quite pleased as she stared at him. Her white eyes were unblinking and though her veins no longer bulged with Tartarean darkness, her long tail flicked back and forth behind her head and two extra pairs of arms were perched along her torso, also resting in similar states of ease.

She had called him an ‘otherpeople’. Ki had claimed him to be of devil-kind.

The growl that reverberated in his chest grew loud and deep.

“There’s no need for that,” Eret chastised. “Would you like some tea?”

Dream shook where he crouched behind the couches.

Thunder boomed outside. It gurgled in his bones and reverberated with him. Lightning struck with energy like perilous laughter, flashing the room white as his fingers twitched. The rain thrummed on the glass windows, slapping on the fragile material with such vigour that he felt impatient.

“Foolish,” spoke Eret. Their voice chimed in the disquieted space.  “Stop growling. Sit down.”

He was on his knees. Something dripped from his chin.

Eret tutted in the same tone his mama had and reached into her pocket. They pulled forth a handkerchief that they used to wipe his face. It came away covered in more of the green liquid. It was thick and shimmering on the silk cloth.

She folded the handkerchief once, neatly in half, and swept it over his lips. Its kiss was soft and cool. Eret was gentle in her ministrations. Her relaxed gaze made him think of her actions as loving. Them simply sitting with him made him feel soothed but also frazzled. Errant energy bristled along his skin as he watched her.

Lightning brightened the room again. Eret pulled her hand away, seeming nonplussed by everything. She was too far away.

Foolish grabbed her wrist. He saw the skin of his outstretched arm shimmer in the storm’s visage. The sight made him pause. He’d always had more tan to him than most others but in the flashing light, he appeared more golden than usual.

Eret raised an eyebrow at his hand and flicked him an unimpressed stare. “What’s wrong?”

Her words made him blink. Suddenly, he tugged her towards him. Eret gasped as he pulled them into his chest. He barely felt the impact though they gave a dry wheeze on contact and sagged meekly. Dream was watching with wide eyes and he made a low noise of worry that was quickly stifled when Foolish turned a glare towards him.

Dream shrank away. Foolish looked down at Eret and ran a hand through her hair as she leaned against him. She was awkwardly kneeling into him so he brushed his hand under her knees and dropped her into his lap, shifting himself so that he was sitting. He folded his legs below her, a hand on her shoulder keeping her in place.

“Foolish,” she said, word slow as though they’d struggled to parse it. When she tipped her head back and looked up at him, something sparkled in her eyes.

Green flooded his vision. Something gripped his wrist. A choking sound made him growl.

Eret grabbed at his arm, staring up at him with dizzying, beseeching eyes. Her mouth gaped in a soft circle. The mix of his hands closing around her neck and his warm skin clashing with her pale and cold skin was beautiful. Although the sight and sound of her gasping and struggling to breathe was more fitting for a demon.

At the ruckus, Dream clambered from his hiding place and gave a shout, holding his hand up as he took a few steps over. Foolish ignored him, knowing the man wouldn’t dare try any effective magics with his precious Crown Prince below him.

True to his predictions, Dream stopped short of action. Instead, he yelled something in the spellcaster tongue and proceeded to scream for help like a lost child.

The demon had gone beautifully flushed under him. Despite its six arms, it did not fight and simply lay there. Foolish wasn’t sure of its intent, however, he understood the need to differentiate himself from this scum.

His chest rumbled as he glared down at the monster. Outside, his storm raged on, booming as his ears sharpened and the noise of armour clanging reached him.

A few moments later, the doors to the library burst open. A charge of twenty men rushed into the large room, led by none other than Technoblade. The Commander hefted a Holy Blade, much like the one the demon under him lay privy to.

“Get off them!” Roared Technoblade, his blade Obliterator glinting in the flickering of the lightning outside. Without the orange mana orbs to light the library, it was dark and gloomy. The shining silver armour of the Royal Guard was most a normal man would see of the knights. As it was, Foolish’s eyes sharpened and he saw each man and woman vividly. He seen clearly how their chests heaved.

Not a moment after his shout, Technoblade charged him.

Regarding the situation, Foolish peered down at the demon below him and saw them smiling. Their eyes were thin slits and they’d gone an odd shade of dull pink.

He released his hold on them and she gasped weakly. When he stood up, she slid to the floor and watched him with her sparkling eyes though made no sign of moving. Foolish pushed her forehead with a finger and she fell limp, crumbling onto their back as though every muscle had gone lax. He regarded it for a moment, pleased at the weakness it displayed with its neck bared. Good; it knew when it had been bested.

Foolish turned to Technoblade and waved his hand. The knighted beast slammed into an unseen wall and reared back with a thunderous shout that rivalled the winds outside. Blood streaked from his bashed nose and Technoblade yelled furiously, prompting the other knights to move in. Each one hefted a bladed weapon of some description. Few had bows, though he found it unlikely for them to use such in an enclosed environment – with their demon so close, no archer would be willing to injure it.

Stepping away from the demon on the ground after having deemed them to be no threat, Foolish cocked his head in jest towards the knights. His low rumbling made the ground shake. Some gritted their teeth whilst others were open in their glares and hatred.

“Should’ve known,” someone muttered. “He looked shady from the start.”

“He sounds worse than those monsters we fight,” came an assent.

Lightning struck the dirt of the courtyard. The brightness illuminated the dark crevasses of the room and the fear on some of the knights’ faces. They were horrified. Most were shaking. Fighting a foe deep in their own territory on a late night was not what old knights trained their squires for. 

Laughing low in his throat, Foolish rolled his shoulders out to get rid of the tingle along his spine and bared his teeth at the unknowing protectors of a demon.

He wasn’t entirely sure what was going on, but he knew demons were bad. Something in his gut told him that he couldn’t allow this one in particular to live.

All he had to do was get rid of these silly little knights and then he could put an end to the demon scum lying behind him.

Yes… It was always better to get rid of the most capable first. The demon was spineless where he had left it. With that dealt with, all he had to do was get rid of the flies buzzing.

“How dare you,” a woman snarled. Her sharp teeth were an imitation of his own. Her face had gone the shade of her hair and her grip on her blade was quivering. “You’re disgusting! The gall of you to set foot in this Manor and treat our Prince like that is a crime that will not be forgiven, Foolish of Cail.”

Who?

The itch in his chest shifted. He was hungry. These flies wouldn’t understand the squirming in his chest – he needed to brush them aside, though it was unlikely they would silently let him quash the demon.

“I am not of Cail,” he rumbled, simply to clarify. Vermin were no more important than the dirt he walked on, though it was unbefitting for a creature of his stature to allow misconceptions of his origins to spread. “I am of Great.”

The words slicked his throat. He spat green essence on the putrid carpet and turned his attention back to the knights as they charged.

His back felt warm. Something in his chest shifted and seemed to unfurl.

Foolish lifted his hand and the blade about to slice him in half was stopped mid-air. Sally screamed and shrieked at him, rage frothing from her lips. A brown-haired man took her side and lunged with a spear, only to find that knocked aside. Technoblade was approaching with his Holiness, boots thundering over the weak floorboards as he rushed—

As he rushed to the demon. Displeased, Foolish swept his raised hand towards the man.

“Commander!” Sally croaked, eyes wide as her blade slipped from its stall and fell towards the other. Technoblade blocked it with a spark off one of his forearm guards. With her balance skewed, the red-haired woman stumbled away from the fight.

The highest-ranking knight glared at Foolish. He was knelt over the droopy demon protectively.

“You’ll pay for this,” Technoblade swore. A human’s word was no wrath to Foolish.

Grinning at him, Foolish tilted his head. “Is that so?”

Technoblade’s expression shuttered. A moment later, he had brought Obliterator down in a mighty swing. The force of the blow split the floorboards in a parting sea; Foolish watched the blade clatter against the unseen wall between he and the man. It was quite impressive a human could wield a weapon of that calibre and still be alive after orchestrating a strike such as that.

“You play a coward’s game,” the Commander spat. The troops he’d left on the other side of the room rallied once more at his voice and approached Foolish from behind, from the front, from the side. They circled him, though the echoes of the room told him everything he did not see with his own eyes. “Dismiss your mana and fight me like a true opponent would.”

“Goad the ground,” Foolish hummed, flicking a finger at him. With a clatter of metal and blood, Technoblade was slammed face-first to the floor by a pressure on his shoulders. He spat blood on impact, though his hold on his blade did not waver, as twisted as his body now was. If anyone in the room was a threat, it would be Technoblade – though Foolish did not want to admit that a mere human would have much sway over him.

“A liar and trickster,” a knight grunted. Of the group, there were many still standing. Sally had rejoined the ranks and looked infuriated. Dream was quivering at the back of the group, face ashen and glinting in the glow of the outside lightning.

The entire Royal Guard had come to the demon’s aid. How interesting. How loyal. How stupid.

Three with blades took a further stance on one side of him as two with spears flanked. Foolish let them get close, weaving a path out of a spear’s head and nudging it into the flesh of another knight. As one man went down wailing, two more were knocked back by a rush of mana and fell to the ground without movement.

“Fight with your fists, coward,” Ted spat, rushing over with Travis. Ted swung his blade down, only to find it stuck in the air the same as the others’ had been. In the distraction of his friend’s attack, Travis lunged for Foolish. But his echo had been too loud. Foolish seen all.

He stepped out of the way. Travis, unprepared for him to dodge his full-bodied tackle, clattered to the ground. A kick to the side had him gurgling. Another to the head left Foolish with an obstacle at his feet.

A wave of mana rumbled through the ground. Foolish used it to clear an area around himself, unimpressed with how the Guard cluttered the room. Their number ceased at twenty, yet they were awfully annoying.

Glancing back to the demon, Foolish found it sitting upright, watching with glassy eyes. It held his gaze and slowly pulled its lips back in a smile. It was obviously suffering from a lack of awareness; nothing smiled that way at an enemy, cocky demon or not. He did not recall damaging it that badly, though the long-lasting effects of his earlier takedown were not unappreciated.

“Eyes on us, jerkface!” Wisp hollered. A second later, Foolish moved his head an inch and avoided a long pike that would’ve certainly given him a headache. The long blade followed him, Wisp swinging it furiously after his miss. Foolish ducked under it and gestured with a finger, adding a small amount of mana to the shaft to make it harder to stop. Having been forced to look away from the demon, he instead deigned to watch Wisp yelp and stutter as he was unable to control his weapon. Foolish’s mana had him stumbling like a newborn fawn as he attempted to avoid his allies. In a twist of fate, one man neared to help Wisp set the pike down. Foolish flicked his fingers again and the weapon hit the man up the jaw. The thud of his body falling was loud.

However, Foolish was unable to appreciate the ensuing display as five others took the opportunity to try and stab him in the back. His knockback wave of mana from earlier had long dissipated, though it left the air charged with static. The second they could approach again, the flies had come back in full force. Each one looked terribly displeased, with most snarling obscenities at him.

These bugs did not know the favour he was doing them. Demons were to be purged. Hoarding one would only bring downfall.

He caught a spear before it could hit his skin. It shattered under his touch like a child falling from a height. The remnants were tossed towards the face of another attacker, who promptly shied away. Three were taken out by a swift kick laced with mana – it sent them crashing backwards, caught only by whatever was behind them. A woman ended up hitting the wall before she stopped, whilst another caught the corner of a couch and flipped it. One knight was bold enough to catch his peer, though it earned him Foolish’s attention. As he pondered on how to quickly get rid of the flies, a few more sprung for him.

“Surrender and we won’t kill you!” A man hissed. Foolish backhanded him into a bookcase. The tall structure rumbled and shook, giving a great fuss before it crashed to the floor. A few knights gave shouts, some in horror, others in anger. Foolish cared very little for them.

Turning back to his demon, he found the Commander had dragged himself to his knees in front of it. Watching as the man heaved, blood dripping from his nose and a gash on his forehead, Foolish could not deny he was an interesting challenge.

“You will not come near,” Technoblade vowed. Eret was spooled behind him, on her back once again, arms cast in various displays of listless fatigue. The demon was easy pickings and the Commander knew that.

He snickered. His voice rumbled menacingly. “Who is left to stop me?”

The Royal Guard tightened its ranks. Less than half of their number were still standing, others littering the carpet as their eyes flickered behind their eyelids.

“Royal Guard,” Technoblade roused his troops. “Will you allow this slander?”

“No, sir,” a woman wheezed. It was an archer. She had been hit by a blade earlier but she had regained her footing and now levelled a grand bow at Foolish’s chest. Enchantments roiled off the wood, brightening the room when his lightning did not.

“We are the Knights of the Crown Prince,” Boomer declared. His blade stood strong and unmoving. “They will not come to harm under our watch.”

A rallying motion shifted through the crowd. It seemed those left were the courageous ones.

Foolish smirked and let them come to him.

Boomer and another man yelled for his attention. The echoes of the room told him about the others as Foolish turned his gaze to them, easily blocking a hit with a curl of mana and pushing another back into the swinger. A third gave a great shout, going for a lower hit, though his boisterous nature did little to distract Foolish from Technoblade haltingly getting to his feet. The archer released a series of glowing arrows at his face. Foolish dodged the blade by moving his leg and avoided the arrows with a simple head tilt though blinked as the little things instead curved in their course to rush back at him. Seeking arrows; how interesting.

He kicked the man who had aimed for his legs in the face. He fell with a groan. The arrows whizzed past Foolish’s ear.

Obliterator sung as it crested the air. Foolish kicked the fallen man’s sword up from the ground and caught the swing head-on. Technoblade’s eyes widened as he successfully held the man off, the bangles along his arm chiming at the swift motion.

“What are you?” Techonblade roared. He pushed down with his sword, fighting desperately but still ruthlessly. Foolish allowed the other to entertain him, idly blocking and defending against the great warrior. Technoblade was revered across the entire Continent as a magnificent fighter, yet to Foolish’s untrained hand, he was nothing more than a child taking wild swings.

“I am of Great,” he reminded.

The arrows came around for a third time. The archer, Jabber, had rushed to the demon’s side and was attempting to drag them away with another woman. Foolish nudged Technoblade away and took the arrows out of the sky with a harsh swing of the blade. It was an odd weight; imperfect in his hands, too jaunty on the down-stroke and too fast on the up.

Boomer threw something at him. It shattered against his back, wetting his shirt. Whatever it was had no greater effect on him than a small irritation at being soiled.

“Weakness potions don’t work,” the man rattled off, pulling another potion from his inventory and lobbing it at him. Foolish lazily flicked the projectile away with an unhurried tendril of mana, listening to the glass crash to the floor. The liquid hissed and sizzled against the wood.

“Your human creations will not work against me,” he sneered. A small part of him felt as though it was just waking up and expressed confusion over his words.

“Don’t speak like you’re above us,” Sally growled. She came at him again with her blade, seeming to have taken it upon herself to distract him whilst Technoblade helped relocate the demon. Foolish was growing irate of the Guard’s games.

“I am of Great,” he repeated. “And you are a knight. Everything is above you.”

Sally’s face scrunched beyond what Foolish thought possible. Her neck grew thick and ribbed and her swings became furious and heavy. Her skin darkened and rippled with scales, eyes slitting into that of a predator’s. Foolish snorted at the display, parrying her blows without worry as the overgrown fish roared at him. Just where had the demon picked up a selkie?

She hollered. “I am a Child of the Sea!”

She screamed the utterance so loud that even the quiet part of Foolish understood. She was one of the Blessed.

He was stronger. A Child was nothing against a Master.

Lightning crashed against the windows, shattering the glass panes into thousands of pieces. The knights cowed away as the electricity arced into the room and went straight for the selkie. She screeched and lunged at him, desperate to pull him down with her. Foolish brushed her aside with a simple gesture. The bolt made contact and the ends of her hair danced with the current as the alloy of her armour rippled like water.

Burnt and twitching, the selkie crumpled. She did not get back up.

“You grotesquery!” Someone wailed.

“Flank Sal,” another ordered. The knights grouped around their fallen. Foolish slashed his blade at them and had them all drawing back, pulling the charred woman with them. Jabber fell to her side, potions tumbling out of her inventory as she fought to keep the knight alive. He was sure she would live – he had not aimed for anything major with the strike. Foolish could appreciate a warrior when he seen one; he would not stoop so low as to cut their life string with something as weak as a little lightning.

With the hollowing blow dealt, the knights broke into sporadic motions. A few hovered with the fallen whilst others struck out at Foolish. Technoblade took advantage of his troop’s clamour and joined the fight, reaping punishing blows with Obliterator that only proved to destroy the room around them. Foolish’s mana was too strong to be broken by something as pathetic as a Holy Blade. The thought was enough to make him laugh.

“Cease your laughter, beast,” Technoblade thundered. His voice echoed and groaned with the storm above. With the windows torn wide, the discreet sounds of the carnage outside fluttered in as a hymn, wrapping itself around Foolish as though a soft babble in a quiet woods. He was the carnage of nature itself; chaos and flowers entwining to form an invasive tempest. His eyes glowed amidst the press of gold, teeth sharpening, skin writhing with unborn power.

Technoblade spat blood as a non-sequitur. The next breath, he was hammering down against Foolish’s defences, red at the mouth as he screamed. The man’s calm demeanour had been ruptured the moment he saw the prince overpowered. Now, it made for a terribly uninspiring show.

A whisper warned him seconds before a blade pierced his side. Foolish blinked down at the gleaming blade, quite surprised to see his green blood dripping from the metal.

“Got you,” panted a small voice.

He turned to see the child prodigy; Ranboo, arms outstretched, feet spaced perfectly apart, eyes wide. His hair flailed in the wind encircling the room. Foolish had barely heard him. Even as he growled and the echoes spoke to him, the boy was mere background information.

Technoblade rose Obliterator high. Every muscle in his arm bulged as he brought the great blade down for his head. Foolish lifted his hand and gripped the cold metal with his palm and fingers. It vibrated with power and mana, light as a feather from the blessing upon it, though it would be easily broken.

A weak rasp choked the room. “Stand down.”

“My Prince,” Technoblade panted. His own strength shook his core as he attempted to press his sword into Foolish’s unharmed hand. Behind Foolish, Ranboo was frozen midway through pulling his blade free, seeming quite distressed at having been coiled and held in place by Foolish’s mana.

“Please rest, Crown Prince,” Jabber murmured past her split lip. She got to her feet again, though she bore a limp in one leg and blood dripped from an arm. Foolish had unceremoniously thrown an unconscious knight in her direction to entertain her as she daubed at Sally’s burns. The archer-healer had not dodged quick enough.

“We’ve got this,” Ted ground out. His chestpiece was coated red and his hands were soiled with his own blood from stemming whatever injury he had sustained from a rouge blade.

Around the room, the knights stirred. Foolish found himself quite intrigued by their lack of self-preservation as a whole. One or two foolhardy men would not be a surprise but more than half of the knights had clambered to their feet and dragged weapons back into bloodied hands.

“This monster will fall,” wheezed Hasan. “He is not immortal.”

Foolish laughed. The glares sharpened.

Eret dragged in a slow breath. “He is.”

The knights stiffened with unease. A choir of confusion rang through their ranks.

“My Prince,” Technoblade huffed. He was still trying to take Foolish’s hand off, though to no success. “Run. We will hold him off for as long as possible.”

The demon’s response was a curdling chuckle. “Why would I run from my habibi?”

Something in Foolish shuddered. The vitriol he leered at the demon with stuttered and dimmed as his eyes cast upon them in a different light. That was right… yes, she was his, just as he was hers. They were entwined – not in bed but in the heart. Foolish had only been with them for a week but he felt so…

Safe.

He felt safe with Eret.

Demon, hissed the part of him that had been in control. It pushed at his conscience. Demon scum must be purged.

Eret’s not bad, he warred with himself. He had to prove Eret wasn’t bad; she wouldn’t harm him, even if he harmed her. No. That had already happened. He’d grabbed her arm and leeched her energy right out of her skin, leaving her the pale mess on the floor that she now was.

“Foolish,” she choked. “I know you’re there. Come here.”

“No demon will command me,” he snarled. Internally, he was screaming. Something clawed at his chest. A hand moved and pulled Ranboo’s blade out of his side. The other brushed aside Technoblade as though he was nothing more than a leaf dangling on a petal.

He stepped through the chaos of the broken room. The floorboards were cracked, some caved entirely into pieces, and the smell of smoke and burned skin lingered heavily. With the light orbs extinguished, the library was dark and foreboding. The prone demon before him was a shadow in the tenebrosity. Its knights were chess pieces frozen on the board, weapons dangling from stiff hands.

Foolish bypassed the lingering knights and stood above the demon. He stood above Eret.

She smirked up at him as his mana enveloped them. The knights around them converged, shifting nervously.

“I upset you,” Eret whispered. Foolish wouldn’t have heard her before but now he heard everything. Her heart was thudding away slowly, lethargic in the way only a demon’s was. This one had been pretending to be human for so long that its chest croaked with a fake thudding and its empty torso lifted with breath. “You’re not an Otherpeople.”

“Apologies are necessary,” he agreed, reluctant to consolidate with the scum below him but eager for his payment. His foot stomped on their chest and sent them heaving onto their back. The knights yelled and shouted, but they were flies held back by the net of his power. Foolish was rife with life and control; he was the dictator now.

Eret did not look phased at hitting her head. She peered up at him coyly, eyes lidded as she bore her neck to him. “Higher Beings must feed to truly Awaken,” she said. She was correct. Full Awakeness required the blood of a prey – only then would his name be carved properly into the runes of time. “You may have me.”

“Crown Prince!” Their knights shrieked. “Don’t!”

A hideous feeling of want welled up in his chest, so strong that he would not be able to ignore it even if he tried. As it was, Foolish dropped heavily to his knees, his thunder booming at the action, and curved over the demon’s body.

“You are mine,” he growled into the softness of their neck, jaw opening wide. His teeth found purchase without resistance. The demon screamed as he took what was his.

Foolish ripped at their skin, taking pleasure in their pain, gripping their unmoving shoulders for leverage. Eret’s silver eyes were boring into him, their mana curling around his frame and drawing him closer.

She was offering herself.

He took her.

Chapter Text

“You’ll be tender for a few days yet,” Jabber murmured, mindlessly recorking the empty potion bottle as he handed it back to them. The glass chinked quietly as it was set on the table but with the tense air in the room, it could’ve been a hammer crashing down.

Sitting in the armchair closest to the Crown Prince’s bed, Technoblade nodded. His nose had been broken, his ribs bruised, his skin slashed. The monster that had awoken in the library had taken down each and every knight in the Royal Guard and he had been no exception.

“How are the others?” It pained him to ask Jabber now, seeing how tired she looked. He doubted she’d stopped moving since the monster had fallen; running to treat everyone, making sure no one was going to bleed out. The carpets in the library and halls connecting to the knight’s rooms would have to be replaced. No one had walked away without blood on them. In most cases, the blood had been dripping from them.

“For the most part, fine. Thankfully.” Jabber sighed. “Hasan got a bookcase dropped on him and is no worse for wear than a broken arm. Sally’s burns are healing well though they were never life threatening. Everyone else is either stitched up or covered in bruise salve. The worst was Travis’s head injury, though he woke a few hours ago with full memory, so he’s off the emergency list.”

Technoblade watched the archer sit on a chair beside the table he’d helped drag into Eret’s room. Had he not known the chair was softer than it looked, he would’ve thought their stiff back was from their seat.

“You’ve done all you could,” he reassured them. “Well done, Jabber.”

The archer closed their eyes. Her face was drawn and clammy, lips thin, skin pale. “I wish this never happened.”

The body lying in the bed did not stir.

“We’ll move on.” Technoblade said. The words he spoke tasted like copper; small consolations that he didn’t really believe. “Everyone is alive.”

Jabber gritted their teeth. “He was toying with us.” Her hands curled into tight fists. The shadow of her hair eclipsed her face and hid her devastated fury. “He laughed the entire time and yet, he took everyone down. That— that monster only ever flicked his fingers but he took down the entire Royal Guard. I thought we were better than that. We should’ve been!”

This, he could not deny. Technoblade was appalled at how easily they had fallen. The Guard had battled countless demons and stood as mighty forces in the Empress’s own court. His knights were strong but last night, rallied against a man they had thought to be their Prince’s true heart, they had failed.

Even he had failed. Technoblade had went in headstrong and stubborn and came out shaking and bleeding. Obliterator was angry of a lost kill; his head ached with its maelstrom.

“He seemed so nice,” Jabber whimpered. Her voice cracked and her head sunk into her hands. All Technoblade could do was sit and watch as they tried to pull themself back together. “Why? Why would he wait so long to attack?”

The matter of what Foolish had left in his wake was one issue. Who he was, was another entirely. Technoblade was aware that he was supposedly unsure of his parentage – Eret had said such, which had prompted Technoblade to look into things out of his own curiosity – but they were no closer to finding anything of use. The Iris Family had adopted him when he was seven, though there was little substance of him being present in the house, and there was next to nothing on Foolish of Cail before he was seven.

Seven years was a long time. With no mother or father to pin down, Foolish was an unknown. An unknown Technoblade had stupidly let roam free in the palace. He’d done a sparse background check on the boy when his Prince first met him and, as nothing interesting had been yielded other than Foolish being a lesser known nobleman, he had let the man into his home without resistance. Eret had let the man in.

Eret never let people in.

After the Iris maid’s confession, they’d been convinced she was working alone. It was idiotic of him to have left the issue lying – of course, if the maid acted on a want, then the master likely wanted it. The girl had tried to kill the Crown Prince, so why would Foolish not? Technoblade had been so stupid to not search more, to not delve that bit deeper. Perhaps, he would’ve found something that could’ve hinted to this before it happened. Something that could’ve convinced the smitten Crown Prince rather than a rouge maid.

“Why did he have to wait until we were warming up to him? He seemed so nice but he’s so cruel— what sort of monster rips apart a human like this?”

Jabber sobbed quietly into their hands as Technoblade stared at his hands. These hands had parried with a man who should not have been able to parry back. His hands had clutched Obliterator and put grooves into the floor but not into Foolish. Ranboo, his star student and admitted prodigy child, was the only one to have even touched Foolish whilst he was on his heedless rampage.

Technoblade was ashamed. He was excruciatingly embarrassed. If the Empress heard of this…

If anyone outside of the Crown Prince’s trusted staff heard of what had transpired last night, they would be doomed. The Guard would be dismissed. Eret would be ridiculed.

Because they had laid down and let Foolish ravage them. Eret had not fought. That monster had done something to them that had made their white eyes unseeing and left their limbs uncooperative until well into the fight. Had the Guard not shown up when they did, Technoblade was sure that Foolish would have killed them.

Now, Technoblade sat beside their bed and stared at his hands. Just a glance away lay a mess of bandages and gauze that seemed to shift with breath. Eret had been torn apart by that monster; he had bitten and chewed and came away with a maw full of her flesh and grinned through it all. Their manas had intermingled to form an unbreaking barrier that not even Technoblade had been able to shatter, not even when his Crown Prince’s eyes slipped shut and the hand they’d clutched onto Foolish’s shoulder with had lost its grip and crumbled to lie amongst their bloodied form.

Their mind had been twisted by his magic – that was the only explanation Technoblade could think of.

“You may have me.”

He refused to believe Eret’s words. He refused to believe they would let a man they barely knew take bite after bite out of them. He refused to believe because he knew they wouldn’t. Eret was a fighter. All they had done for most of their life was fight. They had been made for war, brought into this world for the sole purpose of acquiring an empire. They were a child crafted for fighting and until this day, they were haunted by that purpose. All Eret knew was fighting.

They would not let some immortal monster kill them.

A small movement caught his eye. Looking over, he leapt to his feet.

Jabber flinched, eyes wide as she stared at him.

In their bed, Eret blinked slowly. Their lethargic air and lack of reaction suggested they hadn’t noticed him. Concerning.

“Crown Prince,” Jabber found their voice first, falling to their bedside with the exuberance of a mother whose own child was laying in their sickbed. “How are you feeling?”

Eret didn’t move. Their eyelids fluttered with their blinks, but aside from that, not even their mouth opened. Covered in bandages, the only thing that shifted was their chest as it rose with breath.

“Crown Prince,” Technoblade bent himself to be closer. He looked directly over them and found himself unable to pin where their gaze fell. Usually, he could make out what they were looking at with ease, however, they seemed to be staring at nothing yet everything all at once. His heart felt tender. “My Prince, can you hear me?”

Jabber’s shaking hands touched their uncovered arm. Eret didn’t stir.

“A healing potion?” He suggested.

“I’ve maxed them out,” Jabber said, voice unsure. Their eyes were firm on Eret, but Technoblade saw how their hands quivered. Then, voice a bit louder and a bit more firm, they asked, “Crown Prince? Your Highness, can you speak?”

Eret’s lips parted, though taking in how dazed their slack expression looked, Techonblade did not think the motion was related to Jabber’s wobbling question. Jabber seemed to think the same and slipped a hand under the blanket to pull their hand free. What emerged was an unending expanse of pallid skin, the Prince’s fingers limp and frail in the healer’s clutch. Biting their lip, Jabber smoothed two fingers over the ridge of the Prince’s innermost part of their wrist, timing their heartbeat.

“Slow,” they murmured. “We should try and get fluids in them. Too much water will dilute the potions, but there’s so many in them that it could be making them like this.”

Technoblade had never seen a healing potion negatively affect anyone. Not even Eret, and they had somewhat extenuating circumstances to take into account. Regardless, he doubted this dull demeanour and pasty complexion were faults of the multiple potions he’d helped tip down their throat late last night. Having one’s chest cavity ripped apart couldn’t be healed overnight.

“How about tea?” He asked, turning to the teapot sitting on the table. It was probably cold right now, but the last thing they needed was the Prince burned with hot tea spilled everywhere.

“Yes, that sounds good,” Jabber nodded. They flittered about, checking Eret’s forehead and prying at the blankets to make sure they hadn’t bled too heavily through the bandages since the last rewrapping not an hour prior. For many hours into the new day, the Crown Prince’s wounds had gushed blood like no other injury he’d seen on them. He understood it was a sign of how badly they were hurt, but as he’d held towels and gauze over their gaping chest, he’d wished for nothing more than it to stop.

The second Technoblade stepped away to fill a cup, Jabber gasped.

“Crown Prince,” they wailed. “Please, don’t—”

Whirling on his heel, Technoblade found Eret scrabbling at their chest, carelessly tearing the thick bandages off their chest. Jabber had tears in her eyes as she grabbed for their shifting wrists, pleading with them.

“Eret,” he yelled, rewarded with nothing but their panicked gasping. “Easy,” Technoblade dropped to the bed, cupping their blood-slick hands in his larger fists. He tugged their arms up and let Jabber deal with the ruined mess of bandages and blood – they’d been scratching at their chest, reopening what had been temporarily sealed by potions and pressure. In mere seconds, the white bedsheets were flushed a horrid black. It dripped down Technoblade’s wrists, plipping onto Jabber’s hands as they glowed with a timid light. They’d used up a lot of their mana in a frenzy of healing the night before, but they found a little in them to help staunch the drastic bleeding.

Eret’s eyes bored into him with an unseeing urgency. Their hands shook and spasmed in his clutch, their arms hitching as they tried to pull away from him. The struggling was weak and uncoordinated.

“My Prince,” he murmured, heart aching at the sight of them. He’d thought the state they’d been left in last night had shattered him, but this new reaction – one of frantic horror – hurt Technoblade much more. “Please, take a breath. You’re alright, we got you.”

Dragging them out of the library had been a horrible task; one he had thought would never need to be done. When Foolish had passed out atop them, Technoblade had dragged himself and his spouting nose over to them, fearing the worst.

He hadn’t found the worst, but it was damn near.

Their mouth opened in a raged gasp. Technoblade nodded, holding their arms to his chest as Jabber, pale and shivery, started packing in the gauze. At the pain caused by this, Eret panted and fell eerily still; fight drained out of them. Their wound hadn’t reopened to the extent it had been last night, but the darkened blankets spoke to a degree of urgency that their care required. When it came time for the bandages, Technoblade knew it would be impossible to dress them lying down. Their entire torso needed to be covered.

“My Prince,” he spoke into their ear, low but firm. “We need to wrap your chest. I’m going to help you sit up, okay?”

Eret did not consciously stir. Their eyelids shifted with their flickering gaze. He still couldn’t tell what they were looking at. A lack of a reaction was scarier than one, he found.

Jabber was clutching the bandages like a child left abandoned at the side of the road with naught but a basket. When he nodded to them, they pressed a hand over most of the packing gauze to keep it in place and spared a moment to wipe down any excess blood on them with a towel. Technoblade curled an arm around Eret’s back and got them upright, watching with concern as their head lolled. He settled one of their arms on his shoulder, the other hanging over Jabber’s, with Technoblade’s main focus on keeping their back straight and them upright.

To the healer’s credit, Jabber was quick with bandaging them up. She started the wrapping in the front, moving with sure motions, and passed the strip along to Technoblade for him to cover their back. The Crown Prince’s entire front had been ripped and torn apart, though their back was mostly uninjured from the attack. However, the most pressing concern was possible damage to their spine after how far Foolish had delved into their stomach. By the time Jabber had been able to drag themself to the Prince’s side, Technoblade had been holding their guts in his hands.

Gradually, they worked the bandages up their chest and got it tied off neatly. The healing potions and Jabber’s magic had dealt with their broken ribs, but with there being a limit on how many potions any living thing could have, the Prince’s chest was left a mess. Technoblade was sure their healing was slowed down so significantly from the stress they were under that the next round of potions, in a few hours, would be the deciding factor in helping mop up a lot of their current injuries. He hoped they didn’t scar too badly.

They didn’t tend to scar. Their back was another issue entirely.

Eret didn’t scar if the wounds were treated.

Jabber checked the tightness of the bandages and deemed them suitable. Eret was unresponsive as Technoblade set their hands in their lap. Frowning at them, he watched Jabber test their pulse again. When the healer found nothing wrong, they leaned back and frowned as well.

They lifted their shaking hands and twisted them. The air felt too tense to speak. Jabber used the field language the Guard held close to their chests, signing to Technoblade over the Prince’s head.

We need to change the sheets.

Understanding that he was the only thing keeping them upright, Technoblade nodded. He kept his arm curled around their shoulders and had Jabber roll up his sleeve before he tucked his other under their knees. Eret gave no sign that they knew what was going on around them, which was good because the second Technoblade lifted them, Jabber gasped loud enough to wake the dead. Blood had run down onto their legs at some point between the chaos of them waking and rewrapping their bandages. The soiled blankets had hidden it and now that Technoblade had lifted them up, that blood poured onto the bed in a veritable waterfall. The entire bed was black.

“I’ll set them in the bath,” he said, looking down at the glistening fabric of their trousers, completely soaked through. Their blood was caustic to those who did not protect against it. Jabber was part elf, and so poisons affected them less and healing magic came more naturally. Technoblade himself was of piglin descent and though he lacked the appearance and ability to take on a full piglin form, he was thicker skinned than most humans. Some lower-level demons would struggle to take a bite out of him. These attributes were partly why they had deemed themselves the overseers of Eret whilst they were in this state. Head Maid Elizabeth would’ve been alongside them, had she not a Palace to run in Eret’s stead.

In a few hours, Technoblade would have to leave to tackle what reports he could. Eret was not known for being punctual in responding to less-important enquiries and messages, there were simply too many for such, though Technoblade knew there would be a few things needing a fast response. If anything came from the Capital, it was expected that they respond as soon as they received it. In their current state, Eret was bedridden and would be unable to respond to anything. Thankfully, the fact it was mostly winter would give them time – the Empress knew of their child’s seasonal issues and tended to cease most contact during the winter. At most, they may receive a message enquiring why the Prince had not moved to the Palace of Levande, if their current state kept them in the Crystal Palace further into the season.

But, for now, they had time. Autumn was just over. Winter was barely in its infancy. Every year, Eret made the shift to the warmer climate. They were not averse to the cold, as they quite enjoyed staying in the Ushna Palace whatever the season (which was so cold that all of the Guard had to change their cloaks for warmer scarf-shawls and any water left outside froze in mere seconds). However, their body saw the season of winter itself as a challenge.

Every winter, Eret got so sick that they could barely move.

Every winter, Eret was bedbound; cheeks rosy with fever yet pallid with sweat, skin dry and tight from the food their body needed but could not keep down. Each winter, Eret came down with an illness that no potion or preventative measure could thwart.

As he mulled over these things, Technoblade carried his limp Crown Prince into their bathroom. There was a golden bathtub in this residence, quite unlike the large pools that were in most of the other palaces. Eret liked the open space more, but they had not been in the Crystal Palace in quite a while. Technoblade was quite sure they would not be returning for a while after this.

He ran the water lukewarm and placed them in the tub. He let it get no higher than an inch up their thighs, not willing to risk wetting the bandages. Still, Eret did not stir. Technoblade washed the blood from them and his own hands before removing their bloodied trousers with a bit of manoeuvring. He and Jabber had dressed them in loose harem pants in case something like this happened.

He folded the trousers up and clutched them by a patch that wasn’t black with their blood. They couldn’t be washed.

Before stepping out of the bathroom to help Jabber, Technoblade made sure Eret was secure in lying against the bathtub – there was no way they could slip down further as they only just fit in the tub. She already had the bed stripped, so he helped her wipe down the charmed sheet they’d set down to protect the mattress, which was water and blood proof. Together, they redraped the bed and swapped out the blankets. Technoblade was not a proficient magic user, not like Dream or Jabber, but he could master a small flame. He dumped the ruined trousers and the sheets in the fireplace and set them alight. Jabber scowled at him and flapped at the fumes, pushing the fireguard close to the blaze. The guard was charmed to keep most of the smoky scent out of the room, so by the time the blankets were embers, the room was mostly smell-free. Aside from the sickly lure of Eret’s almost cherry-smelling blood.

The bathroom door opened. Both of them turned to see Eret wobbling out, a towel clumsily draped around their waist.

“Crown Prince,” Jabber got her tongue working first. “You should sit down.”

Eret tipped their head back, the curtain of hair that had been shadowing their face receeding to reveal their piercing gaze. Despite their white eyes and neutral expression, their gaze was heavy and it felt as though they were peering right into Technoblade’s soul. Once, they’d told him that some demons ate souls for fun, not out of necessity. In this instance, Eret felt like one of those demons.

Jabber froze half-way to them. She could feel the same thing he could.

“Eret,” Technoblade grunted. “Get in bed.”

“Where is he?” They were unmoving. The doorframe beside them crunched with an unseen grip. Technoblade had never heard this specific frigid tone from them before.

Watching as Jabber shrank away, Technoblade knew he would have to answer. Eret didn’t take well to being ignored on a good day, nevermind being ordered about. Already, both he and Jabber had told them to rest.

He opened his mouth before he’d planned his words and ended up standing with nothing to say. Eret’s eyebrow began to twitch.

The door burst open.

Technoblade whirled, mind lodging on how Obliterator was halfway across the room. Jabber yelped and lifted her fisted hands. A yip startled them both.

That mutt wolf pup shambled through the door, seemingly having opened it alone. Eret blinked down at the pup, expressionless as it yipped and jumped around their feet.

“Bentley,” they said, voice coarse. “Where’s your daddy?”

Hearing those words out of Eret’s mouth filled Technoblade’s own with a sour taste.

The wolf barked and whirled in a circle before darting out of the room. Eret made to go after it.

“Crown Prince,” Technoblade clamoured after them. He knew better than to ask them to sit down. “Please, put on some trousers.”

They clicked their fingers and another pair of harem pants whirled around them. The scarlet red was a stark contrast to the white bandages wrapped all around their torso. Jabber squawked as the Prince threw the towel and it landed in her face. Technoblade stood stunned for a moment and in that few seconds, Eret was gone; chasing the blur of a pup through the door.

“After them!” He hollered, barging out into the hallway. There were no guards posted as no one was fit to be on their feet. In lieu of this, the maids had been informed to keep the gates shut tight and the doors locked. No one was permitted entry to the Palace and no one was allowed to leave. Because of the lack of guards, there was no one to stop the Prince. Though, Technoblade doubted anyone would’ve been able to, even if there had been knights posted.

Jabber was hot on his heels as he stomped down the halls. The curious yipping of that wolf echoed through the Palace, taunting them. Every turn Technoblade took teased him with a glimpse of Eret turning another corner.

“Eret!” Technoblade shouted, knowing he wouldn’t be able to stop them but hoping for a higher power to call a few maids to the area to at least slow them down. With their injuries, they shouldn’t be up and about. They’d hardly made it out of the bathroom. He had no idea how they’d climbed out of the deep bathtub alone.

Most importantly, Technoblade did not think they should be visiting that monster so soon. To appear with their chest bandaged and their legs weak was all but asking Foolish to attack. That noble could not be trusted.

With the two of them trailing after the Prince, most maids had glued themselves to the walls to remain out of the way. A few pale faces told that they had clearly seen the state Eret was in and felt very daunted. Having intended to keep their condition on lock and key in their room, letting in only express few, Technoblade realised how important it was that they debriefed the staff and made it expressly clear that gossip was not permitted to those outside the Crown Prince’s payroll. The last thing they needed was the Empress sending people to investigate, or worse, the woman herself coming down. She was too nosey for gossip, that woman (though if he said such aloud, Technoblade would be hung for slander, no doubt).

Technoblade was panting by the time they made it to the main staircase. A few paces behind him, Jabber was no better. Elizabeth came out of a parlour in a flurry as they passed, joining their sprinting group despite how a woman of her age should assuredly not be running.

“How do they know where he is?” She yelled, doing her best to keep up.

A few maids exclaimed in shock as they passed by. Following a back hall into the depths of the palace, they turned into a little used hallway and took a rickety stairwell down. The walls changed from the decorated brick and board into old, dirty bricks. It was darker down here, with the magic lights set dimmer to reserve their energy. They all grimaced at the noise of the wolf’s yips.

At this, Elizabeth glowered, “How does that wolf know?”

That was a good point; how did the wolf know where they had locked up Foolish? Technoblade didn’t recall seeing it much last night, though he did have more important things on his mind.

“He’s a wolf,” Jabber was panting. Technoblade needed to ramp up the cardio training of the Guard, especially because he was also out of breath. No wonder they’d lost so easily. He was obviously slacking on properly training his men. The thought was shameful. Although, Foolish had not been one of their normal opponents – Technoblade had trained his men to defeat demons and men alike, not immortal monsters of unknown origins. “Wolves have good noses.”

“Why, when I get my hands on that boy!” Elizabeth was fuming, miming wringing Eret’s neck as the three of them jumbled down the final stairwell. They’d held Foolish in a small lockable room in the cellar, as a temporary lockup. No one had been able to walk enough last night to safely escort the monster to the usual cellblock – the Dungeon, commonly nicknamed amongst the knights as ‘the snakepit’, as much like with snakepits, no one ever left the dungeon alive.

They flushed down the final hallway and the walls opened up into the main cellar. It was a large, hollow room that was filled with everything from bags of flour to caskets of ale. The stocks were lined up in a manner of order that created clear pathways to locate the needed goods. As it was, the forward path closest to the wall led to the small room they’d locked Foolish in after his massacre. There, at the door to this room, Technoblade glimpsed shimmers of red and silver. Two guards, dressed shoddily in their armour and whatever clothes they’d pulled on in the aftermath, stood at odds with the Prince. He’d assigned whoever could stand to guard the room in shifts.

In the darkness of only a few orbs, they fumbled amongst themselves. Elizabeth brushed away from their group, though Technoblade took note of how Jabber edged closer to him now that they were no longer running. It was far too dark down here – storage room or not. There was an orb hovering by the entrance and another bobbing serenely above the posted guards, but if there were any others in the cellar, Technoblade could not see them.

He could barely see Eret in this gloom.

“My Prince!” Elizabeth thundered, much more fearsome than Technoblade could ever hope to be. Her voice echoed through the cellar and made everyone flinch. Eret was the only one unaffected, casting a long glare at the woman before turning to hiss at the guards preventing them from seeing Foolish. “If you enter that cell, you can fill out every report for the housekeeping for the next thirty years!”

Undeterred, Eret pushed Fundy aside and got their hand on the door. The wolf was silent at their feet.

The other knight, Iskall, shoved his halberd in their way.

Beside Technoblade, Jabber whimpered and tried to rub feeling into their hands. No doubt, this would end with them needing to heal the knight.

Eret did not take well to people getting in their way.

“Iskall,” they said, voice a growl. Even Elizabeth looked pale at their tone. “If you don’t lift your weapon away, your sister will have to pull your intestines down from the main gate.”

The halberd shook. Iskall’s face lost all its blood so quickly that his features were undefined against the silver of his chestplate. He took a shivering step back, halberd slumping against the wall.

Elizabeth twisted into motion just as they got ahold of the doorknob into the cellar’s subroom. “Eret!”

The door slammed behind them. Bentley sat down in front of it, licking his snout.

Eret bunched into the tight room, eyes making out a hunched over figure along the wall. The darkness was all consuming, so much so that they had to place their hand on the cold bricks to make sure they kept upright. Their lungs ached at the dusty air and their entire spine tingled as they slipped down onto the floor to sit opposite the man.

He hadn’t moved at the sound of the door banging. She could tell, because the darkness was coddling him like a dead body – the type of thing it only did when someone didn’t move for a long time. Eret dipped her hands into the penumbra and choked on it. Their ribs smarted, the flesh of their chest fizzling and pinching under the bandages. Her entire chest was covered and the gauze shifted inside her every time she breathed. She hoped this meant Foolish had eaten his fill.

A small ball of mana sizzled in her palm. It lit the crampt space in a ghastly shade. Foolish was pale, arms shaking just above his legs, head buried in the crest of his knees. The thick chains that had been driven into a spike far above his head loomed menacingly. They kept his hands suspended inches above the respite of his knees. That had to be sore.

The light floated up to the side, illuminating the lack of anything in the room. Aside from Foolish and now her, the room was utterly empty. The walls were a chilly brick that were coated in dust and grime. The floor was dusty and bumpy, digging into her tender skin. Before, the harem pants had been too scratchy on her but now the floor was ten times more irritating.

Foolish did not move. Her heart bristled in her chest. She could feel its machinations, feel its shifting and pulsing. Everything about her that she’d pulled up over the years to make her look and feel human had vanished in a sole night, because in no world did a normal human ever survive what had happened last night.

“Foolish,” she murmured, voice the only sound in the damp cell aside from her ragged breathing. Her hands shook at the chill and made her angry. Admittedly, it was a good use of their current resources to put a prisoner in a lockable room in the cellar, but for her knights to have done it to Foolish, she could not forgive them. They had made him sleep here.

He didn’t move. Suddenly concerned, taking in the lack of noise and absence of motion from the man who had never stopped moving, Eret felt a dreadful shiver trail along her spine. Was he dead? No, he couldn’t be- he wasn’t allowed to be- Foolish was greater than this, he wasn’t going to die in a cold cellar—

He was hers; he wasn’t permitted death—

Eret’s voice came out in a breathy whisper. “Foolish?”

She leaned forward an inch and touched his stone-cold knee.

His head jerked up, wide eyes spiralling onto her. “You’re real,” he gasped.

The green of his eyes was much more prominent than it had been. It was like she was seeing emeralds glistening amidst the rocks, not yet having been mined. His strong nose and high cheekbones painted a picturesque sight that had her stunned. Eret blinked in a daze.

Meanwhile, Foolish was pulling away, muttering frantically.

“Oh, no, no, ‘m sorry, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t be here, Eret. Why would you come? I hurt you, I did this,” his breathy thoughts-turned-words hung heavy in the thick air. His hands hung at his chest, bound by the chains above him. He pulled his knees back, tucking them under him and seemingly trying to evaporate into the wall. The smell of lavender was heavy in the room.

She sniffed, tantalised by the scent. Deep down, she knew she should’ve been churning over a response to him, telling him it was okay, she had asked him to eat, but she was hazy. Her body felt disjointed and uneasy. Something in her was insistent that if she got a grasp on whatever that lavender was and tasted it, everything would mull over into a brighter glaze. Without thinking, she shuffled closer to Foolish, eyes trapped on his hollow face. The light was doing him no favours but she could practically see his skin sparkling. He truly was beautiful.

“Please,” Foolish whimpered, voice quieter than she’d ever heard it. “Please, don’t touch me. I don’t deserve you.”

Eret stilled inches from his face. At some point, she’d crawled onto her knees and stooped over him. His eyes refused to glance towards her and he was shivering.

The situation slipped her hold. Closing her eyes, she opened them to find Foolish pressing himself into the wall with a pinched expression. He looked like he was in pain.

Not understanding, feeling distant and minute, like she’d stepped into a swamp and had sank below its brush and mossy layers to become waterlogged by the suffocating water underneath, Eret wavered. He didn’t want her touching him but she wanted to touch him? What… what was she supposed to do?

Her knees were going numb. The act of wriggling back to her wall felt impossible. Beside Foolish, there was enough room for her to sit too. Yes, she wanted to… she wanted to sit with him. That… that sounded nice. He was always… always very warm. And, Eret was so cold. Her head was dizzy. It was… Her tail slapped the ground, scouting it out. She needed to lie down.

Foolish sniffed. His eye peeped open and gleamed in the dark. Eret peered back, though far less resolutely as she wanted. Everything was going a little swishy… the world swaying.

“Eret?” Foolish whispered. His voice was thick. Had he been crying? No… oh no. That… she was so bad. Eret was meant to console him if he was crying. He was so bright, she wanted him to shine. “What? Eret, no. You— Don’t lie there, it’s dirty.”

He sounded… weird? His hands were bound and his eyes were so very, prettily wide but he was stretching out his legs towards her. Did he like her again? That was good… very good. She wanted to… she wanted to make sure he was warm. Wanted cuddles. Warm cuddles were the best.

“I—” Foolish bit his lip. “Yeah, come here, sweetheart. You need to sit down.”

She wavered where she was. Her tail was hitting against the cold wall behind her and she didn’t like it. Foolish was beckoning her closer, moving his arms. The chains clinked loudly. The noise made her ears hurt.

“’m cold,” she murmured, the first time she’d consciously spoken in a while. Her throat was dry and the words came out hushed.

“So am I,” Foolish’s eyes were bright with tears. She didn’t want him to cry. How could she fix that? Her head was so cloudy… “It’s okay, Eret. Come sit with me. If… if you want.”

What? Of course, she wanted to sit with him. Why wouldn’t she?

Foolish offered her a small, relieved smile.

Realising that her thoughts were gracing the air, she blinked. “Wha-? Have… have I been…?”

“Yeah,” Foolish nodded. The motion was lethargic and slow. It concerned her and the feeling bubbled in her stomach amidst the pain. “Listen, Eret. I’m so sorry. If you want to kill me, I understand. I hurt you in a way no one ever should’ve. I—” his voice broke into a sob. His honesty was loud. “I accept my punishment.”

“Foolish,” she mumbled, brow creasing. Her head was foggy but this serious air was making it easier to think. “You don’t have to apologise.”

“I nearly killed you!” He croaked, hands clumsily curling into fists. She watched his chest heave, peering at the mess of his shirt. It had been a very nice blue, but now it was smeared in both their blood; a miasma of black and green and some red, likely from the knights.

“I woke you too soon,” she hushed him, making a pointed effort to wiggle closer. Her legs had gone suspiciously numb and her tongue felt like lead. “Should’ve waited. You couldn’t control it.”

“You mean…?” Foolish trailed off. He frowned mightily. “How did you know?”

The question was too broad for her to know what he was asking. She figured it was him wondering how she knew he was different, but in truth Eret couldn’t answer that; she just knew. The world swirled around him in the way she felt it curl around her, but the energy was different – it was lighter, more airy and she’d known that he was far better than she could ever be. Foolish was the light to her dark and he was absolutely stunning. On the other hand, if he was asking about how little control he had, she couldn’t answer that either. At some point, she’d been going off instinct alone, and then she’d felt terribly open and had tried to steer her men away from killing this beautiful man, because she’d realised that she loved him and that any price was not too high. Eret had been willing to die for him, if it gave him a second chance.

Foolish was gaping at her, mouth open wide. She figured she’d mumbled that out loud, though her head was spinning again and she couldn’t tell if her tail was up or down? It wiggled in the air unburdened but moving it too much made her wobbly and… and…? What was she…?

“Eret,” Foolish yelped, leg slipping out. She spooled onto the limb, head catching the soft of his thigh as she unwinded around him. He sounded quite panicked and that wasn’t good… “Eret, habibi, can you open your eyes for me?”

Oh, Foolish wanted to see her eyes? How sweet.

Eret forced her eyes open to see the tails of Foolish’s untucked shirt centimetres from her nose. It smelled very nice. Lavender.

Foolish’s blood smelt like lavender.

“Eret?” Foolish whispered. “You okay? You- Your bandages are…”

A shaky hand rose to her chest. It came back wet. She was bleeding again. That was why she was so dizzy. Hm.

“No worries,” she mumbled, toting herself upright. She’d made it to Foolish and he was letting her touch him. This was worthy of a hug.

Tipping into his chest and gaining a shocked breath, Eret inhaled the sickly sweet smell of his blood. Who had hurt him? She’d thought a being like him couldn’t be injured so easily. Perhaps, Technoblade and his Holy Blade? Wrath had been in her inventory for what felt like days, though she hadn’t heard a peep from the blade.

Shifting, she lifted an arm up to curl it around Foolish. Her skin brushed the metal of his cuffs.

A cold shock raced through her. She reared back and her mana resumed its flow through her. The momentary loss left her aching and frigid. Foolish stared with wide, pained eyes.

“Eret? I— I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

His cuffs were sealing his mana. Her bones creaked.

“Eret?” Foolish’s voice crumbled to a whimper. He was afraid.

She would protect him. Eret swore on that.

Lifting her hands, she pulled for the mana not focussing on healing her and stretched it. It curled around the chains, wrapping around the spike in the wall, and when she clicked her fingers, it all vanished into dust. Foolish’s hands fell into his lap, eyes wide. His wretched appearance seemed to beam with life instantly, a healthy tan returning to him as he glanced around.

“Feel it?” She hummed into his ear, slipping so close that they were breathing together. “This is your mana. Let no one take it from you, my love.”

He flushed pleasantly. Eret returned her mana into herself, focussing on the soothing aura that healing magic enveloped. Foolish watched her chest shudder and dipped his head to kiss her neck. His lips were warm and the magic in them made her vision blur. From the chaste curl of the magic, she could tell it was responding to what he wanted, rather than to a specific demand of a spell. Foolish had some control now, it seemed, but it was instinctual rather than proficient.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be,” she kissed him back, pushing what healing magic she had into him, though when it rebounded back mostly in full, she realised what blood was on him was old. Foolish’s kiss had healed her chest to the point where she could drag in a full breath without agony, whilst her own had been for naught. “I’m the sorry one. I apologise for starting this.”

“I’m the one who mauled you, Eret,” his tone and haggard breath before the words suggested this was a grave offense to him.

“Your Awakening demanded it. I did what was needed. You would’ve died had you not tasted the blood of another high being.”

He didn’t speak. Eret took his silence as confusion.

She laughed and cradled his face, “My dear, why do you think so few Gods roam this world?”

Foolish blanched. “What?”

Chapter Text

Eret curled up against him, eyes closed with her tail happily swaying back and forth. Finer details were only just visible in the light she’d produced. The summoned orb was duller than usual, floating serenely in the corner of the room like a flickering wick. It was weak. Pathetic, almost. Like Eret currently was – feeble and drawn out. She was reserving her mana and her skin was clammy with the way she’d pulled it tight into her chest to keep her fake little heart beating.

All of this was his own doing.

Foolish had destroyed her. He remembered biting and pulling and eating and gouging out important things and eating those too. Her mana had swelled in through her core and he had dipped greedy hands into that as well, making her bones pour it out. Eret’s sweet mana had swelled and flowed over her skin, a molten river that cascaded and slipped along Foolish’s glistening hands. He had cupped those dirty hands and polluted the riverbed, dragging its illicit waters up to his gaping maw.

Foolish had ravaged her. During it, she’d been so ethereal. Afterwards, she was even more gorgeous. But she’d been broken and fragmented; he had shattered her.

Eret had swayed into his makeshift cell in a mirage of life, one so fickle that he had momentarily thought her soul was lingering to haunt him. That was the least he deserved – kept company by the very person he’d sent to her stained grave. He’d hurt her beyond what anyone else could and somehow, against all odds, he was still alive.

Foolish was a monster. He’d asked for a mana reading and yet, when it had happened, everything had slid away from him. The thread had unwound itself from his hands and he’d been tugged in the opposite direction as it was spirited away. Foolish had lost control and Eret had paid the price for it.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed into the silence. Eret’s hand slipped up to curl around his face, her long fingers caressing his jaw.

“Don’t be,” ki hummed. “I told you, I started this. This is my fault.”

“I’m the one who hurt you. I hurt you.” Foolish spluttered. He scrunched his eyes at this injustice. He should be hung from the rafters. Locking him away in a small, dark, indelible room was not enough. The knights should’ve run him through. Like Ranboo had.

They should’ve—

“Foolish.” Eret shifted. He let her move unhindered for fear of ever hindering her again. Foolish could never look at those eyes again if they looked at him with so much reverence once more – eyes that were now peeled wide to analyse him as she sat up and pulled his hand into her lap. His other hand curled lightly around her back and was doing its part in supporting her as she leaned back on it; as she leaned back on him. How brave was she to trust a dog that had already bitten once? “You are powerful, my dear. Extremely powerful, but without control—”

“I’m dangerous,” he whispered, eyes wider than hers. She stared into his soul with this allowance and feeling her silken touch so deeply forced him to close his eyes. When he opened them again, he kept them pointed down, for fear of appearing too much like the predator he had become should he take a point over Eret’s shoulder to be his new target. What he spoke left a harsh grate on his throat, although, it was the truth, and it was one that not even Eret could argue against.

Yet, the Crown Prince stared at him with a small, cunning smirk. She did not grin, but something in him felt soothed. Had she smiled, he would’ve worried. Although, after what he had done, what he had morphed into in a mere blink, his clean reality fracturing for only hunger , pain , lust , bite her so deeply that she will feel the scars in ten years’ time, Foolish was afraid that he no longer had a place to be worried. No sane person would keep the dog that had bitten them.

“Good,” Eret proclaimed in a hushed voice, speaking to him and him only. “I want you to be dangerous.”

And that… that stunned him.

It should not have, when considering how the Crown Prince took only the best into her inner circle. She filtered the bruised apples from the ones that sparkled underneath and just needed a polish and cultivated those golden fruits into her Guard, into her people. Eret prided herself on standing tall, she needed to use danger to her own advantage, she had to draw chaos into her life to make herself stand on-top. Eret was nothing if not powerful.

Still, Foolish stared down at her. This person, this being, had looked at him and taken him in when he was a crushed apple. She had seen him for what he was and when he had bled sour juice all over her table, she had welcomed him back into her arms. Eret was not how the rumours depicted them, but she was so blatantly different that it confused Foolish to how those rumours had ever found a standing strong enough to waft their way throughout most of the population.

She watched him, coy like the cat that caught the fattest rat. Her eyes gleamed in the timid cellar room, her very presence strong and bold and look at me, I am powerful.

Why was she so interested in a trampled leaf like him?

Foolish had many questions, but his mouth only opened partway and his tongue was stiff.

I want you to be dangerous, she had said. Eret didn’t joke with that face. They rarely ever joked.

So, Foolish asked, “Why?”

“No one can take you away if you can defeat them.”

Her smirk was piercing. Her logic was flawed. It was ruptured along the very seam; a tree trunk splintering into shards of bark and wood, spilling sap over the surrounding soil and failing to feed the leaves and branches that so needed it. The tree had been stripped down, but still the lumberjack strolled past and called it a good tree. How could he? How was the tree still ‘good’ when it had been stripped of its very purpose? What was a tree if it wasn’t strong.

However, the deepest, innermost part of Foolish that had always hated the shed, had always urged him to ignore the candles, had always liked the sight of the rättvisa in the courtyard stirred. That dark little shadow within him moved and shifted and opened glowing eyes. The sequestered away part of him rose to the front and bellowed in his mind, sending ripples through everything that he’d ever known.

Yes, it said. Yes, you are so powerful. No one can stand in your way. You are Of Great.

“I’m a God,” he said, voice feeling heavy. It was as though a storm had rolled in and settled in his head, but he was in its eye. Foolish watched the carnage and destruction rage around him, yet felt at home amidst it all. After Eret’s primary declaration of his godhood, they had both fallen very silent. She had moved on seamlessly and he had let it all fall to the back of his mind. Everything was rushing in his head – things suddenly made sense; the weather, the flowers, the pain. “No one could defeat me anyway.”

Eret grinned. “Good,” she repeated. “I need you.”

Do you really? He thought, feeling morose.

Yes, she does, that voice said. Accept your destiny.

Eret nestled her head atop his shoulder. Her heart was jittering in her chest, thrumming along his mana and resonating within him. Foolish worried at the way its rhythm missed a beat every now and then. He was angry at himself for having hurt her. He was frustrated. He wanted this all to be gone; wanted to lie in bed and cuddle, not be sitting here in a cold, damp make-shift cell. He wanted to forget everything that had happened, pretend that he’d never mauled Eret to an inch of her life. Or, better yet, he wanted that to have never happened at all.

The fates have spoken. Will you listen?

The fates were harsh, if they had chosen this. Who had decreed Eret had to be hurt on his Awakening? Why?

Because he loved her?

His stomach cramped and gave a growl. The sound had him stiffening. Had he not eaten enough the night prior? This was a mockery.

“I could go for lunch,” Eret mumbled. She sounded small and tired; a good shirt that had been washed too many times and became threadbare. Her weight against his chest was in its entirety, her limbs long and lax. Her tail had pooled mostly on his thigh, with the sharp tip lazily trailing over his ankle. She was so tired that the imprint of her other four arms had begun to press against his skin, the unseen limbs clutching onto him as her glamour flickered and slightly faded. Her extra limbs strained the bandages around her chest.

“I think you should take a nap,” he murmured, feeling reverent at how her cool fingers curled around his hand that she’d trapped in her lap. There were too many to simply belong to two hands.

“Mhm,” she hummed. It sounded like an agreement. “After a bath, we can.”

Her words made him pause. We?

“I’m staying here,” he noted.

Eret flinched upright. When she turned her head to look at him, her bright eyes were thin. “What?”

“I hurt everyone,” Foolish said. Now, he looked at her. He looked at her and saw an angry, fierce soul blazing before his own stuttering one. He looked at her and saw power and righteousness and perseverance. He saw what he aspired to be. “I need to make it up to them.”

“No,” Eret shook her head slowly. “That wasn’t you.”

“It was,” he sighed. She could utter her pretty words over his spilled sap, but he was still a shattered tree. “In control or not, I hurt people. Eret, I hurt you.”

“No,” Eret disagreed. She was flagging, eyes slipping shut even as she glared at him. “Don’t say that. You’re mine.”

There was no reasoning to be made with a stubborn man, he remembered reading in an old book. Eret was as stubborn as they came, and right now, she was likely riddled with pain. He’d tried to heal her but his kiss surely hadn’t come to much use. Deciding to write her words off because she was so tired, Foolish rubbed her head. She sank into his touch, obviously exhausted.

“Foolish,” she murmured.

“Eret,” he hummed back. They would keep him in here. He would die here. This would be all the comfort he would ever get.

“They are mortal,” they said. “What do they know of the workings of a higher being?”

He could not speak. Foolish didn’t want to fight about this. He would serve the imposed justice, even if Eret did not see it fit. He had wronged; who could hold a God accountable but the God himself?

“I’ll tell them a story,” Eret decreed. “And you will agree with it. You will stay with me.”

His breathing was loud in the cell.

“I promised I would never imprison you, Foolish,” Eret murmured. “That will stand even if you were to kill everyone.”

Oh, her logic was so flawed. Yet, he was so thankful that he had her.

Foolish cradled her. “I have to do this, Eret.”

“No, you don’t,” she disagreed with a strength in her voice. It told him that she would not be backing down. “I am the Crown Prince. What I say, goes.”

“That sounds like an abuse of power,” he whispered.

“That’s treason,” she returned.

Foolish understood. In an Empire, what the powerful didn’t want, didn’t happen. Eret was the Crown Prince, second only to the Empress Herself. What Eret wanted, she got. It was as simple as that.

The part of him that wanted to be honest withered. He did not have power here. Eret was the Crown Prince. She was all-powerful, all-mighty. She was the one the people would turn to if the Empress passed, she was the one her Guardsmen would look towards for orders. Her word was law.

And if Eret decreed her own injury to be no slight, then Foolish was not a criminal.

He was not pleased about this. Foolish felt it only right for him to rot away in this cell. He had wronged. How could she expect him to look anyone in the eye again? Sally, Boomer, Technoblade? The Head Maid had already disliked him – he was sure she was in the majority now.

In the present, Foolish looked at Eret and sighed. He had lost and this was his punishment. If Eret wanted him to parade about, then he would. If keeping what had nearly ruined her close made her feel better, who was he to complain?

He was too smitten to argue against being able to keep her touch near him.

He sighed deeply, feeling his lungs ache, and murmured, “What will you tell them?”

Eret tucked her cold nose against his neck. He held her close and tried to imbue warmth into her pallid skin. The mana orb in the corner was flickering more than before. “Hm. I’ll tell you over lunch.”

With that, she placed four hands on his shoulders and rose jauntily to her feet. Her six limbs swayed around her for the moments before the door opened and then, she was pristine; blood-stained bandages slipping into a clean whiteness, alongside the vanishing of her four extra arms.

As the door slid open, light spilled in. Foolish squinted at the bright mana orb that was hovering just outside, finding himself dragged to his feet by one of her unseen hands on his shoulder. His back ached as he was pulled away from the wall.

Bentley yipped up at him as he emerged, little tail wagging, wet snout bumping into his leg as he skittered over and poked and prodded him. Foolish had no treats for him, but he knelt and rubbed his neck in greeting. His legs felt like a newborn’s after having sat on his numb ass for the night.

Around them, two knights stood. They were frozen, weapons stuck at their sides. Technoblade had pulled his blade a few steps away and was only held in place by Eret’s stance in front of him. The Head Maid stood with a glower.

Not able to ignore the tense air, Foolish stood slowly. The healer was standing behind Technoblade, holding her shaking hands. Her breathing echoed in his skull.

“Crown Prince,” began the Head Maid. Her voice was sharp. “I suggest you let Foolish of Cail remain in the cell.”

The name struck him wrong. He was not of Cail. He never had been.

“His name is not for your tongue,” Eret said, somehow on the same faltering wavelength that he was whilst being on another stream so entirely. “You will not question my doings, Elizabeth.”

The Head Maid stiffened.

“Technoblade,” came the continuation. “Put down that blade before I put it through your chest.”

The Commander of the Royal Guard lowered and slowly sheathed his Holy Blade. He glared deeply at the ground as he did so.

Foolish didn’t want to be the reason why everyone turned against Eret. Though, as he stood and watched the knights and Technoblade back away from their Prince, he realised that there were some things he could not control. Just as he could not control how the sap spilled, he could not put a smothering cloth over the looming threat that the Crown Prince of the Hiel Empire used to do their bidding. Eret was in her domain and he had no right to take that. Foolish had no right to take anything from her. He deserved that cell and much worse.

“We’re having lunch in the garden,” Eret added. “Brief the chefs to have it ready when we finish bathing.”

“Yes, my Prince,” the Head Maid agreed.

Eret walked on. Foolish followed after, stepping behind them and not stopping even as Technoblade’s glower pierced his back. Bentley barked happily and trotted along.

A few maids ran the bath for them. It was a quiet affair, and the servants did not look once at either of them when they scurried past. When their audience was gone, Foolish helped Eret take the bandages off and tried not to hover as she slipped into the bath. The Crystal Palace had a bathtub that looked as though it would barely fit the two of them, though Eret had insisted and Foolish had no right to disagree after what he’d done. He would strive to reduce her heartache from hereon.

“Hurry up,” she chastised when he did not immediately start stripping. The upright position she’d slumped into seemed uncomfortable. “I’m dizzy.”

Concerned, he looked at her. He seen the weight to the skin below her eyes and the way the hand she clutched the side of the bath with shook softly.

“Do you need some water?” Foolish tried. His heart was burning in his chest. He didn’t think he could get into the bath with her after everything.

“No,” Eret huffed, tone sharp. She turned the same acidic glare on him that she’d sported when she was in a bad mood. Instead of scaring or annoying him, the familiarity had him smiling. “Get in so I can use you as a backrest.”

“Okay,” he whispered, shucking the stained shirt and dirty trousers. His chest was mottled with specks of red blood. Whose was it, he distantly wondered. There was a splatter of flecking, dried-up green where he had been stabbed, but that was all that remained of his injury. What sort of creature healed overnight from a wound like that?

A few moments later, Foolish stepped over to the bath and got in behind Eret. She barely waited for him to splash the water over his chest and arms before she was sagging back against him, head falling neatly into the crook of his neck. She was so close to him that it didn’t feel real. Eret’s soft skin pressed up against his chest, the gashes over her back barely present amidst the soapy water. Her gorgeous eyes closed and he settled around her, arms shoring up onto the rim of the bathtub. He was caging her in, holding her close, keeping her where he could feel her mana pulsating, but Foolish didn’t feel the remorse he should’ve.

Closing his eyes too, he mulled sullenly over this revelation. Overnight, he had become a monster. In the daylight that followed, he was just as vile.

Eret’s hand rose from the water. He couldn’t see it, but the small sound of water shifting told him everything he needed to know. Foolish knew the back of her hand would tap the top of his head before Eret had even completed the motion.

When her hand did knock against his skull, Eret said, “Shut up.”

“Huh?” He opened his eyes to peer at her. She had her eyes shut, cheeks flushed with the heat of the bath. She curled her hand into his hair and scratched her nails kindly over his scalp, though he did not let the action distract him. “I wasn’t speaking.”

“You’re thinking too loud,” she mumbled.

He didn’t know what to make of that. Her mana thrummed against her skin, lashing inside her skeleton as though a beast battering against its own cage. Foolish brought a hand over her chest and held it above the furling chaos. Eret was upset, so her mana was as well.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

The mana roared. Eret’s face twitched into a grimace. “I told you to stop that. Don’t apologise. Never apologise.”

He pressed a kiss to the side of her head. The mana’s thrashing lessened. Eret’s hand found his hovering one and pulled it to her collarbone, where she seemed eerily at ease with his hand so close to her neck. Her lips paved out into a relaxed slant and her breaths seemed to come a bit easier.

Foolish sat in the bathtub and felt the reverberations of Eret’s life against his skin. Light seeped in from the window, dancing over the bubble-infested water. They’d been entirely covered by the depth of the waters and the pink-tinted bubbles swarmed the surface in its completeness. Eret’s glamour slipped away and revealed her arms piled around her. The two extra sets dipped under the water, one hand curling around his thigh to keep him in place.

The world swivelled around him, the thrum of noise beyond the sealed bathroom door almost too much. Eret was his reassuring weight, but even she would have to move at some point. He gripped her, hoping that she would never leave.

In the hush, his voice was not expected. The room was flush with a lax air, but his heart yammered loudly in anticipation.

“I’m scared,” he whispered. Although the bathtub was likely pure gold and of the finest quality, it was making his back ache. There was a sizzling feeling along his upper back, beside his ribs and lungs.

Eret did not speak. She tipped her head back to peer up at him. Her eyes asked for more.

“What have I become, Eret?” He asked. “I shattered the trust of everyone the same way I shattered their bones. I’ve become the destroyer – a beast that can’t even control its own power.”

“You speak too religiously,” his beloved mused. She reached not very far into the bath and cupped a clump of bubbles. They fizzled and shimmered in her grasp. “Destroyer, beast; I do not care. You are neither. You are Foolish.”

“I’m a monster,” he growled. “I hurt you. I hurt them. I should be—”

His voice span away from him before he could finish. Eret’s eyes had sharpened in their stare. No longer was there a soft lull in her gaze. The comfort had dissipated.

A hand rose from the waters, dripping, and clutched his neck in a loose cusp. They were mirror images of each other, if not for the tail that curled around his bicep and the arms that shifted under the bubbles.

“I have killed,” she began. Her voice was soft, but the words were harsh. “I have slaughtered and slewn. I have seen the mud on desperate men’s faces as they raced to be the first to a throne. I seen the look on the last king’s face as he fell. I was the one who took that life; I bled him dry.”

He did not know what to think. Logically, the entire Empire knew that the Crown Prince had led the army, everyone knew they had been the one to siege the castle. The one decimated and pulled apart in place of the Grand Empress’s Palace, a building ten-times bigger and more majestic.

Crown Prince Eret aus Enkeli had killed the Tyrant King; this, Foolish knew, but had never thought about until now. What had they seen in that abode of dirt and death? How had they felt as they rode over the infamous drawbridge and made the king yield?

A dripping noise pulled him from his stupor. The faucet was leaking crystalline droplets into their abyss of pink.

“You must forgive me, Foolish,” Eret spoke on. “I have let you down. I should’ve put a stop to this, to everything. But I am weak.”

Weak was not a word Foolish would ever use to describe Eret. He opened his mouth to dispute this, but a finger slipped over his lips and kept them closed.

“I held on when I should have let go.” She uttered. “My own selfishness has caused this, and…” her voice broke. Foolish watched with wide eyes as Eret’s eyes glittered and her lashes grew wet. “This is all my fault.”

Eret, please don’t cry, his heart yearned.

Eret, I absolve you of sin, his chest burned.

Foolish pulled his arm off the tub’s edge and found a place for it under her arms. He held her close, nose dipping into her skin to inhale her scent. The water smelled of roses and strawberries and so did she. Her shoulder gave way for him, her skin easily pushed. Eret bore herself wide, uncaring, fearless. She would offer herself up for him and weep at her own mistakes, but still she would not tell him that he had done wrong.

“You don’t have to shoulder this yourself, my love,” he murmured, feeling as though he was whispering a prayer into her skin. Her hands scrabbled at him, desperate for a hold on him. His head spun but everything seemed perfectly in focus. The expanse of Eret before him had him pause; had he not read an intimate moment like this in one of those old journals? Or, perhaps it had been a poetry anthology? Thinking of it, he said, “We bare equal burdens in the gardens of unity.”

“I knew you’d read that,” she chuckled wetly. Eret turned to press her face against his. Foolish curved with her, and their foreheads met in a shared breath.

“What you did was in the name of honour,” Foolish murmured. “You fought for the people.”

“No,” Eret chuckled. It was sadder than before. “I fought for my mother.”

He tucked away her tears with his thumb. Her silver eyes took on the slightest of blue auras in the wake of her silence come undone.

“Your fight was for good,” he murmured. “Mine was for nothing but spite. I should be locked in a cell for my misdeeds.”

“How do you expect me to live without you?” Eret asked. Her voice was raw. She meant what she said; this was her bearing her heart to him and asking him to stay. Eret wanted him to ignore the pain he had caused and stay with her regardless.

“You’re strong,” Foolish breathed. He meant this in terms of her mana and in her personality; he meant you are beautiful, and he wanted to say, I love you so please don’t do this. “You’ll find someone else.”

“I already have you. With you, Foolish, I need no one else.” Eret uttered. “That is why, you will stay. You will learn control and remain by my side. In the meantime, and thereafter, we will tell a marvellous tale. My men may not like what you have done, but that does not mean they must dislike you.”

Her words made no sense, but he heard the promise in her tone.

“Eret,” he breathed, he sighed, his tight spire began to flag at the edge and she dug her nails under his skin, peeling and pulling and unwinding him. “I must hold myself accountable.”

She did not speak. The silence stretched on with nothing but their breaths and the distant dripping of the faucet. For a long while, Foolish sat and feared she would not respond.

Then, she unwound herself from him and slumped back upon his chest. His forehead was warm where they’d been pressed together.

“We are kindred,” she mumbled, so quietly he was not sure if he should hear. “In a way you will never understand.”

Foolish’s heart thundered. The bathroom fell into a haze and he looked over to the window to find the sun blotted out by viciously dark storm clouds. Rain began to patter against the glass, chiming musically against the crystals embedded into the walls. The song swam around him as Eret shifted and turned the faucet on. The water that flowed from it was curled by her mana, shifting to a large orb in her hand that she used to wet her hair.

When she reached for the shampoo, he slid it from her grasp and poured it into his hands. Eret sat pristinely for him, rubbing herself down with a scrub and showing him her irritated back as he worked the soap into her hair. He brought it to a lather and drew more water from the faucet by his own hand, simply wanting it to bubble the way it had for her. The orb floated over and pulled the soap from her hair with a generous grasp, turning to a wave that cascaded down her back once its job was done.

Eret breathed a heavy breath and stood. Foolish let her pull away in a tide.

Her long legs stepped out of the bathtub as a hand gestured for a towel that she wrapped herself with. Another towel floated over and swabbed down her feet and legs as she walked towards the door. Then, in a blink, she was gone.

The bath was cold without her. Foolish glared at the storm raging beyond the window as lightning flashed past the narrow panes. He glared and uncapped the bottle of shampoo for himself.

She wanted him to forget what he’d done and simply continue to play charades with her for the rest of his life. Eret wanted to keep him, but did not know how to tell him to not be a monster, so instead proposed that they pretend he was not one. Splitting her chest open had not been enough for her; she had pulled her heart open and tried to sympathise with him. But killing a tyrant was not the same as hurting loyal men and women. The Guard had tried to defend Eret and he had laughed and mocked them as he tore them apart.

The bathroom door opened. Foolish dared not look in case he did not like what expression Eret sported. He brought an orb of water above his head to rinse his hair.

“Master,” came a familiar voice. “Do you require assistance?”

His eyes burst open to find Mar kneeling by the bath. She clutched a soft towel over her arm and kept her head bowed.

“Mar,” he spoke, voice a crack in the room. “What are you doing here?”

“The Crown Prince requested me,” she explained quietly, in that small voice she always spoke in. The one that made her seem like a kicked puppy. “They wanted me to tend to you.”

Not seeing why Eret would summon a maid for him, even if this one was his personal aide, Foolish disregarded that. He reached for the body wash and made quick work of himself. Somehow, he felt it was more likely for the girl to have come here without instruction.

A kicked puppy always found its way back home, even if the gates were left open for a possible escape.

“Leave,” he ordered. “I need no tending.”

In a surprising show, Mar lingered. She hesitated before speaking, and then chirped in the littlest of voices, “… If I may, sir.”

His gaze slid down to her. Her hands were bunched into shaking, white-knuckled fists over the black stone flooring.

Even the girl who’d sworn herself to him was afraid of him. Of course, that was no surprise.

“Go on,” he allowed, head tipping back. He couldn’t bear to watch the rain any longer.

Mar took a moment to gather her breath. He felt it whistling in her lungs.

“You may not feel the best right now, Master,” started the maid. “But I know a good man when I see one.”

“Mar,” he said in warning. Foolish was not interested in hearing this.

His little maid continued on without his approval; “Please, sir. You are the kindest, most heartfelt person I have ever met. You took my hands and put trust in my heart. I am indebted to you and I am glad of it. I will stand for your cause, no matter what it is.”

“You don’t understand anything,” he growled, covering his face with a wet hand. His skin smelt like Eret’s shampoo and he pulled it away.

“I do not need to.” Mar vowed. “I will follow you until the end, Master Foolish. No matter what you do, I will remain by your side.”

Something clicked, then. A revelation came to him amidst a furious strike of lightning that bathed the entire room in a crisp whiteness. He sat upright and Mar pressed herself lower to the ground, ever eager, ever loyal, ever his.

“No matter what I do,” he hummed. It felt like it should’ve been a question but was not. Suddenly, Foolish looked upon Mar in a new light. “Do you know what I did?”

“Yes, sir,” said the girl. “I may be void of your reasons, but my faith holds firm.”

She was speaking like a disciple to a preacher. A follower to a god.

The wretched thing in him grinned.

“Your faith is strong?” He teased.

“Yes, sir,” Mar promised.

Foolish stepped out of the bath and loomed over her. “Look at me.”

She lifted her head and held eye-contact, even though her pupils shivered.

“What would you do if I told you, I had no reason?”

“I would still follow you, my Master. Although, I doubt that you would have done such without strong grounds.”

Her conviction steeled him.

Foolish smiled. “Thank you, Mar. You can go now.”

She brandished the towel in her hands meekly. “Please, let me help you, Master.”

“I thought I told you not to call me that,” he snickered, ruffling her hair with a dry hand when she looked down to her feet. Foolish took the towel from her and covered what was left of his modesty as the girl left.

“Thank you, sir,” Mar said, despite the fact he’d done nothing for her. “Please call on me if you need anything.”

With that, she was gone. The door opened and slipped shut to the far-off echo of Bentley’s little huffing breaths.

Foolish dried off and stepped into the bedroom to find Eret curled up atop the blankets. Bentley was lying beside her, though he was the only one to stir at his arrival. Foolish hadn’t gotten a good look at him in the dark cellar, but something was different about the little guy. The wolf pup was looking a little bigger than he remembered from the prior night.

He looked at Eret’s closed eyes and felt the way her mana wriggled gently inside of her. She was asleep, having passed out with the towel slipped over her hips like a loose blanket. He stepped over and rounded the other side of the bed, easing down on Bentley’s other side.

“Hey, little guy,” he crooned, rubbing the wolf’s ears. Bentley drooled all over him with his furious licks and barely gave him a reprieve as he pulled his legs up onto the mattress. Evidently, Eret had been too preoccupied to play with him before getting into bed. A stray thought mused that maybe she’d intended to play with him but had lost the fight to sleep before she could do anything. He found this imagined scenario to be oddly cute.

He glanced over to her, finding her brow pinched. Even in sleep, she was tormented. He looked at her and saw someone who would blindly follow him, just like little Mar would. A god’s first followers were meant to be the most powerful. The most cherished. As a god, Foolish had a lot to concern himself with.

He could not fulfil his duties if he was locked away for the crime of his Awakening.

Foolish sat against the headboard, overlooking Eret as she dozed and catching Bentley’s paws as the pup tried to trample Foolish’s lap. He sat in a quiet peace, until Bentley’s wayward tail slapped Eret in the face and woke her up.

“Hey there,” he smiled, watching as her eyes peeled open and her yawn split her face in half. A few too many rows of teeth were revealed by the motion, though he didn’t mind. “You up for lunch now?”

Groggy and still half-asleep, Eret reached for Bentley and pulled him against her chest as though he was a giant teddy bear. Foolish chuckled fondly as the wolf pup went obediently still and let her cuddle with him, though he did wish he was in the little guy’s place.

Eret settled back down without a word, head dropping atop Bentley’s back as her eyes slipped shut. Foolish gave Bentley a few pats for being such a good pup, and then decided to give Eret a few as well. She leaned into his touch, errant tail lifting up from where it had slumped on the bed to sway back and forth.

“Was the girl a good idea?”

Huh. So, that had actually been on Eret’s command.

“It made me realise a few things,” he agreed, rubbing his fingers through her thick hair to get at her scalp. A rumbling purr started up that had Bentley’s tail wagging too. “One being that maybe some things are better kept as secrets.”

“Godhood will not be easily kept quiet,” Eret mumbled.

“No, not that,” he said. Foolish did not intend to keep this power buried away. “I was thinking more of late-night events in the library.”

Eret’s eyes opened and she swept him off his feet with a sly grin. “I like that thought.”

“It was your own idea,” he shrugged.

“What changed your mind?” She yawned once more. This time, she unfurled from her sprawl and stretched leisurely. Her towel slipped downwards, though Foolish did not mind that either.

“People will follow without an inkling of thought, so long as they trust you will do the right thing,” he mused, though this was only a shallow over-view of his true reasoning. “And, I realised I have people to stand up for.”

What he really wanted was to protect Eret. He wanted to keep her glued together. He wanted to find out why they were kindred. He wanted so much that he could not achieve from within a cell of stone and mana-blocking cuffs.

“Really?” Eret snorted. She sat up and stared at him with a serene air. “Maybe I should’ve brought the maid in sooner.”

“Don’t play with my maid, Eret,” he chided. His beloved grinned.

“Alright,” she rolled out her shoulders. “Let’s get changed so we can go play with my toys, then.”

The Guard would follow Eret. Foolish did not need to make them like him – he just had to foster trust. He would go with Eret’s plan, because he did not think he could lose her. Those who did not agree with Eret’s judgement would have to kneel regardless.