Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

                The forest night swallowed the sickening squelch of steel slicing right through a fat throat. Blood sprayed in hot, pulsing jets, drenching the embroidered crest of a dark cloak. The Alpha collapsed, his mouth gurgling helplessly. He waited, looming over the spasming body until it stilled. Once the last trickle of light faded from his eyes, he leaned down, wiping his blade on the target’s clothing. Then without further fanfare, he turned away, leaving the body to the wolves.

                At the riverbank, he knelt to wash his hands. The freezing water stung his fingers as he washed away their bloodstain. Only when his skin shone raw did he remember to stop scrubbing. His reflection in the water shuddered, framing his face in whirls of crimson. He shoved his hands back in to scrub again. 

                Once dressed in fresh clothes, he finally turned toward home. By the time his crumbling cottage came into view, the sun's first light was already peeking above the Argent Peaks. Taking off his boots, he tiptoed up the path and eased the door open, careful to make as little creaks as possible. He changed into his pajamas before going straight to the cupboards.

                Stale bread, a tiny jar of honey, a can of dried milk powder. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do.

               He worked in silence to the rhythm of the crackling fire. The flame flickered as he set a dented pot over it, stirring the powdered milk with water until it warmed. The bread toasted on a stick over the flame until it turned golden. Alfred scraped the last of the honey with a spoon, drizzling the precious drops onto the bread.

               It wasn't long before a creaking door announced the wake of his twin brother. A tall Alpha of blonde curls shuffled out, dragging his threadbare blanket along with him.

               The Omega turned, and his face lit up. "Hey, good morning, Mattie! Here, breakfast."

               Matthew slumped onto a worn cushion at the floor table, yawning. "How do you have this much energy in the morning, Al..."

               "I just had a good night's sleep," Alfred grinned as he set down the plates. "Eat up!"

By the Grace of the Crown, a Proclamation of His Highness, The Ruling Prince of the Spadian Throne,

Let it be known across the lands that on this day, the Siber Academy of Knowledge, long closed to those of humble birth, is hereby reopened for the education and advancement of all citizens, regardless of their station, lineage, or wealth, entirely free of charge.

               The first sign was the tremble of the earth. 

               The Mekaviks of the Citadel of Justice—monsters of brass and steel, faceless creatures with weapons for arms—marched in strict formation down the streets. Children darted behind their parents and their parents darted behind the buildings to watch as the mechs declared the words of their prince and plastered scrolls all over their weathered walls. 

               Once the Mekaviks left, the crowds surged forward. The scrolls were ripped off the walls and crumpled under impatient hands. The words inked upon the parchment could not be real. Could not be true.

               The Academy of Sovereign pades—renowned across the Four Suits as the pinnacle of formal education—had always been an unscalable peak. Its gates were shut to anyone without the right name, the right wealth, the right blood, and that’s how it had always been. Generations of its graduates moved on to lives of glamor and prestige and everything Alfred could only dream of.

               Spades was unique among the Four Suites for its meritocracy—a fair and just system, where skills and effort determine success.

               But wealth has a way of tipping the scales.

               Like dragons to gold, the rich hoarded opportunities while the poor toiled away in the fields. Kingdoms were machines that relied on the well-oiled labor of their lowest gears. And said gears knew their place. Should know their place. What use did a farmer’s son have for books when the crops needed tending, the mines needed digging, when winter loomed in the form of hardening soils and biting winds?

               And so, the decree was met with a stark divide. There were those who rejoiced, packing into shabby bookstores to cram years of primary education in time for the entrance test; and there were those confused, barely able to glance at the scroll before being ushered away by their parents, who didn’t want them to stop working for something so flimsy. After all, the wealthy played their games, and people knew better than to believe in false dreams—not with the first drop of snow fast approaching. 

               Thus, the only hands that touched the scrolls were those of curious children and Alfred, who picked up the most salvageable scrap and dusted it off.

               "No way," Alfred gasped in awe, "They're opening it? That's...amazing! Isn't it amazing, Mattie— Mattie?" 

               Alfred turned to his brother. But his brother wasn't there. No, he was standing at the bakery wall. Alfred’s smile slipped.

               Matthew was staring at a scroll bearing an illustration of the Academy's castle. The parchment was inked with strokes of grand towers and soaring ceilings, where the brightest minds gathered to prosper not just in the kingdom, but in their own futures.

             Matthew had always been so quiet, so easy-going—just a drifter, content to follow wherever the current took him. Not a single complaint or request or refusal ever left his lips, not even on their roughest days. Despite knowing each other since birth, Alfred could never tell what went on in his head. But when Alfred saw the way his eyes burned with a fire so quiet, but no less fierce, he decided he didn’t need to. 

               And so, the months passed in a blur. All he could remember was the dull ache of his joints as he presented Matthew with the scroll detailing his successful enrollment on their birthday. He didn’t expect much, maybe a thank-you, maybe a smile. But Matthew’s whole face lit up, eyes shining in a way it hadn’t since they were young, and hugged him so tight it he couldn't breathe. Alfred would hold onto that memory.

               As more time passed, Alfred spied from the door as Matthew sat cross-legged on his straw bed, rifling through borrowed books and muttering recitations under the dim moonlight. A week after the examination, Matthew burst into the house holding up his acceptance scroll. They had both cheered and jumped and wept. But when Matthew began to store his life away into an old trunk, so eager to leave and start his own life, the rush faded. 

               Alfred helped him pack with numb hands.

Chapter Text

                "All aboard!" the conductor’s call drowned beneath the blaring honks of the horn and the sharp hiss of escaping steam. The train was already rumbling away, its wheels screeching against the track. Alfred gripped Matthew’s arm tightly, frantically pushing past scruffy coats and tattered tunics as they joined the hundreds of feet hurrying in every direction.

                Matthew wheezed, hugging his satchel to his chest. "I told you we should’ve left earlier! This is the only train to Eltharion today!"

                "Well excuse me for wanting you to eat something before we left!" 

                The train released a final, ear-splitting whistle. The pistons pumped harder. The wheels spun faster. The edge of the platform loomed ahead.

                Matthew groaned. "Al, we're not going to make it!"

                "Yes, we will!" Alfred yelled back, speeding up. His hand caught the railing, and with a final burst of strength, he swung Matthew up onto the caboose, then hauled himself up just before the platform fell away. Matthew slammed against the wall with a groan.

                "Ow..." he held his forehead. 

                "See? We made it!" Alfred declared breathlessly, slumping against the railing.

                "Barely," Matthew grumbled.

                Beneath their feet, the steamtrain—older than the brothers themselves—rumbled down the tracks. Its undercarriage hummed with a soft blue glow—powered, like all machinery in the kingdom, by an unknown source within the palace. Morning commuters packed the seats, leaving the brothers to stand at the back of the carriage, where the fields of Spades rolled past them through the open windows.

                The Argent Peaks were a line of snow-peak mountains, blocking out any sight of a horizon, bordering them on all sides. Villages blurred into wild forests as the train tore past, diving into tunnels, skirting the edges of sheer cliffs.

                Alfred leaned over the railing, relishing the crisp wind as it whipped through his hair. September carried the last warmth of the sun before winter seized the land, and he savored every bit of it. Matthew, less fond of the heat, remained tucked in the shade.

                “Can you believe he came back after all these years?” a voice murmured eagerly behind him. 

                Alfred blinked. He glanced over his shoulder to see a pair of travelers whispering in low, scandalous tones. 

                "Thought we’d seen the last of him when the palace shut its gates. And the first thing he does is issue such a decree! The Academy of Sovereign Spades," she sighed dreamily, "Such a prestigious institution, and for free too! How gracious! Perhaps things are finally changing."

                “Don't be so naive," their friend warned, "The royals aren’t exactly known for their competence. He barely lasted a year last time before vanishing. Hardly suitable for ruling."

                Alfred frowned, and so did the first one. "He was a child. And fragile. It makes sense he relapsed.”

                "Then he'll relapse again," the friend huffed, slumping back into her seat. "He may seem steady now, but mark my words, it won't last. Royals never do."

                Alfred frowned, eyes drifting to the passing landscape. Politics had never interested him much. They were a distant world, irrelevant beyond what was necessary for his work—he had enough to worry about without involving himself in the town's cynical gossip. He was a firm believer in just picking yourself up and moving on, so he didn't share the pessimism of the more jaded elders, who'd dismissed the decree as too good to be true and ignored it. Their hope was understandably eroded after centuries of broken promises from the royal family, but still...the prince had given them an opportunity. A way out of their crumbling village. That alone was enough for Alfred to give him the benefit of the doubt.

                Thump. Thump. Thump.

               Alfred blinked out of his reverie. What was that? He looked around, expecting it to be from the train, but when he turned to ask his brother, he realized that it was from him.

                Matthew, despite looking forward to this day for months, looked anything but excited. Anxious nerves showed themselves in his clenched jaw and clenched hands, tight on the railing. Alfred melted in sympathy. He always felt his brother's trepidation as if it were his own—twin telepathy, but with emotions, Alfred guessed. 

                "Hey," he bumped their shoulders, flashing a grin. "You’ll do great. Don’t worry about it."

                Matthew managed a weak smile. "Yeah..." his gaze drifted beyond, to where the telltale spires of brass and stone were rising on the horizon. He took a deep breath, trying and failing to steel himself.

                "Come on, don't be all gloomy," Alfred coaxed playfully. "Today's your day, remember?"

                That earned a faint chuckle. "I guess."

                “There's my favorite smile!” Alfred delighted, counting that as a win. “Come on! You’re about to step into the Academy—the place everyone dreams about. You’re gonna knock their socks off. And if anyone even thinks about looking down on you...” Alfred balled his fists and threw a mock punch in the air. “I’ll make ‘em regret it!”

                Matthew huffed, but a genuine smile tugged at his lips. “You can’t punch the professors, Alfred.”

                “Sure I can,” Alfred grinned, flexing his arm. “Not that you’ll need me to. You’ll prove them wrong on your own. You’re Matthew! The smartest person I know!”

                 “Smartest?” Matthew arched a brow, smirking. “You do realize I barely passed the entrance exam?”

                “Details,” Alfred waved dismissively. “You passed, didn’t you? That’s what matters.”

                Matthew shook his head with a sigh, though his smile lingered. “I don’t get you. You make everything sound so simple.”

                “Because it is simple!” Alfred declared with conviction. “It doesn’t matter where you’re from or what those fancy people think. You’ve got just as much right to be here as anyone else.”

                Matthew fell silent. His gaze slid to the approaching city, to the looming towers and floating islands of the city he’ll call home. They were breathtaking, magnificent in their grandeur. And yet, all Matthew could feel was intimidation, settling in his lungs and deep under his skin until he felt a powerful, gnawing fear. He had dreamed of this moment, rehearsed it a thousand times in his head, imagining how he’d feel when the time finally came. But now that he was here, he didn’t feel excited. He felt overwhelmed. Anxious. Every possible term for nauseous.

                He exhaled a deep sigh, his gaze falling. “I guess I'm just...not used to it,” he admitted quietly. “Being alone. I've always had you, and now I won't. I'm a little scared."

                Alfred tried to ignore the way a protective, anxious feeling curled in his gut and made its twisted home. In truth, he was just as nervous as Matthew, fearful of what might happen to him. He’s never had to deal with anything alone, after all. As twins, they were inseparable. Even in their childhood, he’d always been the tougher, more assertive brother—the protector, the breadwinner, just to ensure that Matthew could grow in the safety of his shadow. But now, there was no shadow to stand in. Alfred couldn't protect him now. Not when they were going to be miles apart.

               He swallowed thickly. 

               Needing to do something with his hands, Alfred pried his brother's nervous fist open and squeezed it tightly in his own two hands.

               "You won’t be alone,” he assured gently, squeezing his hand, “You’ll meet new people, make new friends. And before you know it, you’ll be doing amazing."

               "But...what about you?"

               Alfred chuckled, bumping their shoulders together. "Don't worry about me, worrywart. I'll be right here, waiting for you. Always."

               Instead of relaxing, Matthew seemed to tense further. Alfred's brows furrowed in confusion. What was that for? He studied his brother's side-profile, but Matthew was as inscrutable as ever. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but then—Matthew breathed out deeply. He stood a little taller, his expression a little more calm, before smiling at Alfred. The same smile Alfred hated, because that was the one Matthew gave him whenever they had to eat the same rations for the fourth day in a row, when they had to sleep outside because Alfred couldn't pay the tax collector on time.

               “Thanks,” he murmured, barely audible over the train’s rhythmic chugging. “For everything, Al.” Then, quieter— "I'll make you proud." 

               Alfred couldn’t fathom how Matthew could make him any prouder. He’d always been proud of him. Especially now, with the way he was standing taller—taller than him now—with his head held high, something different, something stronger, in his usual docile eyes. Alfred’s gaze softened, a bittersweet pride swelling in his chest.

                In that moment, he saw not the small, timid child who had once clung to his tunic, but an adult moving into his new future. 

                Matthew blinked when he felt a hand ruffle his curls. He looked down at Alfred. "What is it?"

                Alfred studied him a moment longer, then smiled, pulling his hand away.

                "Nothing."

               The train’s honk blared into the air, followed by the conductor's booming announcement. "Now arriving at Eltharion City! Passengers of this stop, prepare for arrival!"

                The moment they stepped past the station’s great iron gates, the crowd swallowed them whole. The ground trembled beneath the stampede of restless feet, and the air buzzed with a thousand sounds that left the twins’ ears ringing. 

                “Let’s move to the front!” Matthew shouted over the noise. Alfred agreed. They pushed and squeezed through the tightly packed mob, hands locked to prevent being separated. They were pushing past a group of cobblers when Alfred spotted something strange. 

                A group of nobles, standing by the fountain and apart from the rabble. They were draped in rich silks and tailored suits, their polished shoes untouched by the dirt of the streets. Fans flicked lazily in their gloved hands as they peered curiously at the mob like they were a herd of bulls at a zoo.

                Alfred squinted at them, puzzled. For people whose privileges were shattered to share with the masses, they didn’t seem all that upset. In fact, some of them almost looked...pleased?

                "Al!" Matthew called distantly.

                "Right, right," Alfred replied distractedly. He glanced at the nobles one last time before following Matthew into the mob. 

                They resumed their trek past at least a dozen more bodies. It was after about the twentieth excuse me that a glint of light flashed Alfred’s glasses. He yelped, rubbing his eye. What in the world—

                He scanned the area, still irritated as he adjusted his glasses. Though the crowd swallowed most of his view, he could spot a narrow alleyway in the distance, where a figure stood in shadow, the brim of a hat tilted downward. A magnifying glass caught the fading sunlight before vanishing into the folds of his coat.

                Alfred stiffened. 

                “Uh, Mattie!” he called suddenly. “I need to go to the toilet!”

                Matthew spun, incredulous. “Now? We’re almost in the middle!”

                “I can’t hold it! You stay here; don’t worry, I’ll find you!” And before Matthew could protest further, Alfred plunged back into the crowd, moving against the tide. It was another stifling, frustrating journey of the uncomfortable press of bodies and unpleasant odors before he finally stumbled out, gulping in the fresh air. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder. No sign of Matthew—good. But now came the problem of finding him.

                 Seriously, what is he thinking, calling me at a time like this? he grumbled. He scoured every space between every building, hoping to spot the figure he had seen earlier, but they were all empty. Alfred wondered if he had already left. He could feel himself getting antsy, his hands starting to wring. They couldn’t risk calls or texts—too easily traced—and getting caught meant more than just a slap on the wrist.

                Behind him, a roar of cheers erupted. The speech had begun. Alfred swore under his breath.

                Frustration aggravated into jitters as he turned down another narrow passage, impatient boots splashing through a shallow puddle. Time, he was running out of time. He needed to get back to Matthew now. If he had already left—

                Something slammed into his shoulder.

                Alfred stumbled back with a startled yelp. A heavy thunk echoed as something hit the ground between them, a small, cloth-wrapped bundle. “Oh! My bad! Here, let me help—” he crouched instinctively, reaching for it. 

                 “Don't touch that,” the stranger snapped, snatching it up and clutching it protectively to his chest. Alfred craned his neck and found himself faced with a monstrously large figure in a black cloak. It was dark, but Alfred caught a sliver of pale skin and a pair of violet eyes—hollow and cold—glaring at him from under the hood. 

                 “Whoa, relax,” Alfred stepped back, holding up his hands. “I’m sorry, I was just trying to help."

                 “Help?” The stranger scoffed, voice laced with scorn. “Next time, try helping yourself by watching where you’re going.”

                 Alfred bristled. “Alright, asshole. I said I was sorry.”

                 The stranger ignored him, turning his head around to scan the area around them warily before pushing past Alfred.

                 Alfred acted on instinct. He seized the edge of the stranger’s cloak, yanking him back. “Hold on! What the hell is your problem?"

                 The stranger’s hood slipped. Alfred froze. Ash-blonde hair. Strong, foreign features. A bone-deep chill clung to him, even in the humid air of the city. 

                 A Northerner.

                 Alfred let go, stunned. What was a Northerner doing so far south?

                 “What is wrong with you?” the stranger hissed, shoving him out of arm's reach as he yanked the hood back on, bowing his head in hiding.

                 Alfred snapped out of his stunned state. “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you!” Alfred snapped, anger flaring. “You crash into me, act all shady, and now— Hey! Don't just walk away!" Alfred snapped when the stranger turned on his heel and strode off. "You think you can just crash into people and—”

                 “I did not crash into you,” the Northerner paused mid-step, casting a cold look over his shoulder. “You crashed into me. And I have no time for this nonsense.”

                 “No time to be decent either, apparently,” Alfred muttered, snapping his jacket back into place. “Figures.”

                 A scoff. “And what would a peasant know about decency?”

                 “Peasant?!” Alfred's voice went up an octave. He snarled. “Listen here, you—”

                 The crowd roared in the distance. The trumpets blasted their fanfare. Shit, Alfred cursed under his breath. He was so late. Matthew was—

                 He let out a startled cry when his collar was yanked, and he got a lungful of snow and pinewood snarled right into his face. He smelled too expensive for someone dressed so shabby. 

                 "You will tell no one of this encounter."

                 And just like that, he was gone. Alfred wheezed, seething as he rubbed his throat. Who the hell does that bastard think he is?! He trembled in anger, moving to chase after him. Fucking asshole, I’ll give you a piece of this peasant mind—!

                 A hand shot out from the gap next to him and tugged him in. His anger was instantaneous, whirling around to yell at whoever had grabbed him. “What the—”

                 “Seriously,” interrupted a dry, exasperated voice, “I call you for a job only to find you getting into a fight with someone?”

                 Alfred paused, registering the appearance. Then he gasped in delight, all anger forgotten. “Handler!”

                 “Yes, yes.” Handler exhaled, adjusting his hat. “Took you long enough.”

                 “Me?” Alfred gasped. Why was everyone blaming him? How unfair! “I was the one looking for you! You were nowhere to be found!”

                 “I could say the same about you. But never mind that now,” he nodded at a nearby doorway. “Come inside. We need to talk.”

                 Once they were inside a dusty, abandoned storage room, Alfred spent no time questioning him. He leaned on a pile of boxes, crossing his arms almost impatiently. “So, what’s this about? Another job? I’m kind of busy, you know. It’s Mattie's first day of school, I can’t afford to miss it—”

                 Handler chuckled, “You sound like a mother.”

                 “Hey!”

                 “It’s a compliment,” Handler waved dismissively. “And incidentally, that’s exactly why I called you.”

                 Alfred frowned. “What do you mean?” he coughed, swatting away the smoke. 

                 Handler reached into his coat and pulled out a file, handing it over. Alfred flipped it open, scanning the contents. His eyes narrowed.

                 “Your new target.”

                 The ceremony had ended, yet his brother was nowhere to be seen. Matthew was getting increasingly worried. He’d fought his way out of the crowd toward the end of the speech, and stood apart from the mob fighting their way past the gates, with roars of voices and stampedes of feet. Matthew’s anxiety deepened. His leg bounced as he looked around. Where is he? He told me he’d find me. He’s not the type to get lost.

                 "Mattie!" 

                 Relief flooded Matthew as he turned to see Alfred sprinting toward him, breathless and flushed. His blond fringe stuck to his damp forehead as he came to a panting stop.

                 "W-What's up?" Alfred gasped, bracing his hands on his knees.

                 “What the— What happened to you?" he frowned as Alfred rested his hands on his knees, gasping for air, "Why are you panting?”

                 “It’s nothing. Anyway, what happened to the ceremony?" Alfred wiped his sweaty philtrum.

                 “It ended," Matthew answered.

                  "What?" Alfred yelped, "Already?”

                  Matthew flinched at the sudden outburst. “Um, yeah?”

                  Alfred's lips pressed into a thin line.

                  "You okay?" Matthew asked, his voice edged with concern.

                  Alfred shook his head as if clearing away an errant thought. "Yeah. Fine. Don’t worry about it. Anyway, if it’s over, what’s with the crowd?" he nodded toward the aggressive throng.

                 "The ceremony ended just now, so everyone is still trying to get through the gates. Speaking of, you sure took your time in the toilet to have been gone for an hour. Constipated, are we?" 

                 Alfred rolled his eyes, punching Matthew’s arm. "No, I got lost. It's hard to find a toilet in an unfamiliar place—and, yeah, maybe it took a little longer than usual," he added sheepishly for good measure. Alfred had spent the last hour running around the area looking for his target. He usually had no problem finding his clients, but this time, the file he was given was completely empty. No picture, no name, no anything. Handler's only clue was to look for a gilded carriage. Alfred did just that, but to no avail. Whoever his target was, they knew how to hide well. Annoyingly.

                 "Anyway, let’s go," Alfred said, linking his arm through Matthew’s. "The sooner we get inside, the better."

                  “Whoa," Matthew breathed. So large were the Academy's stone walls that it took a great deal of craning to see it entirely from this vantage point. Its ancient structure stretched impossibly high, with three pillars flanking either side of a large pair of ornate doors. A grand staircase swept upward.

                 Alfred groaned, holding Matthew’s trunk. “Please don’t tell me I have to carry this thing all the way up there.”

                 Matthew laughed. “No need for that, I’ll carry it instead. What kind of Alpha would I be to let my Omega-brother do all the heavy lifting?”

                 “You're right," Alfred smirked, tossing the trunk at him. Matthew yelped as it smacked right into his stomach, knocking him clean off his feet.

                 Inside, the Academy surely lived up to its title of the most prestigious of the Four Suits. Its grand ballroom was bathed in warm light, draped with silk of gold and navy, and had rows of tables overflowing with food and drink.

                 "This place is...really expensive," Alfred muttered. How much did it cost to build this? Must have been a few thousand, at least. 

                 Matthew, however, was less impressed. His gaze swept across the room, frowning at the unnecessary lavishness. "They must have money to burn if they can afford all this after constructing the Academy itself."

                 "I’m not complaining," Alfred’s words were muffled.

                 Wait, muffled? Puzzled, Matthew turned to see his brother already helping himself to the buffet. He sighed, walking over to him.

                 "You could try to eat with a bit more decorum, you know," he said, gently wiping sauce from Alfred's face with a nearby napkin. "You wouldn't want to stain your clothes."

                 Alfred shrugged. "I’ll wash up later. No big deal."

                 Matthew chuckled, shaking his head. "You know, I'll miss you, Al. It's hard to find people who are so unapologetically themselves, especially in a place this...prim and proper," he muttered, eyeing the scholars with their navy robes and elegant wine glasses in amusement.

                 Alfred grinned. "Of course you will. I'm one of a kind. But hey, who knows? You might come back acting like one of them, " he smirked, jerking his head towards the impeccably dressed enrollees.

                 Matthew made a face. "Yuck. I’d kill myself first. Though..." he glanced at Alfred, his voice softening, “If you were enrolled with me, I wouldn’t have to worry about losing my way."

                 Alfred's smile faltered.

                 He rubbed the back of his neck, a forced chuckle escaping him. "Nah, the Academy's not for me. Too many rules. Too much sitting still. I’d lose my mind. Besides, someone’s gotta keep things running back home. Keep the letters coming, make sure you’re taken care of."

                 Matthew’s jaw clenched. "But it’s not fair. I don’t want to leave you behind."

                 "You're not leaving me behind," Alfred said firmly, "You’re moving forward. For both of us. I didn't spend all those years hauling crates and scrubbing floors for you to be stuck here. I told you, I can't attend. We can't afford it."

                 "I'll find work here in Eltharion. Maybe next year—"

                 "There’s no next year," Alfred snapped. "I thought I told you we’re done talking about this."

                 "Well...” Matthew bristled, visibly trying to muster up courage. “Well, maybe I want to talk about it again. Why is it so wrong for me to want you to do something for yourself, too? You've dreamed of inventing since we were kids, and you just...gave it up.” Matthew made a frustrated noise, dragging a hand over his face. “This is my fault. I should have been helping you more instead of standing off to the side, that was my failing—“ 

                 "You were grieving—"

                 "And so were you."

                 Silence stretched between them.

                 Alfred's gaze wandered, catching the sidelong stares and hushed conversations of those nearby. His jaw clenched. "That's enough, Matthew."

                 Matthew winced at the use of his full name, wisely staying silent.

                 "I need some air,” Alfred declared, already turning away. "Enjoy the party." And with that, he walked off, leaving a tense Matthew behind. Once he was across the room, he exhaled, relieved to have escaped the uncomfortable conversation. He didn't want to think about it, much less want to talk about it. Matthew just didn't understand him.

                 "The time has come for another reign from that family."

                 Alfred paused. He glanced over,  slowing his steps to catch the words.

                 “Indeed. Six years, and he steps onto the stage like he owns the world. And he looked so...so normal. ”

                 “Eloquent, even,” an Omega’s voice added. “Not a trace of the...you know.” She tapped her temple delicately, and the group tittered as if she’d cracked a scandalous joke.

                Alfred’s curiosity stirred, and he wished she had finished her sentence. The...you know? No, I don’t know. What is it? 

                 “I wonder what urged him to make such a decree,” another wondered aloud, “The Academy has been exclusive for centuries. And to make it free too. So generous—the palace must have a lot of coin to spare.”

                 "Does it matter? I say good riddance! It’s about time we had a little...” the noble paused, eyeing the rabble now mixed among them, “...variety.”

                 The group laughed, and Alfred felt a prickle of unease. He hadn’t been present for the prince’s speech earlier, but now he wished he had. What exactly had been so unusual? These nobles, the travelers on the train—they all seem to have a consensus Alfred wasn’t aware of. Not to mention the noble defending his decision. Matthew often called him naive, but even Alfred could tell that was weird.

                 But more than anything, Alfred felt saddened. Slighted, even, on the prince’s behalf. He had done a good deed only to be assumed the worst of. How frustrating, when the royal had given Matthew, and many others like him, a chance they’d never have otherwise. He hoped such whispers never reached the royal’s ears. 

                 Alfred, indeed needing some air from all that luxury, slipped out of the venue to find himself in a colonnade, striding past an open courtyard, serene and undisturbed. In the center stood a fountain, its water rushing softly, ringed by sunflowers that burned gold despite the lack of light. 

                 Alfred slowed to admire them. Sunflowers were quite rare, as crops were favored over flowers when deciding the use of their limited soil. And yet, Alfred liked them all the same. He had never seen them before, yet he felt a strange affection for them. They felt...familiar, as if they were dear to him in some sort of past life, even though he didn't believe in such a thing. 

                 A voice cut through his thoughts. “Your Highness.”

                 Alfred lunged behind a pillar, startled. Instincts drove him to hide, but he didn’t know from what. He peered cautiously around it. Beyond the courtyard’s edge, by a waiting carriage, stood two figures.

                 One was tall, draped in thick violets, speaking to a small Omega. Alfred leaned further, eager to get a glimpse. The Alpha’s back was turned, but Alfred could tell he was strong. But it was an unusual kind of strong. Where Alfred was from—Krasny, the Guild—strength was prized through rough hands and loud voices. They carried themselves like clamoring warriors. This Alpha did not. But the way he stood—shoulders squared, back straight, chin high—spoke of a different, stronger power. And so did the crown on his head.

                 Alfred’s face lit up, grinning. So that's the prince! The one who opened the Academy to the common folk!  

                 Admittedly, he thought he'd be a lot more...amiable. Warmer, maybe. Someone with a kind face and an easy smile. But never mind, that didn't matter. Looks were hardly a proper way to judge a person's character! Maybe he just had a cold face. 

                 Maybe I can thank him after they're done talking.

                 "As you know," the Omega continued, "There is to be a celebration after the ceremony. It is ongoing right now, in fact. The people are gathered and expecting y—"

                 "Yes, about that," A raised hand silenced him. The prince’s voice was cold, cutting—not at all soft and gentle like the guests had described. "My only duty here is sealing the ceremony, and I have much work awaiting me at the Palace. I am afraid it leaves me no time to socialize. So, while I appreciate their most gracious invitation to join them, Yao, I must ask you to accept my regrets."

                 "Your regrets," Yao repeated sharply, "are denied." 

                 The prince exhaled, clearly more irritated than defeated. Yao pressed on. "Your Highness, the success of your decree rests not on your signature but on the perception of your sincerity. If you don’t at least pretend to care, how do you expect to gain the trust of the people? Already, there are whispers of doubt among the villagers."

                 The prince straightened coolly. "They will see the results of my work in time— and that is what shall earn their trust, not showing my face in their revelries." A humorless smile curled his lips. “They pay their dues. Their children receive an education. The kingdom prospers. A mutually beneficial arrangement, is it not? They ought to be grateful."

                 Alfred blinked. Pay? Isn’t it free? 

                 Yao’s expression hardened. "Sire, this plan of yours is precarious. You already lied in that decree—the backlash will be paramount if they find out about the graduate tax.”

                 Alfred froze. Graduate tax?

                 The realization was like a flush of cold water through his veins. This was not generosity. This was not change. This was a transaction. 

                 “Then censor as you must,” the prince replied easily.

                 “It’s not that simple,” Yao pinched the bridge of his nose. “It would be better to prevent backlash altogether. And to do that, you must keep up this facade. Pretend to care, bring in more students, before they suspect your indifference and actually read the fine print. If you don't, this little scheme of yours will crumble before it even begins."

                 Alfred's hands clenched the pillar. He lied. He lied in the decree, he told them it was free. But a graduate tax...that meant they'd be paying more than regular tuition. What they wouldn't pay would be siphoned from their funds, and since they weren't informed, it would be done behind their backs. But why? Why lie? He would have gotten money anyway if it had just been a regular tuition, albeit from fewer people. Or were they that greedy, that they would take money from people who couldn't afford to do so?

                 He thought of Matthew—his brother’s beaming smile when he received his admission letter. He thought of the other unsuspecting students down there, in awe of finally being accepted, celebrating an opportunity they believed had no strings attached. Alfred thought of how he had felt that way, too.

                 But now, all he felt was foolishness.

                 The prince didn’t flinch. “I am doing what must be done for this kingdom. I have no time to play the part of a compassionate leader. When the time comes, the people will understand.”

                 Yao narrowed his eyes. A tense silence passed. "You will be alone your whole life with that sort of thinking," he said coldly. "Have it your way, then. I will go inside and inform them that you will not be attending." With that, Yao stormed off, his cream-colored skirt swishing with every angry stride. 

                 Alfred felt equal aggravation. 

                  What the hell? he clenched his teeth, nails biting into his palms. How could he? How could someone— In a powerful position like that—

                 He had believed in this. Believed it wasn’t some self-serving ploy. Everyone was right. His fists clenched, hard enough to draw blood. So that's why the nobles were defending his decision. Because it means more money for them. More money for them to take and hoard and spend. He stumbled back, reeling in anger and betrayal. Stars, I'm such a fucking idiot—

                  SNAP!

                 He jumped when he felt a twig crack under his foot.

                 The prince's head snapped toward the noise. “Who’s there?” 

                 Alfred swore under his breath, hastily searching for a hiding spot. There? No, he’d be seen— maybe there— no, wait—!

                 He turned in panic, only to be attacked with the familiar lungful of expensive cologne, swallowed by the presence of a monstrous size and—

                 Eyes, widened and violet, found him.

                 "Ah,” he murmured, recognition sharpening into wry iciness. “It is you."

                 Alfred exhaled sharply. He straightened, snapping his jacket back into place. "Yeah. And you're you. The prince, apparently."

                 The prince cleared his throat, putting on a smile, one that looked like he'd practiced it in the mirror. Alfred's lips twisted in a scowl. "I never got your name. I would like to apologize for my earlier attitude towards you. I hope you understand—I was just rather on edge."

                 "Why?” Alfred spat mockingly, “Afraid your people would discover your little scheme?"

                 The prince's smile faltered, scandalization crossing his features. "You were eavesdropping?"

                 "Oh, it was hardly an effort, seeing as you were declaring your manipulations loud enough for half the kingdom to hear."

                 "I manipulated no one," he said smoothly. His tone infuriated Alfred further. "It is entirely your fault if you decided to view it that way, not mine."

                 Alfred’s blood boiled. “Oh, so it’s my fault now? Are you serious?” His voice rose with each word. “You’re the one who opened the gates—!"

                 "And that," the prince interrupted coolly. "Is the extent of it. No one is being forced. The only ones I am squeezing money from,” he mocked, “are those who choose to enroll. Nothing in life is free, little peasant—to gain good things, sacrifices must be made."

                 "Sacrifices?" Alfred barked a disbelieving laugh. "And what, exactly, are you sacrificing? Your reputation if people discover your plot? How does that compare to the innocent people being taxed by your lies?”

                "You presume much about me, commoner," he crossed his arms, "But you know nothing about ruling."

                 “Maybe I don’t," Alfred admitted, "But I do know that this is wrong. Crown or not, it costs nothing to have compassion.”

                 "Compassion in politics," the prince sneered, "Now I know for certain that you know nothing. Do not be so spoiled that you don't appreciate what you have been given simply because the reasons behind it are not what you want them to be. If I had not done that, would you have attended?”

                 Alfred couldn’t refute, but he also couldn’t agree. He didn’t know what he would’ve done. Maybe he wouldn't have jumped at the opportunity so eagerly, but he also wouldn’t have discarded it. He knew the other caretakers in the village felt similarly—money or not, education was a privilege. As long as the gates are open, there will always be people who will strain to get their foot out the door. And if Matthew wanted it, Alfred knew he’d be one of those people.

                 Alfred’s fists clenched. "I understand that you need this money, but the issue is you lied. You still would have gotten money if you had just announced regular tuition, instead of lying through your damn teeth. But that would mean less people and less money for your stupid pockets, right? So instead, you lie to get everyone in the kingdom to join, including those who can't afford it. You think you're doing us some grand favor, don’t you? Like we should kiss your feet for throwing us a bone, but you're not.”

                 The prince was silent. He remained silent for a long while.

                 Finally, he spoke. "...You have my gratitude for contributing to the kingdom,” he said slowly, “But don't mistake practicality for malice. If you want to keep your coins, then withdraw your brother from the Academy."

                 Alfred’s jaw clenched. "I'm not doing that."

                 The prince straightened. "Then you pay."

                 Alfred felt his anger boil over, then harden in the same breath. “I should’ve known,” he shook his head with a sharp exhale. He glanced at him with a bitter look. “It runs in the blood.”

                 In a blink, the other was upon him, his massive size swallowing Alfred whole. Alfred startled a step back, but did not back down. Instead he scowled, doubling down in defense.

                 "Watch your tongue,” the prince hissed darkly.“ You forget who you are speaking to."

                 "Oh, believe me, Your Highness, " Alfred snarled lowly, "I know exactly who I’m talking to.”

                 Then he shoved past him, shoulders colliding forcefully, and stormed off, not stopping to look back even as he felt something dangerously cold prickle the back of his neck.

                 Alfred shoved the ballroom doors open. He barely registering the startled glares, his mind too full of rage. That son of a—

                 "Al!" 

                 Alfred froze. Matthew was running up to him, concern etched onto his face. "Where have you been? I've been looking for you everywhere."

                 Alfred plastered a sheepish grin, feeling his anger ebb. "Oh, sorry! I got lost roaming the gardens. This place is huge."

                 Matthew gave him a rueful smile. "I'm glad you like the campus. Listen, about what I said earlier—"

                 "Matthew —"

                 "I still stand by it—"

                 "I thought I said—" 

                 "Look, Al," Matthew interrupted softly, "The truth is, as much as I hate it, we won't always be together. Life moves on, and so we have to as well. That's why I want you to find real happiness outside of me," he squeezed Alfred's hands, "To be free, like you always wanted. To be normal. If you don't want to be in the Academy, that's fine with me. I just want you to be happy—and being happy isn’t being stuck in Krasny."

                 Alfred's chest tightened. He wished he could agree. Wished it was that simple. But Matthew was wrong. He couldn’t just leave. How could he? If something went wrong and Matthew had to leave, Alfred wanted to give him a stable home that he could always come back to. And he couldn't do that if his older brother was away chasing his own foolish dreams. 

                 No, he couldn't do that.

                 But, of course, he didn't say that. Instead, he forced another smile. "I'll try."

                 Matthew studied him. He knew. But instead of pushing, he crafted his own smile, and tugged Alfred into his arms. Alfred stiffened. For a moment, he was at a loss. Then, he sunk into the embrace, squeezing his brother tight, shutting his eyes. He had held Matthew so many times before—on freezing winter nights, when the cold seeped into their bones; on the rare sunny days that would send his brother into heatstroke; and on the day Matthew got his Academy acceptance letter, when they were jumping for joy.

                 It felt surreal that this hug would be the last hug in a long time. 

                 Alfred opened his eyes, and his stomach turned. Handler was watching him from the corner of the room. No magnifying glass this time—just a hat in one hand, spectacles in the other. He tilted his head slightly. A silent order to get on with it.

                 Alfred swallowed thickly. He didn’t want to go. Not yet. 

                 “Hey,” he murmured, pulling away. “I have to go. I still have to finalize the last of your enrollment.”

                 “You do?" Matthew raised a brow. "I thought you did that already?"

                 Alfred laughed. He hoped it sounded genuine. "Most of it. There’s still some scrolls left to sign.”

                 Matthew sighed as he stepped away. “Alright, fine. Just find me when you’re done.”

                 Matthew turned away, and Alfred’s smile dropped. He wanted to run after him, to stay and spend as much time together as they could before their separation. But he couldn't—instead, he had to watch his entire life walk away.

                 I’m sorry, Mattie. But this is all for your sake.

                 He turned on his heel sharply, marching out of the Academy doors.

                  Hood drawn low over his face, Alfred dropped soundlessly from the rooftop, landing on the brass pipes suspended along the walls. In the dark, damp alley below, the prince strolled with ease, as if he were in a meadow. The only sound was the wind, whistling through the alley cracks. The prince was in the same cloak he wore when they first collided—his feeble attempt at anonymity. A disguise meant to let him wander the town unnoticed.

                  But it would not save him now.

                A slow, sick thrill curled in Alfred’s gut. At first, he had felt guilty upon receiving the file, unwilling to kill such a benevolent figure. But now, with all positive opinion of this bastard shattered, Alfred would gladly kill him even without pay. He followed him, creeping along the pipes like a predator stalking its prey. Until, finally, the prince reached the intersection at the alley’s end. Alfred lunged. A sharp glint of dagger steel, slicing through the air to the royal’s throat—

                  Clang!

                 The force knocked them both back. The prince barely found his footing before Alfred was lunging at him from behind, too quick to keep track of. His blade cut through the air, a breath away from slicing the royal’s nape.

                 The prince jerked, and Alfred’s world spun before a fist slammed into his back. Pain exploded through Alfred’s ribs as he hit the ground hard. He choked, lungs burning, before flipping back onto his feet—just in time to avoid another fist pounding the ground where he’d been.

                 The gust of impact blew his hood off.

                 Alfred’s eyes widened. So did the prince’s.

                For a second, neither moved. The prince’s mouth parted as if to speak, but Alfred slammed a kick into his chest before he could, disturbing the alley dust as both of them leaped back, their figures shrouded in the swirling fog.

                 “Impressive,” Alfred sneered, catching his breath. The prince’s gaze narrowed. “Didn't think someone raised in a pretty little castle would be able to fight.”

                 “You seem to like following me around,” the prince mused, “I must commend your stealth. I didn’t sense you at all until you lunged. If only you hadn’t attacked so slowly.”

                 Alfred scoffed as the smoke began to dissipate. “Even now, you’re still so damn arrogant.” As the fog cleared, the prince found himself met with fierce blue eyes, as sharp as the dagger poised between them. “I despise people like you.”

                 "You seem to have a habit of assuming things about people," the prince noted with a hum too soft for the cracking of his large knuckles, "One would think you had a good judge of character."

                 “I don't assume," Alfred snarled, thinking of how he had given him the benefit of the doubt and feeling incredibly foolish now. "I heard enough of your character earlier.” He struck again, his blade arcing toward the prince’s ribs—only for the prince to seize his wrist, and with a sharp snap, send his dagger flying.

                 Alfred hissed as pain shot up his arm, holding his sore wrist as he jumped back. Distance, keep your distance—

                 He choked as his throat was seized, yanking him nose-to-nose with the prince, whose soft smile was nowhere to be seen now.

                 “Listen here,” he hissed venomously, “You don’t know me, so don’t talk as if you do. You spout self-righteous drivel when in reality, you are blinded by your own ignorance." His grip tightened, and Alfred choked. "Do you think because you are poor, the world must cater to your every incompetence? You commoners are greedier than I thought—so quick to bite the hand that feeds you.”

                 Alfred bared his teeth. “Go to hell.”

                 With a vicious snap of his head, he cracked his skull against the prince’s nose. The royal staggered back with a cry, gripping his face, barely processing his broken nose when Alfred swung a powerful roundhouse kick right in his face. He dodged—barely—but the near-miss left him shocked.

                 He stumbled back, gaping in surprise. He snapped out of his daze when a warm liquid trailed down his cheek. Gingerly, he touched the wound on his face, pulling back to see crimson smeared all over his fingers.

                 Slowly, a smile curled his lips. 

                 Not hollow or cold or fake. This was a sick smile that stretched as far as it could go.

                 His attention snapped back to just in time as Alfred struck again. His forearms flew up to protect his face as Alfred attacked. Punch, strike, kick, over and over, until his gloves were starting to rip and tear. Through his forearms, he could see Alfred’s eyes. 

                 Fierce, wild with bloodlust. A blazing fire.

                 A thrill crackled up his spine.

                 Meanwhile, Alfred wanted to scream. No matter how hard he attacked, the prince never looked threatened. Instead, he seemed almost...invigorated. His hollow eyes gleamed with manic excitement. His face was bloodied, but there was no fear—only that twisted smile. 

                 What the hell is with this creep?!

                 Gritting his teeth, Alfred changed tactics. A feint, a kick to the ribs—he forced the prince’s arms high. With a final roundhouse, he sent the prince crashing into a pile of crates. Dust swirled, and Alfred lunged from the fog.

                 He landed on the royal’s hips, yanking him by his fine tunic and slamming his head back down with a sickening crack. The prince grunted in pain, but his smile just stretched wider.

                 “Why are you doing that?” Alfred seethed.

                 “Doing what?”

                 “Smiling! You’ve been smiling this entire fight. It’s creepy.”

                 The prince hummed, “Have I? I did not notice.”

                 Alfred growled in his mounting frustration. “How are you being so nonchalant right now? I have you pinned to the ground after beating you up! Are you really not threatened by me at all?!”

                 The prince’s grin widened, blood staining his teeth. “Oh, but I am. Terrified.” His voice dropped to a giddy whisper. “That’s why I’m smiling.”

                 Alfred shuddered, recoiling. “What the hell is wrong with you, you freak ?”

                 The royal simply chuckled.

                 Scowling, Alfred shoved a knee into his chest and reached for his fallen dagger, raising it high. “Whatever. I’m ending this.” Alfred flashed a crooked smile of half-triumph and half-relief, preparing to strike. “Sorry, Your Highness. I’m afraid this is where you—”

                 A sharp whistle rang through the air. 

                 Alfred froze right before the tip pierced the prince’s chest. The prince arched an eyebrow. “Something wrong?”

                 “Shut up,” Alfred hissed, scanning the dark alley. The whistle had been short, but its sharp tune was a call. He exhaled sharply through his nose, muttering a curse before climbing off the prince’s lap. His fingers twitched with the frustrated need to finish the job, but orders were orders. Damn Handler.

                 “Looks like it’s your lucky day, Your Highness,” he muttered, shoving the dagger back into its sheath.

                 “Oh,” the prince had the gall to look disappointed as he sat up, “How unfortunate.”

                 "Whatever,” Alfred snapped. His voice lowered to a snarl as he fished out a cylindrical canister. “I've wasted enough time on you."

                 The steel clattered as it hit the ground and an eruption of thick, acrid smoke rocked the alley. The prince coughed, swatting the smoke away. When the air cleared, Alfred was gone.

                 Alfred panted as he bolted back towards the school, pulling his unlaced vest back on and occasionally tripping over his equally unlaced boots.

                 Alfred was cursing up a storm under his breath. Dammit, I took way too long fighting that bastard and ended up not getting to kill him anyway! How annoying! I left my brother alone for nothing! 

                  It was nearly dusk, so there were only a few people scattered around the area now. Alfred felt a sinking dread when he saw there was no longer a crowd at the Academy gates. I'm so sorry, Mattie...

                 Upon jogging into the school grounds, he saw a lone figure sitting on the stone steps. His heart clenched when he got closer. It was Matthew, asleep while sitting upright, leaning against his trunk. He must've waited for so long, even after everyone had already settled into their dormitories.

                 Alfred's chest twisted in sadness and guilt. He crouched down, running his hand through his brother’s curls, brushing them aside from his face. “I’m so sorry, Mattie," he whispered.

                 Careful not to wake him, he maneuvered his brother onto his own back, then hauled both him and the suitcase up the steps, down many corridors, and up several staircases before reaching the door of his dormitory. He shook the key out of Matthew's pocket and pushed open the ornate door. Getting in through the doorway while holding a trunk and someone bigger than him passed out on his back was a struggle, but he managed. He carefully set Matthew on the bed. He removed his glasses, then his shoes, then his coat, before tucking the quilt to his chin. 

                 He busied himself with putting away the items in Matthew's trunk. Folding his clothes to put in the closet, tucking away his shoes, lining up his notebook and quill on the desk where the lamplight would reach easiest. After that, he took a moment to just...observe. Matthew, in this spacious room. Asleep not in a straw bed with a threadbare blanket, but in a soft mattress and a warm quilt. When he wakes up tomorrow, he'll have a full and warm meal waiting for him in the dining hall, where he'll eat and laugh and be happy with other people. 

                 And Alfred won't be there with him.

                 He smiled, stroking his brother's golden curls one last time, before stepping away. With his curls tousled and his breathing slow and steady, somehow, Matthew looked like a child again. 

                 Oh no...I'm leaving this little thing on his own. 

Chapter Text

A FEW WEEKS LATER

                Alfred hardly blessed the cottage with his presence anymore.

                He’d thrown himself into work, taking any job that kept his hands busy—barmaid in taverns, miller at the grain farms, carter for the merchants, even a roofer for extra coins. The busy labor dulled the pain. And when it faded, he moved on to the next job. And the next. And the next. Because he knew that the moment he stopped, the emptiness would settle in. And he may be sad, but he would never stoop so low as to feel sorry for himself.

                And so, his hobbies became his refuge. He supposed that was one positive aspect of Matthew being gone. He could focus more on himself. Yes, that was good. Really good.

                Today, it was his glider, a contraption he had built from nothing but spare parts and optimism. A brilliant idea, he'd told himself. One that would probably work.

                He stood at the cliff's edge, the wind pulling at his clothes as he adjusted the straps. He backpedaled a bit, the glider clunking behind him. He took a deep breath, inhaling the frigid autumn air.

                Then he ran.

                For a moment, there was only the sickening lurch of falling. The wind rushing past him, the earth racing up to meet him. Then, he yanked on a thick cord. With a snap, the wings unfurled, fabric catching the wind. A jolt, a sudden lift—and he soared.

                Laughter burst from his lips, a sense of freedom filling his chest. It worked—awkward and clunky, but it worked!

             He exhaled happily, relishing the wind rushing in his face. Below him, the Spades countryside stretched vast and endless, a patchwork of rolling hills and grass fields. Soaring through the sky with nothing but the clouds and the breeze, he felt light, untethered. Free, for the first time in a long time. He loved the feeling. 

             Alfred closed his eyes, letting the wind carry him. Maybe this had been the answer all along. A moment of peace, away from everything— 

                "Alfred!" 

                Alfred jolted, the glider clunking above him.

                "What do you think you're doing up there?" a portly elder Omega yelled from Krasny's cobbled streets. "The matchmaker’s ceremony is about to start! Get down here this instant!"

                Alfred let out a groan, long and suffering. Right. He had forgotten all about it. He'd been so preoccupied with the glider that he’d lost track of time. At least, that would be the excuse he'll give Old Matron Thelma.

               He really didn't want to get down. The ceremony was a mandatory rite of passage for every Omega reaching the ripe age of fifteen—which is exactly why he dreaded his birthday this year. But just as he opened his mouth to argue his case, the glider suddenly lurched, losing the updraft long enough for a rogue gust of wind to slam into him, knocking him off balance. He was skimming so close to the rooftops that he could see the bewildered villagers pointing at him, hear their startled cries.

                "Hi," he yelled, waving stiffly, "Just passing through—"

                A wooden wind vane snagged his right wing, mercilessly ripping through the fabric. That marked the end of his little experiment. He smashed straight into the cottage roof before tumbling down the side. A rooster squawked in protest as he hit the ground with a loud crash, tangled in the wooden frame of his invention. A small crowd gathered around him, clucking with disapproval.

               Alfred sprang to his feet, throwing his arms up. "I'm here! See, not late," he grinned at Old Matron Thelma, who was glaring at him.

                 "Insolent brat," she hissed, seizing him by the arm. "Come, quickly! We have barely an hour to make you presentable."

                 Alfred grumbled as he was shoved into a shop. His tardiness was painfully obvious—the other Omegas his age were already dressed, primped and powdered. Alfred felt a little nauseous knowing that was his fate by the end of this. He had barely kicked off his boots when he was shoved into a wooden tub of cold water.

                 He surfaced with a gasp. "It's freezing!"

                 "It would've been warm if you were here on time," Old Thelma snapped.

                 The next few minutes passed by in a blur. Fragrant oils were dumped onto his hair, soap lathered then scrubbed until he felt like he’d been skinned raw, then herded into the next room, where fabric after fabric was descended upon him in indecisiveness. Alfred felt dizzy from all the movement. At last, they stuffed him into fabrics of ivory and navy, the sleeves billowing down his wrists and the skirt rippling at his ankles.

                 "Don't worry, you're not our worst case. When we're done, Alphas will be clamoring for your hand," one of the maids smirked as she fixed the fastening of his robes.

                 "I don't really care.”

                 "Come now, you don't want to die a spinster, do you, Alfred?" another leaned in, voice dripping with mock concern. Snickers rippled among the maids. Alfred frowned. 

                 "Oh, don’t poison his mind with fairytales. Marriage, first and foremost, is service. A duty to the kingdom." Old Matron Thelma looped a white ribbon around his midsection before yanking it tight. Alfred wheezed. “Though, you could do with gaining some manners and a waist worth looking at, first,” she smirked.

                 Alfred wrinkled his nose. Marriage as a duty. What a ridiculous notion.

                 He saw the Omegas here in this village. The married ones. The ones who walked around the village claiming they were fulfilled because they had made a family. A good show, indeed—but through the windows of their cottages, behind drawn curtains, he could see their misery, their helplessness at the hands of their husbands. Fear flashed in their eyes at the prospect of returning home. Controlled. Locked away. No freedom or autonomy or any function other than to satisfy their husbands' carnal urges and pump out their babies.

                 Alfred saw it as a warning. And he didn't need to be told twice.

                  But even as the defiance burned in his chest, he wouldn’t run. Not because he wanted to marry, but because he didn’t want to fail. How many times has he failed at something? Too many to count. He'll see this to the end—if only to prove himself. 

                 Alfred sighed, rubbing at the cotton of his sleeves as the anger faded into something sadder. Maybe this is exactly what he needed to push him forward. Matthew had moved on. It was time for Alfred to do the same. 

                 So he sat and let them dress him, let them stuff him into navy fabrics and tuck lillies into his hair. He hated lilies. He thought back to the sunflowers he'd seen in the courtyard, and smiled. Then he remembered the bastard he met in said courtyard, and scowled.

                He had questioned Handler rather fiercely for it. Apparently, Handler had gotten a signal from Headquarters to call him off because the prince was deemed a useless kill, and they had bigger fish to fry. Alfred asked what they meant by that, and Handler just shrugged. He didn’t know either, but he would call Alfred if he learned more.

               Weeks passed, and Alfred had gotten zero updates from Handler. He’d been relying on the lesser pay of his other jobs. Spades was expensive, after all. Shopkeepers and merchants alike cried at the injustice, but didn’t complain when their pouches got heavier every week. Even a single honey-bun costs more than a silver these days—robbery, if you asked him. Instead of their usual price of two copper pieces, they’re now more expensive than the train fare to the Academy. 

                 The Academy, Alfred sighed as he remembered. Matthew sent him a letter the next day, saying that he forgave him and was just glad he got back home safely. He was settled into his dorm now and would write to Alfred of his little anecdotes in the Academy.

                Alfred always sent back supportive words, but in truth, he felt a pang of melancholy whenever he opened those letters. He was happy for Matthew, honest! He just wasn’t used to being alone. He’d get over it soon, though. He’d always been good at adapting to his situations. Even though living alone was lonely and unfulfilling and made him feel like he was living in a nightmare of endless mundanity, it was fine. Completely fine.

                He was ushered to the next room, where they plopped him at a vanity. A shallow bowl sat in front of him, filled with delicate hairpins. As the Omegas fussed over his hair, he reached for one, rolling it between his fingers curiously. What a pretty hairpin. Winter was a beautiful season, for all its harsh coldness.

                 He grimaced as he thought about his most recent target. The prince had been cold—unnaturally so. Punching him felt like hitting a soft slab of ice. He didn’t know it was even possible for a living person to have such a low temperature. Hell, corpses were probably warmer.

                Worse still, the prince had been smiling. Alfred’s temper flared when remembering how unfazed he was. He had blocked, dodged, but rarely fought back, leaving Alfred to conclude that the prince didn’t take him seriously at all and was just going along with the fight for his own amusement. When the signal came calling off the fight, he had even sounded...disappointed. Was he suicidal? Or did he just not want to stop toying with him? Either way, it pissed Alfred off. 

                 "Alfred! Careful with that, it's an heirloom!" Old Thelma shrieked. 

                 Alfred blinked, looking down at the brass hairpin in his hand, now bent under his grip. 

                 He winced, sheepishly trying to fix it. "Oh, sorry. I got lost in thought." 

                 "Remember, child," Old Thelma reminded as they hurried Alfred through the streets, "Be polite, demure, and graceful—"

                 "Polite...demure...graceful," he muttered under his breath, messily scribbling the words onto his wrist as he jogged to keep up. What was the other one? I know there was something else they said...

                 "Aha! Quiet!" he declared triumphantly. The villagers jumped at his outburst, throwing him irritated glances. He grinned apologetically as he was pushed into step with the parading line of Omegas, clumsily trying to mimic their posture.

                 Upon arriving at the Matchmaker’s, they kneeled in neat rows, waiting. Alfred knelt stiffly, shifting uncomfortably on the cobblestone. His mind was still in the sky, on the feeling of the wind carrying him. How had he gone from flying to this?

                 The door swung open promptly, and a stern-faced Omega strode out. She unfurled a scroll. "Alfred Jones," she read aloud.

                 "Present!" Alfred chirped, throwing up a hand.

                 The Matchmaker clicked her tongue, scribbling something down. "Speaking without permission..." 

                Alfred wilted as he followed her inside. Great start.

                 The door slammed behind them, shutting them in a room dimly lit by a singular window. He fidgeted uncomfortably as the Matchmaker circled him, scrutinizing his figure. He could feel her gaze like it was crawling under his skin, peering where it shouldn’t. He resisted the urge to recoil, but he couldn’t ignore how self-conscious he felt. His collarbones jutted if he turned his head a certain way. His hands were strong but marred with callouses. His skin, sun-worn from labor, lacked the softness Omegas were prized for. His face was a saving grace of soft and round features—a natural baby-face, much to his chagrin—but round cheeks and dimples were a poor compensation for a multitude of faults.

                 The Matchmaker shook her head, crossing something off her list. "Good hips for childbearing, but too skinny," she muttered.

                 Alfred scowled. What was that supposed to mean?

                 She passed him, and he exhaled. His body sagged for half a second—until something scuttled up his leg. He bolted upright with a startled squeak. The Matchmaker glared over her shoulder questioningly. He flashed a sheepish grin. She scoffed and returned to her scroll. Alfred frantically patted at his robes, trying to feel what had crawled up his body.

                 He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, swallowing a sound as it scurried around inside his robes, wriggled against his stomach, scrambled up his back and—

                 A mouse jumped out of his sleeve.

                 He lunged, barely catching it midair.

                 "Sit,” the Matchmaker swiveled on her heel, and Alfred hastily shoved the mouse into his collar, “and we shall begin.”

                 He snapped out a fan to cover his front, chuckling nervously. He hitched up his robes to sit down at the floor table.

                 She unfurled her scroll with a flourish and dipped her quill. “We shall now assess your suitability for marriage. Name your dowry."

                 Alfred blinked. "I...don’t have one."

                 She glanced up, raising a brow. “Parents?”

                 Alfred shifted a bit where he sat. “Passed when I was little.”

                 “Mm,” she didn’t sound sympathetic. Just mildly inconvenienced as she wrote something down. “So, no family, no inheritance, no legacy. What do you bring to the table, then?”

                 "I..." Alfred floundered, trying to find an answer that didn't make him sound pathetic, "Uh...I’m— A hard worker! Good with my hands. I can build things! Like, contraptions and stuff. I made a glider the other day, actually. I tested it earlier, and it—!"

                 "Useless," she said flatly. Alfred deflated. "No Alpha will want a wife who plays with scraps of wood like a child."

                 "It's not a hobby," Alfred bristled, "It's a skill! Invention, it's a craftsmanship that—"

                 The Matchmaker looked up from her notes with a scornful look. "The only invention an Omega has to worry about is the cradle," she countered acerbically, scratching off another box on her list. "Speaking of which, let us discuss your homemaking skills, ” she picked up a tea-tray from her side and placed it in front of him. “Pour the tea.” 

                 Alfred swallowed his biting argument to pick up the wooden teapot when something grey scampered in the corner of his vision. His head snapped up, gaping as the mouse scuttled up her clothes.

                 He should say something. He should warn her. He lifted his pointer finger. “Uh—”

                 “Omegas must aid their husband in whatever way they can,” she began. Alfred fell silent, unsure whether to interrupt her or not as the mouse wriggled further up her sleeve. “From the fields to the home. It is the duties of wives, and why these marriages are crucial—”

                 The mouse wriggled higher.

                 “—for the sustainment of the community, everyone must do their part—”

                 It reached her shoulder.

                 “—future?”

                 Oh, she asked a question. Alfred blinked. “Sorry?” 

                 She huffed. “I asked if you have any preference for your future. It will determine your match.”

                 “Oh,” Alfred said simply.

                 His future. He’d never thought about it. Dwelling on anything other than the present was something he refused to do. All he could think of was doing what was familiar: providing and protecting. But for who? He couldn’t do that anymore. He wracked his brain. His favorite food…he didn’t have one. Food was a luxury in this climate—if you didn’t eat what was in front of you, you didn’t eat at all. His favorite songs, he didn’t know any. He was too busy to stop and listen to the bards in the taverns. Favorite colors, favorite animals, hobbies, interests, anything that made him who he is—he couldn’t think of anything.

                 All he knew was fighting. Killing. Making money, then giving it away. But these weren’t things he enjoyed. Just...what he had to do.

                 In the end, he just stayed silent. With a tired exhale, Matchmaker dipped her quill in the ink to cross out another box. “I don’t need any more questioning. You came here for a match, ” she rolled up the scroll, setting it aside, “and here it is: you have none.”

                 Alfred had wished for that, but it didn’t feel as good as he thought.

                 “Your malnutrition renders your fertility questionable. A person of your health would struggle to have children. Even if that were not an issue, you lack grace, discipline, and the proper demeanor of a wife. The only way an Alpha would take you is for your dowry,” she interlocked her fingers on the tabletop coolly, “But you have none to speak of because you have no family.”

                  Alfred's grip on the teapot tightened. 

                  He didn’t like being reminded of it. Of the fleeting dreams where he was a little child again, clutching onto the hem of a worn tunic—a large, calloused hand ruffling his hair, a laugh so much like his own. And a second hand, more delicate but no less warm, with a smile so similar to Matthew's.

                  But he blinked, and then they were gone. Had been gone for so long that they were little more than faceless blurs. It was something that Alfred conveniently dubbed The Blackout—the gap in his memory between the ages of four and six. Sometimes, in dreams, he glimpsed foods he had never tasted and laughter he had never shared. But whenever he tried to hold the dream long enough to see their faces, he’d wake, feeling hollow.

                  He really, really didn’t like being reminded of it.

                  “I have a brother,” he gritted.

                 “And will he provide your dowry for you?”

                 “No,” he answered quickly. He didn’t even want Matthew to know he was here. His brother was already moving on with his life. To take that from him by asking him for money...

                 "Brat! Watch the tea!"

                 Alfred jerked, yanking the teapot back. It was too late—tea spilled, sloshing over the brim. He winced, trying to wipe it with his sleeve, but as he did so, he caught a glimpse of something floating inside the wood.

                 The Matchmaker sighed in exasperation before arrogantly continuing, picking up her tea. "So no dowry for you then. That will lessen your chances. Especially with that clumsiness of yours. In marriages, Omegas must serve to maintain the union. Which means being obedient, disciplined—”

                 "Wait, the cup—"

                 "And silent!" she snapped. Alfred clamped his mouth shut, watching helplessly as she brought the cup to her lips. When she took a strong sniff, the mouse’s tail wagged toward her nose, and Alfred couldn't take it. 

                 The Matchmaker's eyes flew open when she felt the cup being tugged on. Alfred was leaning over the table, trying to take it back.

                 "What in the world do you think you're doing!?"

                 "I—uh—" Alfred laughed nervously, "Just...let me take this back real quick—"

                 "Unhand it this instant, you disrespectful—" she tried to wrench it away from him.

                 "Seriously, you don’t want to drink that!" Alfred yanked on the cup harder.

                 They tugged and tugged back and forth, back and forth, back, forth—

                 Hands slipped and the cup toppled, splashing all over the Matchmaker’s front. The mouse landed squarely on her chest before disappearing into the folds of her robe. Alfred opened his mouth to point it out, but her fury was faster.

                 “Why, you clumsy—!” she seethed, reaching out to seize him when the mouse jumped out from her collar, its tiny claws scratching onto her face. She let out a cry, flailing wildly as it scampered all over her body, avoiding her swipes. In her thrashing, she knocked over the inkpot, sending black liquid splattering across the table. Her scroll tumbled to the floor. Her robe caught on a lamp and a lick of fire sparked up the fabric.

                 Alfred's eyes widened. "Oh, shit—"

                 The Matchmaker's screams doubled. Alfred tried to help, whipping out his fan as he flapped frantically at the sizzling area, intending to blow it out. Wrong move. The embers burst into flame and fwooshed up her robes. The Matchmaker stumbled out the doors, thrashing and screaming. The villagers were startled, staring at her in bewilderment.

                   "Fire! Fire! Put it out! Put it o—"

                 She was splashed with tea. The flames doused with a harsh sizzle. An awkward silence followed. The Matchmaker's shoulders were heaving as she stood in drenched clothes, eyes wide with fury from behind her dripping hair. Alfred gulped, chuckling nervously as he handed her back the teapot. The Matchmaker’s face turned a terrifying shade of red. 

                 “You,” she seethed. Alfred braced himself for a yell. But instead, she bent down to snatch up the frightened mouse, which was scrambling past, by its tail. The creature squealed in distress.

                 Alfred’s anger flared. “Hey, hey, easy! It's just a mouse, it didn’t—”

                 “Did you...bring this vermin in here?” 

                 “What?” Alfred blinked. “No! I—”

                 Alfred grunted as the mouse was thrown at his face. The poor creature flailed, tumbling down his robes until Alfred quickly caught it. He cradled it to his chest as the Matchmaker stabbed a finger at him.

                 “Never,” she hissed, “have I met anyone with an emptier future than you.”

                 The Matchmaker marched back inside, and Alfred could only stare after her numbly. 

                 The Matchmaker’s words shouldn’t have mattered. They shouldn’t have cut the way they did. He’d never wanted any of this in the first place. He should’ve been relieved. So why...why did he...

                 With a slow exhale, his head dipped, hiding the shame on his face with a curtain of golden hair.

                 “Let’s go,” he whispered to the mouse, stroking its fur. 

                Alfred could feel a hundred eyes on him while trudging down the cobbled paths. Murmurs and whispers overlapping in every direction, a hazy buzz in his ears. Their gazes—judging, pitying, shaming—burned into his skin. 

               “I heard he set the Matchmaker on fire.”

                “Why would he do such a horrid thing?”

                “He's a troublemaker, that's why.”

                Every word made his heart sink lower until it was at the pit of his stomach. It was always like this. He'd mess up, and it would be the talk of the town for weeks until his next mishap. He couldn't even blame them. It's not like he made it hard to keep talking. Still, he felt frustrated—no one had even given him a chance to explain. He hadn't meant to set her on fire. He was just trying to stop her from drinking mouse tea! If only she had just let him take the cup or explain himself, none of that would've happened!

                But then, as quickly as it came, the anger faded, replaced with bitter sadness. No, even if she had done that, something else would've gone wrong. It always does.

                He pulled out the pins in his hair and slipped off his outer robes, tossing them into a nearby bin.

                I knew I wasn't made for this.

                He clenched his fists, walking a little faster. He just wanted to go home—

                Alfred yelped when he turned a corner and his shoulder slammed into someone, the mouse tumbling from his arms with a shrill squeak.

                “Hey, watch it—” the figure snarled, then immediately lost his fire. “Oh, it’s you~”

                Alfred grimaced, internally cursing his bad luck. “Good morning, Jack.” 

                “Head in the clouds again, Al?" the redheaded Alpha grinned. Even his voice was annoying. "You should be more aware of your surroundings, you know. Not everyone in this village is as nice as I am.”

                While he was talking, Alfred bent down to pick up the frazzled mouse, only for Jack to pick it up before him. The mouse squealed, flailing upside down as Jack held it up by its tail, squinting at it. “So this is the little bugger at the ceremony, huh? I heard you set the old hag on fire.”

                “Shut up,” Alfred snatched the mouse from his hands. The poor creature hurriedly burrowed into the crook of his elbow, hiding its tail. “And stop calling me Al. I've told you over and over. Only Mattie calls me that.”

                “Feisty as always,” (Oh, you haven’t even begun to know feisty, Alfred thought darkly.) “You know, you ought to change that attitude. No one likes that kind of fighter spirit, especially from a person who’s always so clumsy—scatter-brained, if you will. You’re not getting any younger, you know.”

                “I’m fifteen, so yeah, I think I’m pretty young. And anyway, what does that have to do with anything?”

                “You need an Alpha-mate,” he said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s acceptable for you to live alone now ’cause you’re underage, but you won't be young forever. And with that sort of attitude, you’re going to scare every Alpha away. People already think you’re strange. At this rate, you'll be alone your whole life.”

                Alfred clenched his jaw. What's the point of saying all this? Who do you think you are?

                All his life, Alfred has never received a shred of attention from Alphas. His personality was louder than his appearance, and Alphas found it an insult to be associated with someone like him (though it didn't stop them from pulling cruel jokes on him, which he had long learned to be immune to). That's, perhaps, why Jack was so confident in himself. With no competition, he could hound Alfred as much as he pleased.

                 Is that really all I'm worth? Alfred had wondered once. Am I that undesirable? 

                Once upon a time, Alfred had been hurt by it. But life's demands had little patience for self-pity, and his financial struggles dashed those irrelevant fears. Why should he care about something so flimsy? Alfred just wanted to survive, not get married. Frankly, the very idea made him physically recoil. 

             Yet, even with that knowledge, he couldn't deny that he had wanted to succeed at the Matchmaker’s. Not because he sought a mate, but because he wanted to succeed at something for once. No one ever lives just to survive. Living your life to the fullest, that was the goal of humanity. And that's what Alfred wanted too. He thought that maybe if he could carve out something beyond his responsibilities to Matthew, he could find his own way—find out what he wanted, instead of drifting aimlessly through life, not knowing what to do with himself.

                “You work so hard at your little jobs that you’ve become all soup-brained from the stress,” Jack’s annoying voice brought Alfred’s attention back. “You need to forget about all that and focus your attention on something more important—”

                Alfred rolled his eyes and tried to walk past him, but Jack blocked his way, smirking.

                “—Me. After all, I’m willing.”

                Alfred raised a brow. “Willing?”

                “Yep. You’re, uh, fifteen or sixteen now, right?” (I literally just said my age. Flattering.) “Old enough to make your own decisions about courtship. It’s not like you have any parents to please,” (Ouch) “And I’d make a pretty good husband. I can excuse your weirdness,” (Double Ouch) “Since, after all, you have such a lovely face.” He tipped Alfred’s chin up. “It would be a shame to waste it, right?”

                Alfred narrowed his eyes. He slapped the hand away. “Look here, I don’t care about getting a mate. And even if I did, I would rather die than mate you,” he shoved past him and stalked off. To his chagrin, Jack followed. 

                “Come on, Al. You can't be alone forever. You already messed up big time at the Matchmaker's,"—Alfred tensed—"No Alpha will take you now, after that stunt. I'm the best chance you've got. I'm trying to help you here."

                "So you're asking me to settle, is that it?" Alfred gritted over his shoulder.

                "Not settle—just realize your limits. Beggars can't be choosers. Just picture it!” he insisted, jogging to keep up with Alfred. “A rustic lodge, my latest hunt roasting over the fire, children running around with the dog while my little wife massages my feet,” Jack said dreamily.

                “Sounds like you want a maid.”

                “Do you know who that wife would be?” Jack continued as if he hadn’t heard him.

                “Oh, let me think,” Alfred drawled sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He flinched when an arm shot out before him, slamming the brick wall beside them.

                “It’s you, Al.”

                “Don’t call me Al. And no, it’s not me,” Alfred ducked under his arm and continued down the cobbled path, speed-walking. “And it never will be me. I would never mate anyone in this damned village—”

                Jack followed, keeping pace. “Maybe you just haven’t met the right person—”

                “It’s a small town, Jack. I’ve met them all.” Alfred then turned abruptly, shoving him away by the chest. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have somewhere important to be. Don’t even think about following me.”

                And with that, he stomped off, leaving behind a bristling Jack. 

                 Unbelievable! He thought angrily as he stormed out of the village walls. He doesn’t know me at all, yet has the audacity to ask me to marry him. Me! The wife of that arrogant, mindless fool! I would sooner die than give my hand to anyone!

                Alfred made sure no one was watching him before vaulting over his spiked-top fence and moving into the thick forest. He knelt on the forest floor, carefully lowering the mouse onto the grass. The mouse sniffed uncertainly, tentatively stepping out from his palm. 

                 “There you go,” he murmured softly. The mouse squeaked happily as if to say thank you, before bounding away. Alfred smiled after it. He didn’t know how long he stood there. He just knew that it was only when his feet got sore that he decided to move. He ventured off the bright main path, walking into the darkness.

                Despite the eeriness of these woods, Alfred was unfazed. His steps were that of a person who's been here a million times. He didn't have to look to know when to jump over large roots, when to duck low-hanging branches, and when to avoid outstretched boughs. Eventually, the forest ended at the foot of a towering cliff, its spiky rock walls reaching far into the sky. It was covered in large, thick vines. He looked around one last time, ensuring no one was watching, before prying the vines apart with considerable strength and stepping through. Inside was a tiny, cramped cave. He slipped through a hole in the ground, and after a labyrinth of tunnels designed to confuse, he arrived at his destination.

                The organization Alfred worked for was called the Guild , whose members were professional killers who performed contract terminations. He was the youngest hire, being a fifteen-year-old who joined at the age of seven. The Guild's hideout was a spacious fortress hidden deep inside a mountain, built into the natural rock with stone walls and hidden alcoves, softened only by the navy carpets on the floor and tapestries on the walls, emblazoned with the Guild insignias. The air was thick with smoke, oil, and the metallic tang of blood long dried into the cracks of stone. Assassins passed him—Alphas and Omegas cloaked in dark fabrics, hardened from years of bloodshed. Alfred offered easy smiles and friendly greetings to the people he walked by, but none returned his warmth. Some glanced his way with a roll of their eyes, others ignored him entirely. 

                It's okay, the Omega told himself, They're just busy. That's understandable.

                He was busy too, anyway. He had come here to hunt down Handler—it's been weeks since they'd last been in contact, ever since he'd called off his last kill. He needed another job, and fast. Tax collection was this month, and Alfred's odd jobs weren't enough money to pay it off. And with a career as illicit as his, staying out of the royal guards' crosshairs was pretty damn important. 

                He eventually found him in the common room, seated at a desk near the hearth. Alfred bounded inside, his cheery demeanor out of place in the grim atmosphere. “Good afternoon, Handler!” 

                “Hardly,” Handler replied curtly, putting down the parchment he was reading and revealing his sour face.

                “Ah, sorry," Alfred grinned sardonically as he sat down, "I should have known better than to open with something as controversial as good afternoon. ”

                Handler pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry, this has just been a stressful week.”

                “It’s alright— Oh, what’s this?” Alfred blinked at the apple pie and two mugs of steaming brown beverages atop the desk.

                “I had a feeling you've barely eaten since your brother left, so I got this pie for you so you can eat actual food. And a hot chocolate—no coffee, because you need sleep. I suspect that along with eating, you also haven't been sleeping.”

                “That's cause night shifts pay extra!” 

                “Whatever you say.”

                Alfred huffed, stabbing his fork into the pie. Handler's lucky he got him food, or Alfred would've been angrier at the questioning of his life decisions. For a moment, they just sat there, drinking and eating in comfortable silence. After a while, the Omega spoke up. “Handler, do you think I’m weird?”

                Handler raised a brow over his parchment. “Why do you ask that?”

                Alfred shrugged, poking his food around. “I don’t know. People talk. And it seems like all I do is mess up. Even when I don't, something else happens to ruin it.”

                Handler sighed, putting down his file. "What have I told you? Just ignore such things. If you rely on external validation, you're setting yourself up for disappointment. The world won't hold your hand, Alfred. What's important is that when you look in the mirror, you like what you see."

                "But I don't."

                "Then learn how to."

                Alfred threw his hands up. "Gee, why didn't I think of that?" 

                Handler rolled his eyes. "Just keep working hard. You always do your best, and that's what matters. There is nothing more important than power. It shapes a great guild, a great Kingdom—a great world. It’s what creates balance, a system. Strength is everything. And you are my strongest soldier. That’s what makes you great.”

                Alfred straightened, nodding eagerly. Strength was important to him—as Handler said, it’s everything. Alfred’s only good trait, something that he was so great at that it was unique only to him, was his strength. So powerful to the point of being inhuman; that's what he used to help others, rooting out traitors and eliminating the corrupt before they could rot the rest of the kingdom. While it was clandestine and grotesque, it was Alfred's own way of being a hero.

                “Hey, wait, I didn't come here just to eat pie!" Alfred remembered. He pointed a stubborn fork in Handler's face. "You cheated me out of a salary a few weeks ago! Tax collection is this month, you know! I have bills to pay!"

                “I see you’re still chuffed about it," Handler said coolly, "But I assure you it was for good reason.”

                “What rea—"

                "Handler," an urgent voice called from the door. A group of dark-clothed Alphas stood at the door. Their uniforms were not of assassins, but of higher-ups, like Handler. Alfred frowned a little in unease.

                Handler stood up from his chair. "We'll continue this later. Enjoy your pie, Alfred."

                "Right, thanks..." Alfred muttered as he watched him join the others and leave the common room. His eyes lingered at the doorway before turning back to the desk. He decided to finish the pie—maybe the food would replace the bad feeling in his stomach. It didn't. He decided to leave, intending to find a training room to pass the time until the Alpha returned. He still needed new clients, and only an assassin's handler could give it to them. 

                "...lucrative...pay..." 

                Alfred's ears perked up. Lucrative pay? I like the sound of that .

                He turned to see an alcove in a corner of the hall, where a group of assassins were huddled in secretive fashion. Interest officially piqued, Alfred ducked behind the pillar nearest to them and strained his ears, eager to catch their conversation. 

                "...palace...the King..."

             Alfred blinked. The King? That's weird. To talk about it, I mean. It's a general consensus among us not to gossip, especially about the royals. Besides, no one has seen or heard of the monarch in ages. He'd vanished years ago, then was never spoken about again. I wonder why they're—

                A slam of an iron door echoed from another tunnel, catching his attention. His nosiness flared instantly. He cast another suspicious look at the assassins before slipping away. The hideout's dim torches cast flickering shadows along the walls, which he blended in with to creep down the tunnel unnoticed. The closer he got, the more audible the voices became. And recognizable.

                Handler , Alfred quickened his pace a little. He hurried over to the last door, peering past the iron doorframe. There was Handler, speaking with other higher-ups of the Guild.

                "The letter confirms it," his voice was low with finality as he waved a sealed parchment.

                "Unbelievable..." one higher-up muttered, "I knew he was mad, but Spades is hardly in shape to go to war."

                War? Alfred gripped the iron frame tightly. What war?

                "What do you expect? The mad don't make logical decisions," another said gruffly. "Though I admit, this is next level, even for him."

                Alfred instantly felt sick. Bile bubbled up in his throat as he thought of all the innocents who would suffer if what they were saying was true. The first higher-up was right—Spades was in absolutely no shape to withstand a war. They had a harsh environment, rationed food for the long winters, undeveloped settlements, and a minimal population of which the majority were laborers. Life here was already survival for many. Alfred considered himself lucky to even have a job.

                "It doesn't matter. We're not taking this," Handler's words earned gasps from the others, including the Omega eavesdropping on them.

                "You're turning it down?" they repeated incredulously.

                "Yes," Handler's face was grim, "We don't take on suicide missions. The Palace is impenetrable, their defenses have been doubled, and the King himself is unpredictable. Any assassin we send would be walking to their death. Worse, if we fail, the Guild will be exposed, and we'll all be hunted down."

                Alfred's stomach twisted. He understood Handler's logic, but the idea of war raging across the kingdom—innocents dying because no one would act—made his blood boil.

                "Then what do we do?" another voice asked, "We can't just ignore it."

                "We can," Handler said firmly, "And we will. This mission was over the moment the king wrote that journal."

                Alfred barely stifled a cry of protest when Handler tossed the letter into the firepit. His chest squeezed as he watched the flames curl around the parchment, devouring the only evidence of the mission. He stepped away, pressing his back to the wall. His hand pressed to his mouth to muffle his ragged breaths.

                He's just letting it happen, Alfred's heart was pounding. Then what's the point of the Guild? Assassins exist to rid the corrupt from the shadows when no one is brave enough to do it in the light. What is all this for if not to help people?

                He thought of all the innocent children who'd suffer. The young people who had futures. Matthew. He thought of them dead; crushed under rubble, killed by starvation, mangled in battlefields, slaughtered and slain in cold blood. While those responsible, those who started it, are safe on high ground.

                His fists clenched. Then his feet started moving. Pounding against the carpeted stone as he darted down tunnels and up winding steps until he reached Handler's office. The door was locked, but Alfred had picked harder locks in less time. With nimble fingers and a small pin from his belt, he felt a prickle of victory when the door popped open. He slammed it shut behind him and went straight for his desk. Drawers flew open as he rifled through them, ignoring the guilt gnawing at him. This isn’t stealing. It’s for the greater good.

                Finally, he found it—a leather-bound file marked with the Guild’s insignia, sealed with red wax. He broke it without hesitation, skimming the contents. Details of the King’s plans, the impending war, and the mission to stop it—by assassination.

                His hands trembled slightly as he gripped the parchment. This is it. This is what I’m meant to do.

                Without even stopping to think, Alfred shoved the file into his satchel and grabbed a fresh scroll, quickly forging a coded signal in Handler’s handwriting, claiming that he—Alfred—was the assassin selected for the mission. His handwriting wasn’t perfect, but it would pass at a glance.

                Just as he finished sealing the scroll, the door burst open. Handler stood there, eyes wide with rage.

                “ Alfred!" 

                But Alfred didn’t hesitate. He shoved the scroll into the tube, releasing it with a swift pull of the lever. Handler lunged forward, but it was too late. The parchment zipped away with a sharp hiss, disappearing into the intricate network of tubes that connected the Guild’s hideouts across the kingdoms.

                The message was gone. The mission was his now.

                Handler’s eyes locked onto Alfred’s with a low, cold fury. "What did you just do?"

                Alfred met him with his own determined glare. "What I had to."

                "You—!" Handler pounced at him, but Alfred jumped out of reach. His heart pounded as he sprinted out of the office and through the corridors, dodging startled assassins. Shouts erupted behind him, and he knew Handler had given the order to stop him. But Alfred was fast—faster than all of them. He knew these tunnels better than anyone.

                He reached the exit, scaling the vines in record time. The moment he hit the forest floor, he ran without looking back. He had no allies now. No backup. The Guild would hunt him down for this.

                But none of that mattered.

                The King had to die.

                And Alfred was going to be the one to do it.

                I'm sorry, Handler.

Chapter Text

                Alfred's blindfold was tight across his eyes, and his stomach hadn’t stopped churning since he entered the carriage. 

                The palace’s location was one of the kingdom’s most closely guarded secrets, which is why he was blindfolded. It had been for centuries, but the security was especially tight due to the recent lifting of the lockdown. The ride felt endless, and Alfred's senses had picked up several things during it. One, that they were entering the North. Cold air had started seeping into the cabin, the wheels went from grinding over crisp leaves to crunching through fallen snow. Two, that they were stopping at several checkpoints. He could feel the cabin being transferred into different carriages at least three times. Possibly to prevent anyone from memorizing the path—not that they needed to worry about Alfred. He could barely remember what he ate for breakfast.

                He felt the carriage slow to a stop. The dead silence made Alfred nervous.

                "Uh...are we here?"

                No response. 

                 Right. Of course, there wouldn't be. His company inside the carriage was a Mekavik. A special brand of Clockwork Meka that work for the Court of Spades, they were terrifying machines of brass limbs and gear workings. This one held a heavy-grade shotgun in its arms, its singular optical sensor focused on him. Alfred didn't know what it would do if he took off the blindfold, and he didn't want to. 

                Then, he heard the slow creak of what sounded like tall, heavy gates. His knee began to bounce.

                He forced himself to take a deep breath. He'd taken this mission for a reason, and he couldn't back out now. To help his nerves, he chatted away aimlessly as he had the entire ride, feeling slightly comforted by the fact that the Mekavik didn't care. It couldn't talk back, feel, or think, which meant it wasn't judging Alfred's nervous ramble. But if it had a conscience, it definitely would have jumped for joy when the carriage finally pulled to a stop. 

               As he stumbled out, the first thing he felt was the cold air shocking his body and his boots sinking into thick snow.

               “Task completed.”

                His blindfold was yanked off by metal hands. Alfred hissed as the bright white of the North immediately blinded him. He rubbed his eyes into readjusting, and his vision cleared to reveal a grand structure that stretched so high into the sky that Alfred had to crane his neck. 

                The palace was a magnificent sight to behold. Dark stone shrouded in fog, nestled in a hidden valley of the Argent Peaks, with its sharp-topped spires and white-capped mountains and snow-caked forests, Alfred felt less impressed and more intimidated. Its sheer size could put a mountain to shame, blocking everything else in sight. Alfred gulped.

                 This is where I’ll be living for the next few months.

                The Mekavik whirred to attention behind him, the clank of its brass body snapping him back to earth. A figure was descending the stone steps now. Alfred tried to compose himself, but his focus was dashed when the brunette came closer.

                He looked as delicate as a flower. Long dark hair flowing down his shoulders, porcelain skin, and amber eyes that shone like gold—if he didn’t look so stern, Alfred would’ve thought he was a doll. Whoa , he thought.

                “Excuse me?”

                 Oops, did I say that out loud? “Sorry, you’re just very beautiful,” Alfred said bluntly, not stopping to think if what he said was weird.

                The Omega raised a brow. “I am Yao Wang,” he said instead, “The Jack of Spades and attendant of His Royal Highness, the Prince.” When he lifted his long cream skirt in an elegant curtsy, Alfred realized that he was the aggravated Omega he had seen the prince talking with in the Academy.

                Alfred attempted a clumsy curtsy in return, arms outstretched awkwardly. Yao stared at him critically from his elevated position on the stairs.

                “...I take it you are Alfred F. Jones?” 

                “That’s me,” Alfred bowed his head more subtly this time. “Er, nice to meet you!” he said brightly, sticking his hand out for a handshake, thinking that perhaps being more enthusiastic might thaw the attendant’s stern demeanor.

                Yao’s gaze flicked to the hand, then back to Alfred. “Follow me,” he turned swiftly. Alfred awkwardly retracted his hand and followed him up the steps.

                With a bow from the Mekavik guards, the grand doors swung open.

            The throne-room locked behind him with a heavy clunk.

              His throat went dry. That wasn’t ominous at all.

              Alfred had been led here by Yao after an exhaustive vetting process—interrogation, really—and said that his charge would arrive soon, but Alfred wasn’t sure what soon meant in royal terms. Any moment now, he’d meet the person he was hired to protect. Alfred had no idea who it would be, as the file (the one he stole) simply said he’d act as someone’s personal guard. On that note, Alfred was quite relieved when Yao bought his cover story. It seemed he had nothing to worry about after all—the headquarters of the Order had already taken care of his false identity. There was no need to change his name, as he was primarily unknown as it was, but the new life he was assigned was that he was from a mercenary guild. 

              Mercenaries and assassins, though fundamentally similar, differ in one way: legality. Mercenaries are a type of soldier, essentially a military contractor. Though they take lives as well, their work is considered legal because they're soldiers for hire, not killers. It's different from assassins, who would face serious repercussions if discovered. In Spades, nobles are not determined by wealth, but by service—thus, their elite society is comprised of military families and mercenary guilds, both of whom have served their kingdom for decades.

              The specific guild Alfred supposedly belongs to is the guild of Vaelyr. It's one of the lesser known guilds, and for good reason. After the original mercenaries mysteriously died, the Order took control of it and now uses the place as a common cover-up for their assassins. Building off the reputation of the original Vaelyr, they remained a prestigious guild, but not enough to be in the spotlight. That's how Alfred made it through the vetting process. 

              But getting past a Jack he's never met before was nothing. Alfred's true worry was who his charge was. From here on out, Alfred would have to be with them every second of every day. He hoped they were dumb.

              The throne room was dark—there was only the bleak, cloudy glow from the tall windows lined across the navy walls, the dais of the thrones themselves shrouded in shadows. Alfred was on edge as he followed Yao down the carpet, past the armed Mekaviks, feeling like a string about to snap as he eyed the imposing machines warily.

              Yao stopped with a formal curtsy in front of the dais. Alfred spied a pair of feet sitting at the throne. “Your Highness, I present to you your new knight: Alfred F. Jones.”

              Alfred blinked. His brain did a double take.

               Your Highness?

              “Oh my,” a voice hummed, followed by the rustle of fabric. Alfred gaped as a hulking figure draped in luxurious violet stepped out of the shadows. “What a small world.”

                Alfred gasped. “You!” he stabbed a finger in his direction, aghast. Yao snapped to him with a wide-eyed glare. “You’re the one I’m working for!?”

                The prince smirked as he strode closer. “They told me I would be receiving a new servant. They failed to mention it would be you.”

                Yao frowned, glancing curiously between them. “Are...the two of you already friends?”

                “No!”

                “Yes.”

                Alfred shot him a glare. The prince smiled. “Yes, we are friends,” he confirmed to Yao.

                Yao eyed them suspiciously but nodded slowly nonetheless. “Very well, then. Shall I—”

                “You may leave,” the prince dismissed.

                Yao’s brow twitched. “Your Highness, I cannot—”

                 “You may leave.”

                Yao lingered. He shot a withering look at Alfred, then at Ivan, before reluctantly obeying. Alfred didn’t take his eyes off Ivan as the throne room doors thudded shut behind him. He was first to speak.

                “I’m not your damn servant,” he snapped. “And I’m certainly not your friend.”

                “So your name is Alfred,” the prince hummed. “My name is Ivan.”

                “I don’t care.”

                Ivan held up a scroll. “I have read through this file of yours. You have quite the clean record...Alfred,” he smirked, beginning to circle him. “How curious, considering our last interaction.”

                Alfred felt a cold sweat. He doubted the prince had forgotten the exchange between them three weeks ago, where Alfred spewed insults and tried to kill him.

                 Oh crap. Who knows what this psycho will do to get back at me? Why didn’t I just keep my big mouth shut?

                The prince clasped his hands behind his back, his posture as regal as ever. “Tell me," he continued smoothly, "Should I sleep with one eye open, knowing my attempted murderer is bringing me my tea?”

                Alfred scoffed. “If I wanted you dead, you’d already be in the ground.”

                “How amusing,” the prince replied dryly. “I suppose that trait will be entertaining. After all, we shall be in close company from here on, and General Winter expects us to maintain an amicable relationship.”

                “Hey, I’m capable of getting along,” Alfred jabbed a thumb at himself, “You’re the one with the problem.”

                “Oh? And why is that? It was you who was uncivilized in our first encounter.”

                Alfred laughed in disbelief. “Are you blaming me for being reasonably upset about your little scheme?”

                “Reasonably? We must have different definitions, Alfred,” Ivan stopped in front of him. “It is not a scheme. You just do not understand politics and the decisions that have to be made for them.”

                “I understand perfectly fine! I don’t need a degree to recognize a plot!” Alfred’s voice was thunderous now.

                “You should calm down, Alfred—”

                “Don’t tell me to calm down—”

                “As I was saying,” the prince interrupted coldly, “You should calm down, Alfred. This is not the countryside where boorish behavior is tolerated. We are in the palace, and propriety must be upheld. To raise your voice against a royal is considered treason.”

                “Wha—”

                “But luckily for you, I keep quiet about such things. I have not told anyone about your attempted murder.” 

                 He’s calling it murder, not assassination, Alfred noted. So he hasn’t caught on...yet.

                “But that is not to say I will never do so,” Ivan continued. Alfred paled. “Listen, and listen well, knight. I do not need any sort of protection. Why you were hired is beyond me, but the General says it is necessary since I will be going in public more often to continue my work. So unless you want to be executed, you will keep in line and not make my job more difficult.”

                Alfred clenched his jaw. This bastard. He's basically blackmailing me into behaving. 

                The prince took advantage of his speechlessness, adopting a more formal tone. “Hence, it would be good for us to foster an amiable relationship. You know, be friends. You can start by respecting me.”

                “No way! As long as there’s breath in my body, I will never be friends with you!”

                The prince dropped his smile instantly. "I do not want to befriend you either, but we must act maturely here. We have a job to do, and this hostility will not help either of us. You will be spending every second of every day with me from now on, helping me with my duties.” 

                Alfred's eyes flared. "And if I have a problem with that?"

                "Then walk out right now.”

                They stood there, staring each other down. Alfred gritted his teeth. Oh, he wanted to do that so badly, but that didn't matter right now. Not with the stakes on the line.

                "No," he grounded out, "I'm staying.”

                “Good,” the prince straightened, pleased. “I hope you serve better than you kill.”

                Before Alfred could respond, the doors creaked open again, revealing Yao. “Pardon me, Your Highness. If your introduction is done, I am here to escort the knight back to his quarters.”

                “He shall be with you promptly, Yao,” the prince replied before turning back to Alfred with a smirk. “Until tomorrow, then, my new guard.”

            The palace was truly as massive as it looked on the outside, with ceilings soaring beyond discernible height and staircases that seemed to go on endlessly. But Alfred's focus was less on the luxurious embellishments and more on how...eerie the place was. It was still, dimly-lit, and the air was stagnant. It felt less like a lived-in space and more of a museum. It made him frown, feeling increasingly uneasy. The stone-carved bears perched on the newel posts glared down at him. Alfred gulped, averting his gaze to hurry after Yao.

              They passed by long corridors, some lined with tall windows that showed the gardens outside. Not that there was much to see. Just dead trees, frozen lakes, and endless acres of nothing but snow as far as the eye could see, walled in by dark, aged stone. Beyond them, he could spot the Shiverwood, a forest whose name he’d spotted many times in the books he’d studied before coming here. Headquarters was secretive, and asking the Guild was out of the question, so he had to borrow books from Krasny's cramped little bookshop to know remotely anything about the place he would be living in. But he didn't learn much. To protect the palace's secrecy, information about their region was limited. All he learned was that in the north, winters were harsh. And judging by the frost accumulated on the windows, they had been in winter for quite some time.

                "Your role here is that of a knight, a personal guard,” Yao began briskly, “I was planning to ask about your familiarity with royal etiquette, but it is clear you are not.” Alfred’s ears burned with embarrassment. “Therefore, I shall reiterate the protocols for you." 

                Yao began to prattle on about the many different etiquettes that Alfred was to strictly follow during his stay here, ranging from knightly etiquette to how to maintain propriety as an Omega (which he ignored). Alfred felt lost as most of Yao’s words went in one ear and out the other before he was already moving on to the next rule.

                “Furthermore, you are prohibited from divulging any information about the palace—its location, layout, or operations—to outsiders. Such matters are deemed confidential, and any attempt to conceal this information will be discovered. Additionally, no running, no shouting, no eating with your mouth open, no yawning when others are around, and do not speak to people that you have not been told to speak to, especially important ones.”

                “Can I do anything in here?” Alfred grumbled.

                “Yes, as long as you have been told to do so. However, you are free to wander around the palace. Just not the west wing.”

                “What’s in the west wing?”

                “ Nothing that concerns you ,” Yao’s tone turned sharp. “It is forbidden territory. This is not the place for exploration or adventurism. Do as you are told and do not cross into places you are not meant to be in, understood?”

                Alfred nodded meekly.

                “Good.”

                “Ah, Yao!” a boisterous voice interrupted their conversation. Yao grimaced, stepping back to stand beside Alfred. “Stay quiet,” he muttered, “I will do the talking.”

                Alfred frowned in confusion before an Alpha—clad in stiff, scholarly attire—approached with a broad grin. “Is this Alfred?”

                Yao raised a brow, but said nothing. He squinted, crossing his arms stiffly. "Not that it concerns you."

                The Alpha’s smile widened, taking Yao's answer as a yes. "How lovely!" he exclaimed, zeroing in on Alfred. "Its always nice to see young blood.” 

                “What's that supposed to mean?” Alfred muttered. Yao elbowed him. 

                “My name is Ovechkin, one of the ministers of the court," he placed a fist to his chest and bowed. "I've served the Court of Spades for over ten years. Impressive, isn’t it?”

                Alfred stayed warily silent.

                Ovechkin let out a chuckle. “You choose to remain silent, then?”

                “Yes, yes, he's a shy type," Yao lied, waved him away impatiently, "Now that's enough. We have pressing matters to attend to—”

                “That’s quite alright,” Ovechkin continued as if Yao hadn't spoken. He stepped closer to Alfred, so close that the blonde could see his stubble and wrinkles, indicating that this Alpha was rather old. 

                Alfred bristled. His instinct was to square up, to push back. But then he remembered where he was. Who he was supposed to be.

                   Damn it. If he caused a scene now, he’d be done for.

                 “I find silence to be rather alluring,” his voice rumbled, his gaze sweeping over Alfred’s body. “And you look young. What are you, fifteen?” 

                 Alfred tensed. Was he messing with him or actually serious? He felt his stomach churn under his crawling stare. Alfred tensed as wrinkled hands inching closer and closer to him. His hand twitched, as if to snap them before they could touch him, but Yao moved before he did. He stepped in between them as if he’d done this a hundred times before.

                “That’s enough,” Yao repeated firmly. “You’re wasting your time here.”

                This seemed to do the trick as Ovechkin scowled, dusting his pants off before retreating quietly. The two Omegas stayed still, waiting tensely until he was out of sight.

                “Finally,” Yao exhaled sharply when Ovechkin rounded the corner, “That Alpha is insufferable. I had hoped to avoid encountering him.”

                “Yeah,” Alfred agreed, rattled from the interaction, “That was so weird. He came out of nowhere.” And how did he know my name?

                “He seems to always know when a young Omega is nearby,” Yao said tightly, resuming their walk, “I advise you to steer clear of him. For now, let us put this unsettling incident behind us and proceed as though it never occurred.”

               Alfred nodded, casting a wary glance toward the corner where Ovechkin had vanished. “Understood.”

                “This is your room,” Yao opened the door with a click. Alfred gaped.

                Everything was blue.

                The curtains were deep blue, the chairs were deep blue, the shag rug was deep blue, and even the bed was deep blue. This was supposed to be a servants’ chamber, but it felt big to Alfred. Like the rest of the palace, the walls were navy blue marble, with white stone accents arching into a ceiling, with the necessary furnishings already inside. 

                “This place looks great,” he whistled, impressed.

                “This is great to you?” Yao raised a brow sardonically, eyeing the area. Alfred was impressed, but to Yao, this room was rather cramped and basic. “Well…to each their own, I suppose.”

                There was one singular window, but it was nearly opaque from frost. Alfred could spot icicles framing the top of the window and piles of snow on the sill. When he brushed away the fog on the glass, he could see that he was rather high up. He must be in one of the towers.

                “I shall leave you to get settled, then. Your uniform is in the closet,” Yao said, handing him his room key. “And remember, curfew must be followed. You are to stay here after lights-out.”

                “Got it,” Alfred nodded. Definitely not doing that.

                Once Yao left, Alfred collapsed on the bed. It was invitingly soft and smelled like vanilla, way better than a lumpy sofa. He breathed it in, allowing himself to enjoy the plush quilts and linen sheets for a moment longer. It was when the Northern Lights began to appear outside that he finally propped himself up. He sat cross-legged on his bed as he flipped through the leather-bound file he stole from Handler. 

               The mission’s core detail was a scrapped page from the King’s journal, revealing plans for war against their neighbor across the sea, the Kingdom of Hearts. The decided doomsday was February fourteen—six months from now. 

                  “That should be enough time...if I work fast,” Alfred muttered. 

                 He flipped through more of the worn pages. It’s mentioned in passing that the one who hired him is the one who found the journal page, but doesn't mention who. To maintain discretion, Alfred guessed. This was a delicate situation, after all. Assassinations always were, but the involvement of the monarchy made it especially so. That must be why they hired an assassin instead of handling it themselves. They want to get rid of the king quietly without stirring anything, even within the palace.  

                 Alfred grumbled, biting his lip in thought. Problem is, I don’t know where the king is. With all this secrecy, no one does. The general is the regent, and has been for a decade. And I can’t exactly ask, that’d be suspicious. I have to tread carefully...

                 Alfred flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. 

                I need a plan. A good one, he thought firmly as he stared at his wooden canopy. I took this mission for a reason—no way I’m backing down now.

                 I'll succeed. No distractions, no failure.

Chapter Text

                 Crouched under a table, a small child no older than five pulled back the tattered tablecloth, peering at the streets. Merchants, miners, and mothers wrangling children were scurrying past while Alfred watched. Waiting. Hungry.

                 A pair of feet paused, and the child quickly ducked behind the tablecloth again. The baker’s voice boomed from above, words being exchanged when the sound of rummaging through a bag came. Little feet inched forward, fingers twitching. Alfred heard the rustle of a paper, then the exchange of coins. “Here you go!”

               As the customer left, the baker turned to his cashbox. Round blue eyes peered over the table cautiously. A small hand darted out, reaching for a loaf of bread—

               “You again!”

               Alfred bolted. The baker, plump face flushed in anger, bellowed after him. “Catch that thief!” 

               A chorus of surprised cries erupted behind Alfred, followed by the heavy footfalls of the baker’s enraged pursuit. Bare feet pounding against the stone, Alfred clutched the stolen bread to his chest. 

               “There he is!”

               A meaty hand nearly grabbed him. Alfred gasped, slipping, but managed to dart into a sea of legs that either blocked him or parted for him. Hands reached for him, voices snapped at him, but he was quicker. He ran and ran, past the last stalls, past the shouting, past the village itself, until the stone under his feet turned into soft grass. He slowed to a stop, sighing in relief.

                Thirsty...

               Rubbing at the grime on his cheeks and still clutching the loaf, the child wandered, sniffing like a bloodhound until he spotted water behind tangled evergreens. Grinning, he pushed his way through the bushes.

               His smile vanished.

               There, in the shallow river, was a child like himself, floating facedown in the water. Bare feet moved before he could think, the bread tumbling from his arms. With much effort, he heaved the child to the grassy bank, settling him in his lap. 

               “Hey! Wake up! Up!” he prodded at his cheeks, slapping them insistently. His skin was not only pale, but cold to the touch. Alfred’s lower lip wobbled as an unease worse than hunger curled in his stomach. Is he—

               Water splashed as the child jerked, hacking up river water. Alfred yelped, leaning back just in time to avoid the spray. 

               “You’re alive!” he gasped in delight, beaming down at him. The child’s eyes peeled open, and sliver of violet peered up at him. 

               Alfred cocked his head with a curious blink. He had never seen such hollow eyes before.

               The child’s lips moved as if he was trying to speak, but no sound came out. Alfred leaned closer. “Huh? What’re you saying?”

               “You...” the voice was barely there.

               Alfred tilted his head. “Me?”

               A shaky breath. “Who...are...”

               The words were barely out before his body went limp in Alfred’s arms. “Huh?” Alfred was alarmed. “Hey! Are you okay? Hey!” 

                 He shook him again worriedly.

                “Hey!”

                Alfred was startled out of his reverie by a servant hissing at him. 

               “Your charge is already down the hall. Stop daydreaming.”

               “Oh, right! Sorry,” he apologized sheepishly, before rushing after Ivan. He needed to stop thinking about his dream last night. How weird...he'd never had a dream like that before.

                He shook it off as he caught up to Ivan. He had more important things to worry about. Not that he could do much about it. And that's what's been pissing him off the entire day. He had a mission, a real mission, but instead, he’s stuck spending every waking moment trailing behind the kingdom’s most insufferable bastard. Ivan didn’t give him any schedule, so he had to guess where they were going and nearly lost him twice. He had to speedwalk to keep pace with Ivan’s brisk, long-legged strides. Alfred suspected he was intentionally walking just fast enough to make him struggle. Tch.

                Still, he was prideful and competitive, so he made sure to keep right next to him.

                Other than the prince himself, this palace was boring. The halls were eerie, the servants moved like ghosts, and everyone was afraid of the prince. No one dared to approach him unless absolutely necessary. Chaos, yelling, and people constantly arguing were a comfort to him, having lived so long in Krasny, so the dead silence was uncomfortable. He felt like he was breathing too loud.

                The only thing keeping him sane is getting to explore. He took mental notes of everything—the security rotations, the locked doors, the areas he wasn’t allowed to enter. Every hallway, every exit, every possible escape route. It was his only way of making any progress, as eavesdropping or fishing for clues was impossible. Everyone was guarded to each other, but especially toward him. The outsider. The staff talked in curt tones, vague circles that Alfred couldn’t figure out. They learned their riddles from their prince, he decided. Not a single word Ivan said was uncalculated, and he never lingered anywhere unnecessary. 

               Dammit. It's like they know what I’m here for.

                Ivan stopped before a tall pair of doors, casting an expectant gaze in Alfred’s direction. A moment of silence passed between them before Alfred spoke.

                “What?” he snapped.

                “Shall I spoonfeed you what you are supposed to do? Open the doors.” 

                Alfred scowled. He didn’t break eye contact as he grabbed the handle, making sure to yank it open just to be petty. Ivan just strolled past him and Alfred had to fix his scowl before stepping in after him.

                The Court of Spades held their meetings in the grand council chamber, a sunken coliseum-esque room of magnificent windows and iron chandeliers. Ivan sat unmoved in his throne-like seat, placed at the head of the table's curve. Alfred stood behind him, hands clasped behind his back, eyes sweeping the tiered seats. The long tables encircled the sunken middle, with ministers seated in order of seniority and sphere—military, agriculture, trade, education, foreign relations. Notably, the seats near Ivan were conspicuously empty.

                It seems that even among their own ranks, no one wanted to be near their young prince.

                Below, the Minister of Martial Affairs stepped onto the stone podium, unfurling a scroll. His voice filled the air. "As decreed by His Highness, with the removal of the lockdown, we proudly announce the formal return of the Eisvorod Trials."

                 Alfred's brows bounced to his hairline. They're reinstating the Trials?

                 Spades is unique among the Four Suites for being a meritocracy. Positions weren’t inherited, they were earned. Blood meant nothing if you couldn’t prove yourself. Trials were used in the passing of positions—though, for peacefulness's sake, the trials were scholarly, won through intellectual prowess. But when Alfred looked up at the ceiling, he could see three cards painted into the mural, surrounding the chandelier.

                Three cards. Power, represented by a greatsword; Intelligence, represented by a book; Justice, represented by a set of scales.

                But the kingdom's primary tarot was Power: which is where the Eisvorod Trials came in. 

                With a name of their old ancestral language before Russian— Eis (“ice”) and vorod (“battle” or “test of worth”)—the Trials were a long-standing tradition of Spades, a relic of old ice and even older blood. Once a trial by combat held by different clans to decide their chiefs, this tradition was modified when the monarchy was established, now a test of skill for the kingdom’s warrior class—mercenary groups, military families—to decide which of them would receive royal patronage. Exclusive contracts, generous funding, elevated status; the entire package. Undoubtedly, what people will be greediest for is the funding. The Kingdom of Spades has never seen the Erysvorn Palace send out any kind of coin, as even when the Trials were a regular event, the authoritarian regime meant the prize was a year's worth of hunting spoils. 

                Now, this Trial would be the first in six years. 

                Alfred should be excited. He was excited. Competition always stirred something feral in him. It'd be fitting for his new identity, too. After all, he was supposed to be from Vaelyr, a renowned mercenary group, and this was a monumental occasion for the warrior class. Unfortunately, he wasn’t allowed to join for two reasons. One, he belonged to the palace now, not the guild. And two, he was to be shackled to the prince’s side like a ceremonial watchdog.

               It's just as well, Alfred sighed. I could get too swept up in winning if I joined. I need to remain focused.

                Ivan glanced at him when he sighed, and Alfred schooled his expression again. 

                “The prince's decree of the Trials’ return has been declared publicly, and invitations have been dispatched to all participants, including the Bratva. The event will be opened and closed by His Highness,” the minister gestured. “To represent the change, the new era of our Kingdom, and leaving our past behind. Additionally—”

                A minister leapt from his seat with a startled cry, a stain on his uniform. The room fell quiet as all eyes fell on the young cupbearer, a mousy young Alpha who looked rattled. 

                The minister’s wrinkled face flushed with anger. “You clumsy little rodent—this robe is silk! Do you have any idea what—”

                “I— I am so sorry, my lord,” the cupbearer stammered, frantically reaching for a napkin with shaking hands. “Please—I’ll clean it, I—”

                 “Fetch me another cup! And if it’s poisoned, it’ll be your head on the pike!”

                “Right— Right away, sir,” the cupbearer bowed profusely before scrambling away. Meanwhile, the court seemed used to disturbances, accustomed enough not to react. Ivan, too, merely watched with his chin perched on one gloved fist, bored.

                Alfred knew he shouldn’t intervene. He had to keep a low profile. This wasn't his business anyway. To put himself in the spotlight was to set himself back at least ten steps.

                But when the cupbearer scurried past, Alfred quickly snagged the goblet from Ivan’s side and blocked his path. “Here, take this,” he pushed it into his arms, his voice low enough so only they would hear. “It's safe.”

                The cupbearer froze. “I—I can’t—Ser, it’s—”

                “He hasn’t touched it,” Alfred smiled assuringly, “Go.”

                The cupbearer gawked at him, then the cup, then—timidly—nodded and took it. “Thank you,” he bowed deeply in gratitude. Alfred returned to his position as the cupbearer hurried back to the minister.

                Ivan’s voice drifted over to him lazily. “How generous. The mercenary playing mother bird.”

                Alfred didn’t look at him. “You didn’t want it anyway.”

                Ivan smiled coolly. “You assume too much, mutt. One day, your assumptions will get you killed.”

                Alfred bit his tongue, and the conversation died there. The meeting resumed, as if nothing had happened. Talk of logistics and fencing lines, of royal patronage and sponsor rights, before ending with:

               “Before I conclude my speech, the General has entrusted me with a letter to read during the meeting before his departure to the Iron Fortress,” the minister said, pulling out a notepad and beginning to read aloud.

               “To His Highness.

                Please remember that the return of the Eisvorod Trials is next month. Unlike your simple speech at the Academy's reopening, this is an official public event you cannot escape. It is considered the monarchy’s grand return after a decade of isolation, so no margin of error is allowed. One stumble, the tiniest mistake, and you will be marked as unfit for society, and we will all be forced back into lockdown. So work hard and exceed their expectations. 

               That is all. Good luck.”

               Alfred frowned as the minister finished. Forced into lockdown over a speech? Talk about over-dramatic.

               He turned to Ivan, wondering if he thought that was stupid too. He expected irritation. Anger, even. Or that cool, unreadable look Ivan often wore like armor. But no. Instead, he looked rather...downcast. Alfred stared.

               As if sensing it, Ivan composed himself in a blink and smiled falsely. “Of course. Thank you, Minister.” 

              The rest of the meeting continued without a hitch. But instead of his usual focus, Ivan's gaze was distant. He nodded absentmindedly when addressed, but didn't speak. The mood had significantly lowered; the other ministers kept glancing at Ivan repeatedly, awkwardly—even the one presenting had lost a bit of his earlier confidence. He fumbled a word once or twice.

              Alfred tucked this information away. Despite Ivan's young age, they seemed not to think lowly of him. At least, not in the way Alfred was familiar with. 

              He glanced at Ivan. Ivan’s hollow eyes were unsettling enough on a normal day, but now, as he sat motionless, staring at nothing, Alfred understood why some ministers in his line of sight were fidgeting more than the others. Alfred had only known him for a short time, but Ivan gave the impression of someone unshakable. And yet, that letter had affected him quite a lot. 

              Was it because of the lockdown?

              Though the monarchy had kept its reasons secret, everyone remembered when the palace gates had slammed shut ten years ago. Coinciding with the fall of the old regime, it had marked the beginning of the rapid industrial expansion of the three Citadels. Especially Siber, the capital city, home of the wealthy and glamorous. Once an expanse of empty land, Siber had been transformed seemingly overnight six years ago. The nobles had wasted no time in staking their claim.

              A kingdom that moved in silence had suddenly burst into noise. That was as much as Alfred could remember.

              He’d only been nine at the time. By then, he had already been working for the Order, shielded from much of the world by Handler’s careful hand. His only memories of that age were of a dark training room and a cramped cottage. He had no time for anything else. The only change he'd noticed was the sudden improvement of their weaponry and the installation of the network—a sign that headquarters had amassed considerable wealth. It confused his young mind. Money had always been a distant, unreachable thing.  As a child, any coin he earned as an assassin was promptly snatched from him by Mekaviks, whom he remembered as faceless, pitiless enforcers with no sympathy for his tears. So when he was suddenly allowed to keep his money; well, safe to say he and Matthew had experienced a drought after their excitement of affording proper food.

              He smiled faintly at the memory. That was all he remembered of that year. He knew little beyond the freedom that had followed. People could speak freely without being arrested or killed, children forced into concentration camps were freed, and communities built to corral and control the masses were disbanded, and people were allowed to own their lives again—their own land, their own shops, their own futures. Alfred thought it was a good thing.

              Who did that, anyway? he wondered, glancing around the room. Gossip was hardly a reliable source, and Alfred never joined in, but in a village of people who couldn't lower their voices, it was unavoidable. Specifically, he'd overhear Old Thelma complain at least once a day about the foolish little brat who had ushered in the new order.

              Foolish could describe about half of the ministers in here. But young? The entire council was made up of wrinkly old geezers. Well, everyone except Ovechkin, who had now taken over the floor to blather about something Alfred didn't care to pay attention to. He was old, too, but still middle-aged compared to the others. Still, he didn't strike Alfred as the type to push for reform. The Alpha was too greedy, too cruel, too comfortable. As Minister of Healthcare, he'd turned the medical system into a privilege for the wealthy. A simple consultation costs at least a hundred gold coins and a few silvers. Spadians had long learned to endure injury and illness rather than set foot in a hospital.

              Alfred still held a quiet, simmering rage over that. Illnesses had plagued their town countless times—and while Handler had built up his immune system to withstand even poison, Matthew did not have such luxury. All those nights he’d sat beside Matthew, helpless, because a doctor cost more than their monthly wages. It was all Ovechkin's fault—

              A cold finger poking his side made him startle. He flinched, head snapping toward the culprit with a fierce glare.

              "Alfred, it is impolite to stare," Ivan smirked, "And he is a little too old for you, don't you think?"

              Alfred's face twisted in recoil. "Eugh, gross," he spat, "Don't ever say that to me again."

              "Well, you are certainly giving the wrong idea by staring."

              "I wasn't staring!" Alfred defended hotly, "I was just—"

              A clearing of the throat cut Alfred off. Both turned to find the council staring at them. 

              "Is there something you would like to share?" one of the ministers asked coldly.

               Alfred quickly apologized. "No, sir, I'm sorry—" 

               "Then listen."

              Alfred nodded meekly, his embarrassment made worse by the exchanged sighs of the council. Minister Ovechkin, however, just laughed off the interruption.

               "Oh, come now! It's fine. I'm sure we can excuse such a lovely Omega," his gaze settled on Alfred—his body, not his face. Alfred crossed his arms over himself as he looked down, fidgeting with his cuffs for the rest of the meeting.

                They were now in the safety of Ivan’s study, a luxuriously furnished room with a singular tall window and recessed bookshelves that reached the ceiling. Alfred had shaken the meeting from his mind to refocus on his true purpose here.

                “So...the Trials, huh?” Alfred began in what he hoped was a conversational tone.

                The prince was scribbling away, working through a stack of parchment at his desk. Face set in stoic focus. He didn’t respond.

                “Pretty big deal, from what that minister was saying,” Alfred continued as he wandered the room aimlessly, his fingers brushing over the book titles. “It only ended ten years ago, right? Have you ever been to one before the lockdown?”

                No response.

                “Huh, guess you don’t care about the Trials much. They must not have been a big deal before, then.”

                Still no response.

                Alfred scowled. “You know, people usually respond when spoken to.”

                “Are you always so talkative?” Ivan didn't look up from the parchments.

                Alfred felt a prick of annoyance and grit his teeth. “You’re being difficult for no reason. I’m just trying to make conversation.”

               “I don’t recall asking for conversation,” Ivan said, finally glancing up. “You are here to serve, not speak.”

               “Oh, I’m sorry,” Alfred snapped, his already thin patience used up. “ I didn’t realize the great prince was too important to be spoken to.”

                “That is because you have no respect for hierarchy. You just run your mouth at whoever you can. Such a thing will get you killed—I'd like to see it one day.” 

                Alfred threw his hands up. “You know what? No wonder half the court avoids you like the plague. You’re so full of yourself you could drown!”

                Ivan scoffed. “Then leave. Run back to whatever gutter your mercenary band dragged you out of.”

               "Fine!" Alfred yelled. He whirled around and stomped out of the study, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the hinges. He moved down the halls like a furious storm, trying to ignore the hot knot of anger in his throat. He cursed under his breath. That cold, self-important bastard. How the hell was he supposed to work with someone who acted so insufferably? Alfred's never met anyone so arrogant in his life, and he's met Jack!

               Whatever. I've wasted enough effort on that asshole. Its just as well, anyway. I couldn't have pressed the original topic more without being suspicious. Ugh, trying to coax clues out of people here is truly useless. I need to find something tangible, not oral. 

               His eyes flick to and fro, calculating. The tall windows don’t open, and their ledge is too narrow to climb on. All doors except public spaces like common rooms and meeting halls were locked. There were security rotations outside the palace, but not inside. Their rotations happen every few hours, and it takes them half an hour to do so. Groups of Mekaviks were marching through the snow as well. This makes sneaking around in the garden hard—but not impossible. Alfred just has to find their blind spot. 

                Alfred’s face scrunched in thought. Yao acted weird when I mentioned the west wing…I wonder why. Is there something they’re hiding in there? Maybe the king. I’ve only been here a few days, but no one talks about him. And I can’t exactly ask. That's suspicious. But I—

                A prickling sensation crawled up the back of his neck. Alfred's ramble halted. 

                He slowed. He glanced behind him, but no one was there. Alfred narrowed his eyes. He continued walking, making erratic turns, stopping randomly. Sure enough, the soft patter behind him would pause each time too. He made another sharp turn into another hallway. The sound of footsteps padded closer and closer. The moment they turned the corner, Alfred whipped out his gun, cocking the barrel right at—

                —a child?

                “Wah—!!” the small figure screamed, stumbling back with eyes wide as dinner plates.

                Alfred's heart nearly stopped. "Shit!" He yanked the gun down immediately, cursing under his breath. “God, sorry—! I didn’t—!”

                The kid was trembling, clutching his own vest fearfully. Same one from earlier. Blond, big blue eyes, terrified. The cupbearer.

                “I-I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to follow you like a thief!” the child blurted. “Please don’t shoot me!”

                Alfred shook his head quickly, holstering the gun with a wince. “No, no— Hey, it’s okay! I'm so sorry, I didn’t know it was you.” He gently placed a hand on the child's shoulder, keeping his voice calm. “You scared me. I thought you were someone else.”

                The cupbearer sniffled, eyes still wide. “No, I'm sorry. I—I shouldn’t have snuck after you. I just...I just wanted to say thank you.”

                Alfred blinked. “Thank me?”

                “For earlier. With the wine,” the cupbearer clarified. His voice seemed to have a perpetual tremble. “No one’s ever helped me before in there.”

                Alfred felt an immense guilt press down on him. This cupbearer didn't look older than seven years old, and Alfred had pointed a gun at him. He nearly harmed him.

                “I’m not important,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “And I didn’t do anything anyone decent wouldn’t have.”

                The cupbearer looked at him like that was the strangest sentence he’d ever heard. Alfred sighed and crouched lower, meeting his eye level. “I’m really sorry for pointing that at you. I’ve been...jumpy. Long day.”

                The cupbearer nodded quickly, still clutching the hem of his vest. “I just...wanted to say thank you,” he repeated quietly. “That’s all.”

                Alfred gave a small, crooked smile. “Well. You're welcome. By the way, what's your name?”

                “Ah, my apologies for my manners! My name is Raivis,” he bowed hurriedly, laughing sheepishly.

                “Well, it's nice to meet you, Raivis! My name is Alfred,” the Omega held out his hand for a shake. Raivis blinked at it, not moving.

                “Er, it's called a handshake,” Alfred chuckled to alleviate the awkwardness.

                “Oh! Right, erm,” Raivis inspected it for a moment before uncertainly taking Alfred’s hand. He looked fascinated when Alfred shook them. “Is this what peasants do when greeting each other?”

                Alfred’s eye twitched at the word peasant but shook it off since it was just Raivis. “Yes, this is how we greet each other.”

                “Fascinating,” Raivis murmured, still shaking Alfred’s hand. Alfred let it happen for a moment longer before awkwardly slipping his hand out. 

                “Anyway!” Raivis beamed again. As they walked, it seemed that Raivis was rather talkative for someone so nervous. Alfred did his best to nod along and react since he couldn't get a word in. But that was for the best—just let him talk. If Raivis rambles enough, maybe he’ll let something slip. But so far, his questions were whether peasants ate with their hands and if they sat on floors instead of using chairs.

               “Also!” Raivis perked up, “You are Sire’s new guard, right?”

               “Oh, yeah, I am.”

               Raivis nodded with a strange, pitying look. “Ah...”

               Alfred didn’t like that reaction. “Er, what is it?”

               "Nothing! Well, no, not nothing. Just—huh," Raivis tilted his head. "Good luck, I guess?"

               Alfred didn’t like that even more. "What’s that supposed to mean?”

               "Well, I mean, it's just—" Raivis hesitated, glancing around before leaning in a little closer. "Sire has had bodyguards before—not for public appearances, but he had to have someone assigned to him at all times. But, well, they didn't last long.”

               “What? Why not?

               “Because they all died,” Raivis said simply. “Concerning, isn’t it?”

               “Very!” Alfred exclaimed incredulously, equally concerned about how casually Raivis was talking about it. “What— What happened to them?”

               "Oh, all sorts of things! Some were beaten to death. Others were crushed. A few burned, but that was an accident—I think. Oh! And one guy had his limbs ripped off. No arms, no legs, just—poof! Gone. Really creepy."

                Alfred was getting paler by the second. "Okay, that’s enough detail, thanks."

                "The ones who didn’t die resigned due to, um, heavy injuries. Really bad ones. I mean, they were alive, but not, you know, in one piece. Like, there was one guy—oh, wait, no, two—who couldn’t eat solid food anymore. Had to drink everything through a straw. And then there’s Toris! He’s the only one who survived. Pretty lucky, isn't he?”

               “He really is,” Alfred muttered, his brain jogging to keep up. So this Toris was the only one who lived to tell the tale? That can’t be a coincidence. “Must be a pretty strong guy, to have been the only one to survive.”

               Raivis seemed excited to praise his friend. "Yes! And he’s so nice too! Very serious, but polite! And really patient, even when I mess up—well, except that one time I tripped and spilled tea all over his coat, but he only sighed, so I think that means he doesn’t hate me."

                Alfred chuckled. "Sounds like a good guy." Makes my mission easier.

                “He is! I think that's why he’s the closest in the prince’s circle. Well, that, and because they’ve known each other so long. Eduard says that’s probably why Sire was merciful and let him live.”

                “Wait, wait, wait,” Alfred interrupted. “Toris has known him for how long ?”

                “Oh, I’m not sure exactly! No one is. Toris doesn’t like to talk about himself. But it’s obvious they’ve known each other forever. Well, not literally forever, but close enough. You can tell, you know? But they’re not friends or anything—more like…acquaintances? Close, but not really? It’s hard to explain."

                Alfred's brain hurt. "Implied, huh?"

                “It’s hard to explain,” Raivis smiled sheepishly, “I guess you’ll just have to see.”

                “See?” Alfred blinked.

                “Ah, did you not hear in the meeting? The Bratva are to participate in the Trials. That’s why the General called it the monarchy’s grand return. They’re arriving in a fortnight to stay with us until then.”

               Damn, I must’ve zoned out. How did I miss that? “Ah, must have slipped past me,” Alfred laughed to compensate. More importantly... “Remind me again, who are the Bratva?” 

                “They’re the nine lieutenants of the army. They represent the number cards—Toris is Lieutenant Six. Sometimes I wish he wasn’t! He used to live here with us before he got promoted. I miss him,” Raivis sighed, pouting. Then he blinked, as if remembering something. "Oh, rats! I forgot I was expected at my father's study hours ago! Oh no, oh no—"

               "Is it far from here? Maybe you'll make it if you run really fast, Raivis," Alfred said. "I can accompany you if you want! I wasn't the fastest record-holder in Vaelyr for nothing!" He wasn't, but Raivis didn't have to know that.

                "No, no, I couldn't! I've taken up too much of your time," Raivis shook his head vehemently. He reminded Alfred of those little bobble-head dolls in antique shops. "A-Anyway, thank you again for helping me earlier, Ser Alfred.” 

                Raivis bowed deeply, and Alfred flushed, a trifle embarrassed. He waved his hands quickly. “No, no— no need for that! You can just call me Alfred! Here,” he stuck out his hand, “Instead of bowing, we can shake hands again.”

                Raivis glanced down at the hand, then happily shook it with both hands. “Okay, Ser Alfred!”

                “No, not—” Alfred sighed, deciding to drop it. He smiled instead. “Never mind. Thank you, Raivis.”

                Alfred let out a long-suffering groan. The heavy folder tucked under one arm—Yao’s neat handwriting scrawled across the cover—smudged from his grip. He'd been working here for two days, and this is the first time he found himself in front of Ivan's doors. Alfred steeled himself to come face to face with what was probably a morgue full of skeletons. Or corpses Ivan dresses up to pretend they're his friends. Stars knows he has no real ones.

                He let out another groaning exhale as he knocked on the grand double doors.

                No response.

                He frowned. He knocked again. Still no response. He scoffed, feeling a rise of irritation. What was his problem? Gritting his teeth, he reached for the handle—only for his hand to meet air. He blinked, glancing down. There was...nothing? Where the hell was the handle? Eyebrows pinched in confusion, he stepped back, taking in the entirety of the double doors. Ornate embellishments of gold curled along the edges, winding into the center in intricate designs. But no handles.

                His face twisted. What the hell? How do I open this thing? He turned to and fro, trying to look around the hall. Maybe he just needed something. A key, a lever—anything. But the corridor was completely empty, save for the thick carpet under his boots.

                Minutes pass and Alfred was close to tearing his hair out. No, calm down, Jones. Don't let him get to you. There has to be something. In experiment, he pressed his ear to the cold metal of the door. There was whirring. Faint...Mechanical...Gears! That means there's a mechanism. He started running his hands over the door, eyes flicking over the goldwork in search of anything that stood out. His hands felt the filigree under his palms, fingers skimming over every ridge, every swirl—

                His cuff snagged on the tip of one of the two spade emblems. “Ah—dammit—”

                The emblem tilted. With a click, the mouths of the bear sigils underneath them fell open, revealing recessed handles.

               "Whoa!" he gasped. That was so cool! How did they do that? Alfred made a mental note to ask about who engineered the mechanisms in the palace because they were awesome.

               Then he remembered why he was here, and irritation crushed his amazement. He shoved the door open with a bang. “You know, there’s such a thing as common courtesy. Like calling out when someone knocks on your door,” Alfred kicked the doors, slamming them shut. He shivered. It was colder in here than in the rest of the palace.

                The opulence of the prince’s chamber far exceeded the servants' quarters. A crackling fire was leaping in the hearth, casting a bright glow over a comfortable lounge area, the polished wooden floor insulated with a white fur rug; heavy curtains of the color blue framed four tall windows, where the peaks of the snow-capped mountains swirled with serene clouds; and on a dais at the back of his room was a large bed canopied with stone; and next to that bed was a desk, topped with scrolls and books. Luxurious and spacious and...lacking.

                Alfred's gaze roamed, eyeing the place for bugs—he made a mental note to check if he was ever alone in here—but the place was so lifeless. No picture-frames, no paintings, no personal touches; nothing to indicate that a living, breathing person lived here.

                Ivan didn’t look up from his desk. “You're late.”

                “I’m not.”

                “You are. I track the hour by candle-drip. You missed the third notch.” He gestured vaguely at a nearby candelabra, melted to a precise line.

                Alfred gritted his teeth and dropped the leather-bound folder onto the desk. “Here. Your precious files.”

                Ivan rolled up his other documents and neatly placed them away before picking up the files. He only gave them a once-over before flipping them shut. “I’ve been informed,” he said without looking up, “that you will be overseeing my safety personally. Everywhere I go, you go.”

                “I’m aware.”

                “You will walk behind me, not beside me. You will not speak unless spoken to. You will not correct me in public.”

                Alfred snorted. Then he realized Ivan was being serious. "What the fuck do you—"

                “I want to review the city patrol routes,” Ivan rose from his seat. “You’ll assist me.”

                They were back in the council room. It was dark, eerily so. It already felt quite menacing in the daytime, but with it being evening...so dark...the hoots of the owls outside made Alfred shudder...

                "H-Hey, can we turn on a light or something...?" he asked, looking around nervously as he walked inside, heading for the center. It was pitch black, so he couldn't see anything, and there was no response either. "Your Highness?" Still no answer. Alfred panicked. "Your Highness?? Your Highness!"

                Shit, shit. Did he leave me alone in here? Oh, that bastard. Alfred should've known better than to follow him into a dark room. The eerie whistling of the wind outside was making him feel a hundred times worse. “O-Oi!” he called again, backing toward the door. “Stop playing around! If— If you’re trying to jump me, it won't work, alright?”

                Still nothing. Alfred's nervous energy rocketed from fifty to a thousand. He hugged himself protectively, trying to look for Ivan in the dark. He was getting seriously scared. He felt like there were all sorts of claws reaching for him right now, dark monsters waiting to pounce the moment he moved a muscle. eyes darting to the vaulted ceiling, half-expecting something monstrous to crawl down from the dark. He could swear one of the shadows had just moved. 

                Nope. Nope nope nope.

                Alfred turned on his heel and marched back the way he came. There was no way he was doing this. He was out of here—!

                “Looking for me?”

                Alfred screamed, swinging his fists about like a startled cat. 

                Ivan stood behind him, one arm tucked calmly behind his back and another hand holding up a lamp. He looked amused.

                Alfred sucked in a breath. “Don’t...do that.”

                Ivan tilted his head. “Do what? Walk?”

                “You snuck up on me.”

                “I walked like I always do.”

                “You walk like a damn reaper! How long have you been standing there?!”

                Ivan stepped past him with a serene hum. “Long enough to enjoy the show.”

                “You’re a dick,” Alfred hissed, pressing a hand to his chest. “You know that? A complete and utter dick.”

                “So you’re afraid of ghosts.”

                “I’m not—” Alfred flinched as another gust of wind rattled the tall windows. “I'm not scared of ghosts! I just don't want one trying to possess me.”

                Ivan hummed as he placed the lamp down on the nearest long-table. “Yes. It would be a shame if something entered that thick skull of yours. There’s barely any room in there.”

                "Ha, ha. Original."

                Ivan peeled off his glove. Alfred blinked, watching closely. He's never seen his hand ungloved before. It was as he imagined it: large, calloused, undoubtedly powerful. But what he didn't anticipate were the marks streaking his calloused flesh.

                Alfred stared. Scars...How did he get those?

                Ivan pressed his palm on the podium's smooth surface, and a blue glow pulsed under it. Another sound echoed, deeper and slower, of metal groaning against stone. Alfred felt it underneath the floor, which began to shift. He jerked back as the floor hissed open, steam billowing out in clouds as a massive table rose upward, rotating slowly. As it slotted into place with a final thud, glowing blue lines flared to life, snaking across the map’s surface in the form of roads, trade routes, and bodies of water.

                Alfred gaped in awe, his hand reaching out to it.

                "Don't touch it."

                Alfred huffed. "I wasn't going to touch it! I was— going to tell you not to touch it!"

                Ivan ignored that, gesturing at the glowing lines. They were marked with labels. Notably, only a few specks on the map had the lines, like multiple spiderwebs scattered scarcely across the kingdom. The rest of Spades was uninhabited, nothing but snow and forest and tundras. Spades was far too large for their dwindling population, so they only had settlements in specific areas. “This is the current network of trade and supply routes in Spades. Every outpost, checkpoint, and logistical vein is represented here. As you can see, the major settlements are connected, though the terrain has forced a somewhat...inefficient structure.”

                Alfred scanned the map. “Looks like someone got bored and scribbled with a lightning bolt.”

                “These are precise,” Ivan said sharply. “Each line was measured and modeled according to terrain elevation, resource proximity, and optimal patrol radius. I spent months reviewing every route.”

                Alfred whistled low. “Damn. Not bad.”

                Ivan turned, expectant. “You think it is acceptable?”

                “Oh, it’s great,” Alfred admitted. “Like, really. You’ve clearly put your whole cold, scary brain into it. It’s just…”

                Ivan’s eye twitched. “Just?”

                “Well—take this road here.” Alfred pointed at a trade route passing through a small forest village. “Technically, yeah, that’s the most direct route. But that village? That road’s been blocked since last winter. Locals built a shrine smack in the middle of it. People just go around now. And here, this pass is overgrown with vines and fallen trees. No one’s cleared it in months. No wagons would be able to use this path.”

                Ivan’s expression hardened. “That is not indicated on the reports.”

                “Yeah, ‘cause the reports are old. And none of ‘em come from people who actually go there. You’ve never been outside, have you?”

                “I’ve studied every inch of this kingdom,” Ivan replied frostily.

                “From the palace,” Alfred said bluntly. “From here. Maps don’t show how deep the mud gets when it rains. They don’t show flooded crossings or bandit hideouts.”

                Ivan’s jaw clenched. “I see.”

                And so, they worked to correct the unusable routes. It was tedious, scrolls unrolled across the table. Ivan annotated silently while Alfred tried to make sense of the unnecessarily complex system of sigils, dates, and seals. He was trying to get used to it, but he kept having to redo his work because Ivan was being fucking insufferable.

                “Use the proper sigil.”

                “That is the proper one,” Alfred growled.

                “Not for a northbound supply post.”

                “It’s a cross! It’s universal!”

                Ivan erased it anyway. Alfred looked like he might punch the table. It happened again later:

                “These timings are trash,” Alfred muttered, jabbing a line. “Half these guards are overlapping shifts. No wonder there’s smugglers crawling through the routes.”

                “The guards are merely a reflection of their command.”

                “Oh, I get it now. You made them stupid on purpose. So you’d look smarter in comparison.”

                “I heard Vaelyr trained their mercenaries in etiquette,” Ivan said icily. “Clearly, I heard wrong.”

                “Yeah, you did. I was trained to fight, not lick boots.”

                “Then I suppose you’re not so much a knight as you are a blade on a leash.”

                Alfred didn't respond, seething quietly. Knowing he'd won, Ivan returned to his notes in satisfied silence. But it didn’t last. Ivan corrected him again. Every number Alfred marked was off by a hair, he claimed. Every coordinate had to be rechecked. When Alfred measured distance in steps, Ivan insisted on paces. When Alfred rounded to the nearest patrol bell, Ivan demanded it be logged to the minute.

                “Measure the northern loop again,” Ivan pointed at it on the map. “You marked it thirty-two. It should be thirty-one and a half.”

                “Oh my stars!” Alfred flung his arms up. “We’re talking about a half pace! You want me to wake the guards and ask how long their legs are?!”

                Ivan gripped the stone table so hard it creaked. Alfred tried not to be intimidated by that. "Why must you be so uncooperative?" he hissed, "Just stay silent and do as I tell you. Following instructions shouldn't be new to you, mutt."

                “If I wanted to be micromanaged into an early grave, I'd have stayed in Krasny and let them marry me off."

                Ivan ignored Alfred’s murderous scowl as he pushed the parchments into Alfred's arms. “Redo this. And you will keep redoing it until I am satisfied with your work. You will not leave this table until I say so.”

                “Are you serious? This isn't even that important. You’re just reviewing this junk!”

                “Very serious. And no. I have a meeting tomorrow, where I will be expected to present this.”

                “Then present it!" Alfred groaned. What the hell is his problem? "The map is already fine. We got a lot of work done tonight.”

                “Fine isn’t acceptable,” Ivan hissed coldly. “We have to make sure it's perfect.”

                “Then why don’t you do it yourself if you’re so great?” Alfred slammed the papers down.

                Ivan didn't answer. Alfred took that as him having a reason, but not wanting to tell him. Now he felt even more annoyed. “Redo the routes and review the reports properly," Ivan ordered, "Once you are finished, deliver them to the Marshal's study. I cannot wait to see your work, Alfred,” he said sweetly, ignoring how Alfred was practically vibrating across the table.

                Murderous thoughts swarmed Alfred’s brain as he redid the patrol routes over and over. Ivan kept refusing every revision, finding the most minuscule flaws where Alfred saw none. He seriously considered gouging Ivan’s eyes out with the quill and stomping on them so they didn’t get to spot every tiny mistake on this wretched map.

                They worked long hours into the night. In these midnight hours, Alfred noticed it. The way Ivan's jaw tightened with every mistake, how he cursed under his breath, and restarted entire pages—his typically inscrutable mask not as unshakable as Alfred thought. He looked as immaculate as he did when they first started (unlike Alfred, who had dark bags forming under his eyes), but he was clearly upset. Every time he made a mistake, his jaw clenched tighter. His elegant handwriting turned harsher. Alfred worried he’d break the parchment. But most of all, he hated how it got to him. A part of him felt...a little sorry.

                But any sympathy he felt was extinguished whenever Ivan handed him back his work for the hundredth time. Nothing was ever good enough for him. Perfect, perfect, perfect, he’d keep repeating, but Alfred had no idea what his standard of perfect was, and he didn’t want to ask because he didn’t want to seem dumber than him, so he was left completely lost. The routes were of commendable quality already, what else did he want?

               I can’t wait until I’m done with this mission.

Chapter Text

              Matthew sat near the back of his Academy's Law and Sovereignty lecture. His law tome was propped open on a bookstand. He wrote messily but quickly, trying to note down everything the professor was saying. He rubbed his eyes a few times, trying to blink away the persistent sting. He'd stayed up late last night to review the topic in advance, as his professor for this subject was quite strict, and Matthew was determined to get ahead.

              Far below on the wooden dais, the professor's voice echoed off the walls of ancient stone. “In theory, what precedent does the Lex Fordinia set when it comes to noble property disputes in multi-border territories?”

              The professor scanned the rows of expensively-dressed students like he always did. And again, it was not them, but a hand at the back row that raised.

              The professor sighed. “Yes, Mr. Jones.”

              “It sets the precedent that when nobility from two states own lands on opposing borders, jurisdiction falls to the Council of High Lords, not the local courts,” Matthew answered. 

              The professor let a low, unimpressed hum. "And what implications does that have for common tenants under disputed lands?”

              Matthew blinked. He hadn’t prepared for borderland law. That topic was supposed to be next week. “I...” he began, before the pause stretched too long. There were a few snickers behind him. “I believe it...expands the scope of...”

              He trailed off in an awkward silence. The professor let out a sharp sigh that was unnecessarily impatient. “Not quite. Borderland law regards the constructive intent of non-boundaried claimants. That’s a crucial distinction. Do review your readings.”

              Matthew bowed his head with a mumbled apology. The snickering resumed, louder now. He didn't raise his hand again. 

              Class was soon dismissed, and he began packing up his things slowly. His unhurried pace was intentional, as he didn't want to join the crowd squeezing their way out the door. Their clamoring was too much for him. If he wanted to hear overlapping loudness, he would've stayed in Krasny.

              As he was putting away his notes, a group of students laughing among each other passed by him. They knocked into him, sending his stack of books crashing to the floor. They didn't look back and kept moving down the stairs.

              Matthew sighed through his nose, kneeling to pick them up again. 

              The Academy was a place of order, legacy, and old blood. Most of the students here had been prepared since infancy—tutors, etiquette, foreign languages, history recitations at the dinner table. They were children of generals, high scholars, royal advisors; they wore pride like a second skin. So when Matthew had arrived in a patched uniform and with an accent they still occasionally mocked, he felt like a fish out of water. His transcripts got him in, and his work ethic was enough to keep him there—but just barely. He couldn’t compete with ten years of head starts. He couldn't speak the way they did, couldn’t think like they did. Yet.

              He left the hall and slipped through the side corridors until he reached the back kitchens. The cooks greeted him warmly, as always. Matthew liked them. They were fellow peasants who didn't care for decorum and titles. It was comforting; sometimes he'd even help them in the kitchen in his spare time. He wasn't any good—Alfred often told him as such—but his clumsiness gave them so much joy, so he didn't let that stop him. The stout baker slipped him an extra roll, and the warm-smiling potager gave him his lunch in a wrapped bundle.

              “Potato cakes and beef stew,” she said, “Don’t eat too fast, alright?”

              “Thank you,” he smiled, bowing politely.

              As he left the kitchens and made his way to the dormitory wing, he peeked under the wrap—the smell was too good, he couldn't help himself—and saw they had packed him beignets. A staple food in the South, and Matthew's favorite pastry.

              He hadn't eaten one of these in a while. The Citadel was near the border of the Eastern region, so their food was dumplings, soups, stir-fried noodles. Delicious, but Matthew had missed the cuisine of home. He opened the wrap completely and took a bite out of the bread. The powdered sugar, the honey, the warm pillowy dough...

              He sniffled. Then took another bite. Al's beignets are still better.

              Matthew wondered how he was doing. It had been months since he had last heard from him. He trusted Alfred's capabilities, but it was still rather worrying. A sense of unease had been stirring in his gut ever since he had read those words:

             "Mattie, I'm going on a trip for work. I'm sorry, but I won't be able to contact you during it."

              That had been the last letter he'd sent. Before that, their correspondence was constant. With the sudden drought of communication, the unease in Matthew's gut coiled tighter.

              Matthew knew his brother had a tendency to take on any job, no matter how ridiculous or dangerous. It was a constant source of worry for Matthew, who fretted that one day his brother would fly too close to the sun—collapsing, whether from exhaustion or danger. And Matthew wouldn't be there to help. The move to the Academy had already been challenging—daunting, really—and now with Alfred on some unknown venture, the worry was even worse.

              The two of them had always had a close bond, being each other's constant companion since birth. But somehow, Matthew always felt like there was distance between them, an arm's length that never seemed to shrink no matter how much time they spent together. With Alfred always working, ensuring their survival all by himself, it made him seem unreachable. 

             It was something the people of Krasny often tried to convince him of, too. They were wary of Alfred, whispered scandalous rumors about him, suspicious of his strange stories and mysterious disappearances. But this had only angered Matthew, and he began to resent them for treating his brother like that. It's what he hated about Krasny. Too many people who couldn't mind their own business, throwing opinions where there shouldn't be. 

              That's why he wanted to attend the Academy. Legal practitioners were one of the most lucrative careers in Spades—they could survive on his income alone. He could relieve Alfred of his burdens and allow him to finally rest.

              Matthew remembered it clearly. The look on Alfred's face every time they counted their coins and didn't have enough. The Alpha-twin did his best to help, going around town to get extra scraps of produce. But Alfred still looked so guilty, so forlorn, as if he had failed somehow. Matthew couldn't think of a worse feeling. 

              He knew that was Alfred's reason for staying behind in the village, all alone. To hold up the net in case Matthew ever fell, like he's been doing since childhood. But never again. This time, this time for sure, he'll be the one to hold Alfred's net for the rest of their lives.

             His fingers curled around the beignets as his heart steeled.

             "—quiet—!"

             Matthew snapped his head toward the door. He frowned. What was that? 

             He debated for a bit before following the sounds and approaching the end of the corridor cautiously. He considered that it might be another group of students pulling a prank on him. But when he strained his ears, what he heard was urgent whispers and hurried footsteps. 

             He peered around the corner. Down the corridor, he spotted the navy robes of the High Sages disappear into another hallway. Suspicious—and, yes, a little curious—he slipped out of his room and followed them. It was a little hard to be stealthy with his size, but the hall's plentiful pillars and vases came in useful. As he flitted down the hall after them, he strained his ears to hear their conversation, to no avail.

             He did conclude, however, that they were heading for the observatory. The observatory tower was the heart of the Academy, the tallest tower on campus that always caught the brightest light of the Wishing Star. Matthew's done a few of his elective classes there—not by choice, as he had no interest in astronomy, but the extra credits were too good to pass up—and he knew that the top floor held a planetarium, where in its center was a podium that held a brilliant blue shard. The shard was a fragment of a larger source from the palace, the same one that powered all the machinery in the Kingdom.

             In his astronomy class, there was an exhibition done where they opened the observatory roof to allow the starlight in. As it opened, the Wishing Star's light fell on the shard. It glowed brilliantly, shining like a million gemstones. It was in constant rotating motion to create the illusion of moving stars on the walls. It was breathtaking. The observatory roof was always kept open, so whenever it was nighttime, the tower glowed like a lighthouse.

             The pair of panicked High Sages finally stopped at the tower's entrance, and Matthew could finally get close enough to hear. He recognized the other one as his professor from earlier. And the other...Matthew knew from rumor that the violet robe with luxurious gold filigree was the uniform of the Headmaster himself—unique for its color, as the rest of the Academy wore blue. Matthew only saw him once, at the inauguration.

             What is he doing here? he wondered, peering closer in curosity. It's been a while since Matthew's gotten anything juicy—gossip in the Academy was usually about who got the best score on the last exam. This must be important if the Headmaster is here in the middle of the night. 

             "Are you absolutely certain?" the Headmaster asked calmly.

             "I saw it with my very eyes! I don't know how anyone could have possibly—"

             "This is preposterous," the Grand Sage said with firm certainty, "There is nowhere in the world safer than the Citadels. Except perhaps the Iron Fortress."

             "Come, come, see for yourself!"

             To Matthew's surprise and dismay, the Sages did not use the tower's lift. Instead, they hurried to the emergency stairwell at the end of the hall. Matthew let out a groan. This was about to be very tiring, but he needed to know what was going on. For...research, of course.

             He waited a bit after they entered the stairwell before following them. And when he reached the top—winded, trying not to wheeze too loudly—the observatory door was already opened a crack. Beyond it, he could hear the frantic voices of the Sages inside. He crept closer and peeked through.

             What he saw made him stifle a loud gasp. What was usually a room illuminated by brilliant starlight...was dark. The podium was empty.

             "Oh my stars," the Headmaster gasped, clutching his chest. "No, this cannot be possible. How—?"

             "I'm afraid it is," Matthew's professor said gravely. "The Cryophis fragment is missing."

             Alfred splashed his face with cold water, the sting shocking him fully awake. He exhaled sharply, rubbing his tired eyes with the heel of his palms.

             “Damn prince,” he muttered under his breath, reaching for a towel.

             Ivan had kept him up all night. Alfred was no stranger to all-nighters, but it was the principle of the thing. It was at the break of dawn when Ivan finally dismissed him, sneering that he was starting to smell foul. Good riddance—Alfred was glad to leave. He didn’t think he smelled bad; there were people in Krasny who smelled way worse. But he supposed Ivan’s spoiled little upbringing meant he couldn’t handle a little stink. It didn’t bother him. But he still took a long shower when he returned to his quarters just in case.

             He pulled on his uniform—the only good thing about this job, he decided—and left his tower. He passed several servants on his way down and tried smiling at them. They looked a little startled and averted their gaze, as if he were weird. Alfred awkwardly retracted, rubbing the back of his neck. How embarrassing.

             He shook it off as he went to work. Earlier, Ivan had once again dodged his request for a proper schedule—fucking bastard —and Alfred, who had been fumbling his way for two weeks, refused to continue as such. So he decided to seek out the only person who could help him.

             “Here,” Yao sighed as he handed him a scroll. “He was supposed to give you this in your first meeting, but it seems I can’t trust him with simple tasks.”

             Alfred’s eyes flicked to Yao’s hand, then back to his face with a smile. “Thank you,” he took it with relief, unfurling the scroll. “I’ve had to follow him like a lost puppy for a fortnight now.”

             “For someone about to inherit a Kingdom, he can be rather petty,” Yao replied dryly, clicking his tongue as he shut his drawer. 

             Yao’s study was just like Yao himself—different. While the rest of the Erysvorn Palace was cold, unforgiving marble, his study was warm, insulated wood, engraved with ancient runes of a language Alfred didn’t recognize. Hanging flowers and potted plants marked this place as Yao’s own, and the light wafting in through the window somehow felt warmer.

             A trait not shared by the owner of this room. 

             Alfred could feel Yao’s critical gaze on him but purposely avoided it. Instead, he looked around the room, eyeing the place for any bugs. He covered it up by smiling at Yao. “I like what you’ve done with the place. The plants are a nice touch.”

             Alfred watched Yao just as intently as Yao was watching him. Alfred could tell he wasn’t a born-and-bred Spadian. The sharp shape of his eyes, the dialect of his occasional Aiya —it’s clear he was from a distant land. Not that Alfred knew much about the world outside the mountains; the Argent Peaks kept everyone inside Spades, and by extension, kept everyone else out as well. That raises the question of how Yao got here. He has a strong personality, yes, but his body is too delicate to have braved the Peaks. Yao complains when he has to climb more than two staircases; him scaling Mount Erysvorn—the land’s largest mountain and the palace's namesake, whose peak reached far beyond the clouds—was unthinkable.

             Yao didn't respond to his compliment, just shooing him out because he overstayed his welcome. Clearly, he wasn’t a fan of small talk. 

             What did catch his eye, however, was the mark on Yao’s hand—the Spades insignia inked into pale flesh, with a letter J etched down the middle. He’d spotted it when Yao handed him the schedule.

             Alfred turned the schedule over in his hands, thoughtful. He knew the stories—bits and pieces passed down through the centuries. The old regime had burned all records of royal magic, fearful of what commoners would do with such knowledge. But what couldn’t be burned in ink was spoken, whispered from one ear to the other.

             Once upon a time, in the era of ancient Spades, before monarchs ruled and clans still warred, a cursed child had been born. The night it took its first breath, its clan was reduced to ashes. Pitying its orphaned state, tribe after tribe tried to take the child in, only to be struck by misfortune, meeting the same tragic end. Crops withered, rivers swelled, famine spread. Fearing its curse, the clans sought to sacrifice the baby during the night the Wishing Star— Vals’ratha, before the name was lost to time and anglicized—shone brightest. But the Star did not take kindly to the spilling of innocent blood. Some say that right before the first drop could fall, a blinding light flashed from the Star, searing a mark onto the baby, and the following explosion killed everyone but the child. Others say the baby had always had the mark, and the Star had simply activated it. 

             This child would come to be known as Valrozho the Cruel, the first King of Spades, who erected the monarchy and dismantled the clans so they’d all serve under him. 

             Alfred thought it was sad. Even the first Braginsky had been born into tragedy. 

             Which is what made Yao’s mark peculiar, if he was truly a spy. Alfred’s had his fair share of espionage, and the first rule of such work was to leave no tangible ties. And nothing was more binding than a mark seared into flesh.

             But that didn’t matter to Alfred. Whatever Yao was, it wasn’t his business. He was just here for the King.

             CLUNK!

             Alfred whipped around, hand flying to his gun. He calmed his spiked heart rate when he realized there was no danger, just a frazzled group of servants in the next corridor, a maid in their midst, pale and shaking, a tray upturned at her feet. He leaned against the wall, pretending to read his schedule.

             They were rather far, so he couldn’t hear much. Just urgent, overlapping whispers. They patted her on back, leaning in to murmur frantic words Alfred couldn’t catch even if he strained his ears, then the servants were off.

             In his direction.

             He ducked behind a vase just in time as the group scurried by, the rattled servant in the middle of them. They were ushering her away—heads low, steps quick, like she were some sort of criminal they were ensuring the escape of.

             “—not to get lost near the west wing—”

             Alfred popped up from behind the ceramic rim. West wing? 

             “You are free to wander around the palace. Just not the west wing.”

             Alfred grunted in thought, his fingers drumming on the ceramic pensively. That wing…Everyone seems to protect it, steer clear of it. There must be a reason. What could possibly be in there that warranted such a rattled reaction?

             Can’t hurt to check, Alfred gleefully decided. Any clue was a good clue. 

             He glanced around cautiously before slipping into the next hall, peering at the carpet. The maids had cleaned up most of what was dropped, but they couldn’t completely scrape off the mashed potatoes. He pressed his palm to the damp wool. Still warm. So she came from the kitchens—and stumbled across the west wing not long after.

             He set off. Keeping to the shadows, he mapped the palace as he went, staying out of sight of the Mekaviks standing post. Over the past fortnight, he’d noted their rotations, their locations, places their cameras wouldn’t pick up—information that came in useful now, as he avoided their areas and remained in their blind spots. 

             He kept note of the kitchen’s location as he passed it, tracking the path she might have taken until finally, he reached the west wing.

             Peeking past the wall, there was a stone entrance that arched to the soaring ceiling. The palace was always dark, always brooding—every step kept quiet and every word kept low to keep the stagnant air intact. But past that threshold was less of a museum and more of something...creepy. Abandoned. The corridor beyond was swallowed in shadow, no end in sight, like some sort of endless abyss. Everything about it screamed stay away.

             Feeling giddy, he ducked out from hiding and padded over to the entrance, his pulse thrumming at the foreboding presence. A thick veil of fog curled just beyond the threshold, some sort of warning. How exciting. If there was anything useful to be found, it would be in there. Old records, maps, or perhaps even the king himself—!

             Alfred fell to the floor just in time to avoid a beam of light.

             He threw himself behind the nearest cover—a stone statue of a roaring bear. He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heart. In his excitement, he hadn’t heard the mechanical clank of approaching footsteps.

             Heavy. Rhythmic. The Mekaviks.

             They emerged into view, their steel-plated forms stomping into position at the pillars flanking the arch. Their optics glowed dimly in the dark. Scanning. Waiting. If Alfred hadn’t ducked as fast as he did, the scan would have caught him.

             He shrank behind the statue’s podium. Damn it. He should’ve expected guards. Stupid, stupid. How was he going to get out now? 

             He peered past the stone podium, eyes darting in search of escape. Everywhere he turned, the beam was scanning in alternate turns, leaving no opening. Maybe if he—No, that wouldn't work, he wasn't flexible enough. Or maybe he—

             Wait, he frowned. How did the maid manage to stumble here earlier and get out unscathed? Were the Mekaviks not stationed here before? They did arrive just now...but rotations were only done outside the palace for the mechs' maintenance sake. So what was she rattled from? 

             Alfred’s fingers clenched against the stone, mind racing.

             Then, his gaze flicked back to the Mekaviks' weapons of heavy-grade machine guns, and he sighed sharply. 

             Now isn’t the time to ask questions.

             Wrenching himself away from the statue had been both a skill of stealth and self-control. He wanted so very badly to go in there. Not just because of the mission, but because anything that was marked off-limits might as well just throw their doors open for him to explore. But he couldn’t, not with the Mekaviks there. Alfred quickened his pace, nervous energy fueling his urgent hurry down the hall. He had to get out of here, and fast, before anyone saw him. Seeing an outsider loitering around forbidden territory was not only suspicious but dangerous. He didn’t know what they’d do to him, and he didn’t want to find out.

             He barely turned the corner when his shoulder slammed into someone, both of them stumbling back. His nervousness made him flounder. “Oh, I’m sorry! I couldn’t see where I was—”

             “Ah, if it isn’t the royal guard," a familiar voice purred.  

             Alfred tensed. He swallowed his dread as he smiled amiably, bowing his head slightly. "Minister Ovechkin. I'm sorry for crashing into you. I couldn't see where I was going."  

             "Oh, don't worry," Ovechkin dismissed, waving a hand as if granting permission for Alfred’s mistake. "It allows me the chance to talk with such a beauty, after all."  

             Alfred felt sick. But no, don't judge too fast, Jones. Maybe this is just how the minister naturally came off, and he didn’t actually mean anything. 

             "Minister, I'm honored to receive your flattery," he laughed uncomfortably. "But I'm merely the young guard of His Highness. Shouldn’t such compliments be reserved for those of your rank? And…age?”

             Ovechkin chuckled, slow and easy, like he found Alfred amusing. "I do not care for such things," he said, leaning forward slightly, close enough that Alfred caught the faint, acrid scent of spiced wine on his breath. "It doesn't make any difference anyway, don't you think?"  

             For what? 

             Alfred’s fists clenched. He had never been good at controlling his emotions, and he was struggling to keep composure. The warning bells were flatlining. But instead, he smiled through it. If the minister was going to continue pestering him, he might as well be useful.

              "Well, thank you anyway, minister. But I’m hardly deserving of praise,” Alfred chuckled, waving him off in false humility. “You, on the other hand, are quite accomplished. I hear you’re excellent at your job.”

             Ovechkin preened. “One of the best.”

              Alfred doubted that. “It must’ve taken quite some time to develop those skills.”

             “Six years, to be exact,” Ovechkin said, chest swelling with pride. “I was hired immediately after graduating from the Academy. Quite the achievement, wouldn’t you say?” he slid closer, lips curling.

             Alfred stepped back. "I see,” his eyes flicked behind him, searching. A door, a hallway—anything. He found none. “That was a long time ago, huh? I suspect the palace was much happier around those times.”

             "No, actually. The palace has always been dreary. I’ve never known anything else, since the palace shut its gates the same year I arrived. The west wing, for example, has always been forbidden to everyone except the prince.”

             Alfred's eyebrows shot upwards. "Just His Highness?" That’s weird. Ivan was ruling prince, yes, but he was still just a prince. The regent should have more power, yet even he’s barred from entering. That means—

              "He’s the one who locked it up in the first place,” Ovechkin shrugged. “No one knows what he does in there, but he makes a gruesome example of anyone who tries.”

              So that’s why the maid was so terrified, Alfred realized sympathetically.

             "It was so unfortunate to be stuck here in this dreadful Palace, with all this dark gloominess. Though I’ll admit the Omegas here aren’t so bad,” his easy chuckle twisted something ugly in Alfred’s gut.

              Ovechkin moved even closer, crowding him. The faintest brush of leather against Alfred’s wrist—light, fleeting, intentional. Alfred had been touched before. Grabbed, shoved, held down by enemies. But this— this was—

              "Minister," he snapped hoarsely.

              Ovechkin simply smiled. “Apologies. I just take an interest in those who intrigue me,” his eyes flicked down, raking over Alfred’s face, his neck, lingering a second too long before meeting his gaze again. “And you intrigue me very much, Alfred. After all, you are the youngest Omega to serve the palace. Fifteen, was it?” 

              Alfred’s fingers twitched near his gun. “That’s—”

              Ovechkin stepped even closer, voice lowering. “So shy,” he murmured, fingers ghosting over his waist. “You don't have to be—”

              “Alfred.”

             A shadow swallowed him and Ovechkin whole, and Alfred felt equal parts relieved and satisfied at the way Ovechkin stiffened. He hadn’t heard him approach, and for once, he was grateful.

              “Your Highness,” he exhaled, relieved despite himself.

              Ivan’s gaze flicked between them, unreadable. A pause stretched between them before Ivan spoke. "What is going on here?"

              “I bumped into the minister, and our conversation”—he paused, looking Ivan in the eye—"distracted me."

              Ivan blinked slowly. 

              “I see,” he murmured. Then, turning to Ovechkin, his voice cooled. “Since you seem to afford loitering in the halls, that means you do not have enough work. See Eduard at the Archives and sort through the medical aisle. I expect the work on my study desk by next week.”

              The silence stretched for a moment. Then, with a tight smile, Ovechkin nodded. “Of course, Your Highness. Forgive me,” he bowed, before hurrying away. Ivan stayed still, watching until Ovechkin was out of sight. Then his shoulders relaxed a little, and he turned on his heel to walk off.

              Alfred followed quickly. "Wow," he teased as he caught up, "So you're not all bad, huh?"

              "As much as you believe otherwise, I have no desire to make your life harder. That would only inconvenience me. I care more about my work than I care about you."

              Alfred made a face. "So you helped me with Ovechkin because it would be detrimental to your job if you didn't?"

              "Exactly,” Ivan replied smoothly. “If I hadn’t, you would have sulked and refused to be productive. I don’t need such unnecessary complications."

              Alfred rolled his eyes. "Whatever floats your boat," he muttered. Then, after a pause—quieter—he added, "Thanks, anyway."

              Ivan stopped walking.

              Alfred flushed in embarrassment and hurried to explain. "No matter how much I hate a person, I can at least acknowledge when they do something right. I may be from the countryside, but I have manners. So even though I hate you, I'm thanking you. Because you did something good back there."

              Ivan stared at him. Unblinking. Intense. Alfred felt unnerved. Then he turned forward again. Alfred frowned in puzzlement, tilting his head as he tried to peek at the prince’s expression. But the prince silently turned away and walked off. 

              Alfred couldn’t focus. 

              That wasn’t new. His attention span was atrocious. But it was worse now. He was given the order of stacking away Ivan’s files—a mundane, useless task, but Ivan had to keep him busy with something —but he kept absentmindedly placing the wrong scrolls into the wrong box and had to redo them. He was thinking of too many things, but most slipped through his fingers like sand. The ones he could grasp were the wrong ones he shouldn’t care to mull over.

                He should have been thinking about the Mekaviks at the west wing and what Ovechkin had said. But no, he was thinking about Ivan, of all people.

              He glanced over his shoulder at the prince, who was writing at his desk. Face as inscrutable as always, he’d been dead silent the entire time, ignoring Alfred’s presence. Alfred was drowning in cringe and shame. It's not like he expected Ivan to be happy at being thanked, but to react in such a way was so strange. Was he not used to it? The ministers thanked him all the time in the meetings, though. Weird.

              He shook his head. Agh, who the hell cares? I shouldn’t be thinking about him. Alfred forcibly redirected his train of thought to what was truly important: his mission. 

             It’s strange, Alfred turned the puzzle over and over in his head. Only the Mekaviks outside the palace do rotations, not inside.  

             It makes sense there’d be Mekaviks stationed there, Alfred rationalized. His curiosity was itching, crawling under his skin, making him bounce his leg restlessly. After all, Yao made a point of emphasizing that it’s forbidden territory. What I don’t understand is why they were gone long enough for the maid to stumble across it, and only returned when I was there. And if they’re hiding something big in that wing, why wouldn’t they have bugs in that area? 

             Something is off, Alfred’s leg bounced faster. And I’m going to find out what it is.

              A heavy SLAM! on the table made Alfred jump out of his skin.

              “Stop moving your leg,” Ivan hissed, retracting his hand. “It is annoying.”

              “Oh, are you talking to me now?” Alfred shot back sardonically, “I didn’t realize you even knew I was here.”

              “You don’t realize a lot of things,” Ivan returned to his work, his quill scratching on the parchment. The minuscule gears in the brass feather maintained the flow of ink so he didn’t have to dip it every few seconds.

              Alfred bit back a crude insult, rolling his eyes so hard his head followed. He took it back. Ivan was nowhere near a good person. He regretted wasting his gratitude on him. “How someone like you became a prince is a testament to the failure of Spades’ so-called meritocracy,” he mocked to himself as he slammed the crates shut. “All that talk of merit over blood is a joke.”

              Alfred felt a vindictive satisfaction when Ivan finally looked up, eyes narrowed icily. "Yes, because you are such an expert on how a prince should act. Tell me, Jones, what would you know about running a kingdom? You, who has lived in dirt and mud, who has never built anything in his life, only destroyed?"

              Alfred sucked in a breath, his shoulders tensing. He clenched his fists, nails digging into his palms. 

              "Screw you," he spat.

              Ivan merely tilted his head, unbothered. "You disagree?"

              Alfred stalked toward his desk, slamming both hands down on the polished wood. " Yeah, I disagree. You think I don’t know anything about building things? I’ve built myself up from nothing. You—" He jabbed a finger at Ivan’s chest. " You were handed everything on a silver platter, and you still keep screwing up!"

              Ivan’s expression darkened. " Watch yourself, " he warned, slowly rising from his chair.

              But Alfred was past the point of stopping. "No, you watch yourself, because I’m sick of walking on eggshells around you. And I know you see how everyone else does it, too. Everyone in this damn place is scared of you! And you— you like it. You like that no one ever challenges you. That’s why you act like a spoiled, entitled little—"

              Alfred barely had a second to react before a strong hand seized his throat. Alfred choked, his windpipe crushed. He clawed at the hand, but it felt like steel had clamped over his throat. 

              "You talk a lot for someone who knows nothing," the prince murmured, eerie and hollow, like a slow-rising tide. “Talk, talk, talk. That’s all you do. If you just want an easy life, then I suggest doing yourself a favor and ending your misery. All that is good in life has a price to pay. You are fortunate that your price is just labor.”

              Alfred stabbed his teeth into Ivan’s hand, tasting blood. With a yelped curse, Ivan stumbled back, and Alfred scrambled free.

             “You—” he choked out, rubbing his neck. What he just said was so ridiculous that a loud, incredulous laugh ripped from his throat, but his strained throat made it sound like a wheeze. Ivan’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. “You are so out of fucking touch. You really have no idea how different it is down there. I gave you the benefit of the doubt, but you’re really no different from the other crazy bastards of your fami—”

             Ivan’s eyes flashed. He lunged.

             Alfred barely dodged the first grab—his instincts screaming at him to move, fight—but Ivan moved too fast for someone of his size. The world spun in painful flashes, fists flying and furniture being slammed into, until they crashed against the desk, knocked over the candelabra perched on the edge.

             The candle tumbled, and Alfred cried out in agony.

             Blinding, searing agony.

             “Shit!” He stumbled back as the fire burned right through his sleeve, scorching into his skin. His instincts kicked in, yanking his wrist against his chest.

             Ivan paused, then an amused scoff escaped him. "Ah. How clumsy of you."

             Alfred glanced up with a seething glare. "Shut the hell up!" he yelled hoarsely. His arm hurt, a raw, burning sting, but the rage in his chest was hotter. “Don’t you come any closer, you— you—”

             Ivan raised a brow as Alfred staggered back, his hand shaking as he held up his arm. His whole body was tense, aching. He didn't want Ivan to see him like this. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. He hated it, he hated that smug smirk on that fucking face. The burn of humiliation was stronger than the sting of his forearm. 

             Ivan's lips twitched in derisiveness. "Karma is truly a good teacher. Perhaps that pain will teach you to not pick fights so poorly next time."

             Alfred hated it, he hated that smug smirk on that fucking face. With a final, seething snarl, he stormed out the door, slamming it shut behind him. He kept walking, kept marching, his burned arm still throbbing.

             Anywhere. He just needed to be anywhere but here.

             “Damned prince,” Alfred cursed for the second time that day as he filled the ceramic washtub with cool water. Once it was full, he dipped his arm into the water. He hissed, squeezing his eyes shut at the sharp sting. He swallowed a cry of pain as he forced his arm steady, sinking it deeper.

             Later, he sat cross-legged on his bed as he slowly peeled off his sleeve, wincing each time fabric brushed against raw skin. He pulled the navy cloth past his elbow, and he stilled.

             There, under his forearm, was a scar. Small, circular, uneven where the skin had long since healed. A burn.

             When he sucked in a breath, smoke filled his lungs. 

             Lost and overwhelmed and lungs burning from the smoke that choked the air, his ears ringing with the deafening roar of fire raging in every direction.

             A hundred feet were rushing in frenzy—some pushing, some falling, some not getting up. The stampede trampled over him, knocking the breath from his tiny lungs. He tried to get up— had to get up —but the crush of bodies was too much. A knee slammed into his ribs. Someone’s elbow knocked against his skull. He gasped, but the only thing that filled his lungs was smoke.

             Mattie— he needed to find Mattie. He screamed his name, and two other names he didn’t recognize, but he couldn’t hear himself. His hands clawed at the dirt, scrambling to his feet, when he was slammed into, crashing into debris.

             White-hot pain shot up his arm as a blinding heat scorched into his arm, sizzling. The pain tore a cry from his throat as he yanked his arm away, heaving and crying and—

             “This is your fault!”

             Alfred gasped, jerking upright. His room shifted back into focus. The walls. The bed. The soft glow of the bedside lamp. Silence.

             His chest heaved up and down. No matter how much he panted, he couldn’t get rid of the phantom smoke still filling his lungs. He gulped, trying to shake it off. It's okay. It's okay.

             He tore a strip of bandage with his teeth, the sharp rip of gauze grounding him. He wrapped his arm in sharp, jerky movements, tugging too tight, too fast. When he was done, he turned off the lamp and flopped onto his back.

             He turned onto his side, bringing his knees to his chest. 

             Tomorrow, he’ll forget this ever happened.

MEANWHILE

             Ivan was wide awake. He laid among his plentiful pillows and soft quilts that would’ve put any person to sleep, but not him. He couldn’t sleep. Instead, he was staring at the canopy above him. That’s what he’d been doing for the past hour. It was when it no longer looked like stone that he decided to move.

             With a rustle of his sheets, he sat up. Pushing back the navy curtains, he stood from his bed. As he did, his eyes landed on a book propped open on his desk, making him pause. 

             The illustrations were of beautiful watercolors, bursts of vibrancy along waves of green. Flowers. He remembered Yao had once told him a story about them, once. When he was younger, when the voices got too loud. He talked of sprawling blooms across curved rooftops, of how people across the land would gather under the flowering trees in autumn, as the golden petals of the ginkgo would bless those they landed on with prosperity and wealth. 

             Yao’s voice had been a balm for his troubled mind. The Omega always did have a talent for storytelling. He turned the pages, admiring each flower. He wished he could have a few in his room, but he wasn’t allowed to have vases. He paused at one page, brushing his fingers over the yellowing parchment. Dark brown paint swirled in a circle, ringed with golden petals. 

             A chubby fist patted the page. “Sun!”

             A soft giggle, a gentle face, a touch he remembered clearly. “Yes, Vanya. It’s the sun. With—”

             Ivan shut the book with a loud thud. Not now. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake off the low buzz of voices in his ears. Whispers that mounted, from murmurs to screams of  Vanya, Vanya, Vanya — 

             The desk slammed as he seized the edge, a stack of parchments tumbling from the floor with a loud thud. Like the shatter of glass, the voices vanished, and suddenly, there was only dead silence. The only sound was his heaving breaths. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. That wasn’t real. He knew it wasn’t real. 

             Cracking his eyes open again, his gaze fell on the parchments scattered on the floor. He sighed. Great.

             He knelt and began to pick them up, slipping them back into their organized pile, until he reached one with peculiar penmanship. Instead of his elegant writing, the scrawl was untidy, blotched in a few places like the writer had pressed the quill too hard.

             A dry hum escaped him. It was Alfred’s failed attempts at rewriting his reports last week. He hadn’t even realized he’d kept them. He read through the messy scrawl, scoffing a few times at the improper grammar and basic wording. There were some rushed notations in the margins—some were frustrated about the unnecessarily complicated spelling, but most were cursing Ivan out.

             Despite himself, Ivan smiled.

             He rolled them up and slipped them into his desk. Just for safekeeping. As he shut the drawer with a click, the candle in his lamp faltered, the soft glow of the flame flickering for a second.

             “Stay back!” 

             Ivan pursed his lips. Alfred was such a strange creature. The way he’d doubled over, not in pain, but in anger and humiliation, his eyes burning with shame and hatred...it had crackled a thrill up his spine. One that was unfamiliar. Fear and silence governed these halls, while Alfred was a whirl of anger and noise. He’d never once looked afraid. Not of Ivan. Not of anything.

             He straightened, padding his feet across the wooden floors. He slipped into his closet and beelined for the rack of his cloaks. He pushed them aside, squeezing himself into the small space. In the corner, he pried open the floorboard. He did it so carefully, like it wasn’t the first nor the tenth time he’d done this. He paused, hesitating a bit, before reaching in to pull out a small chest. He sat back on his haunches, brushing aside the dust with a small exhale.

             He opened it, and he was attacked by a lungful of old iron. He wrinkled his nose, but still reached in, brushing his fingertips against the items.

             A silk bow. A scrap of fabric. A necklace. All drenched in dried blood. Younger him hadn’t thought to clean it off, only that he should hide them. Quickly. 

             He shook off the memory as he brushed aside the objects. There, at the bottom, was something scrappier and thinner than the other three. A blue ribbon that looked a blotchy brownish purple. It was the bloodiest of the three, having retained none of its original color. It was so threadbare, so small, so...so...

             “So...rry...” 

             Ivan’s grip clenched, then relaxed. He brushed his thumb over it in quiet apology. Then, he brought it to his lips, brushing against the ribbon in familiar taste.

             A soft kiss to bloodstained fabric.

             Maybe one day, this kiss will be on the person who used to wear it.

Chapter Text

                Bare little feet padded across rotting floors. The tray wobbled, the milk sloshing, but he held it real careful. Real gentle. ‘Cause she always said to be gentle when someone was sick. And the boy was sick. Or, well, not sick, but he looked like he could be. He remained asleep, a lump under Alfred’s singular blanket, a little curled-up thing, still and unmoving—

                Oh!

                The child was awake. He was looking around, trembling fists curled to his chest. 

                Alfred’s face lit up. “You’re awake!” 

                The tray clinked as he set it down, making the other flinch. “You should lie down! You’re in no state to be moving about. You’re all dirty from bein’ in that river,” he grabbed a rag, “Here, lemme clean you up—”

                The child gasped and scrambled back, blanket slipping from his shoulders as he bolted for the corner. Alarmed, Alfred rushed forward, reaching his hand out. “Hey, wait! It’s okay!”

                His tiny body hit the wall with a hard thud, and he scrambled into a fearful ball, hurriedly gathering his knees to his chest. 

                “Please, wait!” Alfred held up the rag, trying to show it wasn’t scary, wasn’t bad. “You’re hurt, I just wanted to—”

                “No...” The child pressed himself closer against the wall, hands flying up to cover his head. His voice was so small. “Please, no...please...”

                Alfred stilled. His fingers twitched at his sides. The boy curled up, smaller, smaller, murmuring mindlessly to himself. Leave me alone, leave me alone, leave me alone.

                Alfred’s tummy churned. Then slowly, he reached out.

                The child flinched, sucking in a fearful breath. He tensed up so hard, like a twig bent so far back it was about to snap. But Alfred kept going, kept reaching, until his hand landed on rough, matted hair. The child didn’t move, didn’t breathe, but Alfred continued to stroke softly.

                “Sorry,” Alfred murmured. At first, the child remained dead still. Then he raised his head, a singular eye, wet and wide, peeking through the curtain of his shaggy bangs.

                “I’ll stop,” he promised, keeping his voice soft. “So please, don’t be scared anymore, okay?”

                He glided his hand through his matted locks. 

                “You’re safe now. Nothing’s gonna hurt you here.”

                Nothing...

                Nothing...

                Today was the day. The Bratva, the nine lieutenants of the formidable Spadian Army, were arriving in a few hours.

                It was like the Palace itself had suddenly awoken from a deep slumber. Even the Mekaviks, who were typically confined to their watchposts, were forced into helping. Every now and then, they could be seen marching briskly through the halls, their metallic arms laden with blankets, ingredients, and decorations.

                Alfred was no different. With the palace running on a skeletal staff, all hands on deck were needed to prepare the entirety of the massive building. So far, he’s helped deliver meals, moved heavy furniture, guided the Mekaviks when they got lost, and held the ladders as the servants put up silken banners and gilded ornaments—all of which had to be dusted off first, as this was the first time in ten years that they’ve been taken out of their crates. 

                He sidestepped hurrying servants, large box in arms, with repetitive calls of excuse me and coming through! For once, they weren’t glaring at him for it. His loudness fell into step with the rest of the noise around him, instead of standing out in the quiet. The eagerness of the servants, especially of the few whose faces had lit up at being given free rein to decorate, was palpable. Alfred couldn’t help but feel happy for them. Just the feeling of being surrounded by overlapping voices and bustling work reminded him of home.

                The comfortable noise faded behind him as he reached the north wing. He knocked once, twice. As usual, no response. He huffed. Why make him knock if he wasn’t going to answer anyway? He rolled his eyes and shifted the box to his other hand, using his free one to tilt the golden spade emblem to open the bears’ mouths to reveal the recessed handles. He didn’t understand why Ivan’s room had no knobs, but it was cool anyway. 

                As he slipped inside, Ivan was standing at his window. Alfred couldn’t describe it, but he looked so...imposing. Maybe it was how he stood there. His chin tilted high, strong hands clasped behind his back, squared shoulders casting a long shadow across the chamber. Tall. Proud. Frightening.

                From afar, it was easy to see the prince so avoided by his own people.

                But as he got closer, placing the box on the desk absentmindedly, his face came more into view, and Alfred could see it. The way Ivan leaned to and fro in an effort to catch every little thing happening outside. His gaze followed the ordinary servants and their ordinary actions, watching—not blankly or coldly—but curiously. The kind of curious seen on children.

                Alfred didn’t know how long he had watched before the words burst from his mouth.

                “People-watching?”

                Ivan jumped, whirling around. A scowl crossed his features before he smoothed it out, and Alfred felt annoyed again. 

                “You took quite a while,” he straightened coolly.

                Alfred scoffed, flipping open the box lid. “I was getting your cloak. You’re welcome,” he said sarcastically as he pulled out the deep violet fabric. “Hopefully, the dust termites it got from the storage do their job on you.”

                “Nice try,” Ivan replied dryly. “I asked Yao to wash it.”

                Alfred huffed, annoyed that his bluff was called. “Whatever.”

                Ivan faced the window again as Alfred shook out the cloak and draped it over his shoulders. He pulled the weight to the front, adjusting it so it wasn’t lopsided. But then came the issue of actually clasping the damn thing. He picked up the golden cord hanging from the lapel, a bit lost. He had a cloak of his own, but if he wanted to close it he just had to pull on the drawstring. This cloak did not have a drawstring. Instead, it had fancy cords hanging from illogical places that he had to clasp to stars-knows-where. 

                He didn’t realize how much he was fumbling until the cords were snatched out of his hands. “It’s not that hard,” Ivan began doing it himself, yanking on the gold polyester. “See? You put one here, the other here, and—

                “Shut up! Don’t patronize me!”

                Ivan rolled his eyes, and Alfred wondered what it would be like to stab his fingers into them. “Did you gather the information I asked you?” 

                Alfred schooled into professionalism, straightening with a nod. “The Bratva are two hours upon us. Mekavik scouts report that the lieutenants left their castles at first light. The Bratva of Svalgard and Etelheim have already entered the Shiverwood and shall reach the gates by noon.”

                Ivan’s fingers slowed. “And Kharlivka?”

                Alfred raised a brow but continued. “They are in the process of crossing the Vale, Your Highness.”

                “I see,” Ivan murmured. He continued adjusting his cloak, but the cords kept slipping from his absentminded fingers. Alfred swatted his hands away to start doing it himself again. Ivan let him.

                Alfred watched him from under his eyelashes. He could tell the prince was avoiding his gaze by staring out the window. But it wasn’t his curious peering from earlier. Just...blank. Alfred’s gaze fell pensively to where his fingers were adjusting the golden cords. He knew that Kharlivka was in the east, and from what he’d garnered from Raivis, Toris was the one in charge there. Is that what this is about? Seeing his old guard? Or maybe...

                “Toris doesn’t like to talk about himself. But it’s obvious they’ve known each other forever.”

                Alfred’s lips pressed into a flat line. 

                “You nervous?” His voice broke the silence.

                A pause. Ivan’s eyes darted away. “No,” he smiled, “I am just happy to see old friends, that’s all.”

                Alfred blinked. So they were friends? But Raivis said— No. Raivis was likely only a few years old at the time, what he knows about Ivan is likely hearsay. In this situation, its the information straight from the source that is most credible.

                “The Eastern Bratva should have finished crossing the Vale,” he began conversationally. He gauged the way Ivan’s eyes narrowed. “I reckon they’re on Warrior’s Pass by now.”

                Ivan hummed. “Is that so?” 

                “Must be. The Pass is dangerous, but the quickest way to the Shiverwood,” Alfred continued, buttoning Ivan’s uniform. “And the lieutenants of the East are very...proficient.” 

                “Oh? And what would you, newcomer, know of the Bratva?” 

                “Is it so strange that your personal guard would be informed of potential threats to his charge?” he asked, tightening Ivan’s belt with a sharp tug. 

                Ivan grunted. “I suppose not.”

                Alfred smirked. He stepped back, dusting his hands together. “All right, uniform’s good to go.”

                Ivan walked off to the mirror, where he adjusted his scarf in his reflection. He scoffed, a sardonic smirk on his lips. “Not bad, guard. Ah, one last thing. Get my scepter from the storage.”

                Alfred raised a brow. “What does it look like?”

                Ivan smiled sweetly over his shoulder. “You’ll know when you see it.”

                Alfred sprinted down the hall, the tails of his uniform flapping behind him.

                He’d scoured the storage for that damn scepter, but couldn’t find it anywhere. It was when he finally gave up and left to tell Ivan that he’d have to be scepterless for the reception, he spotted three ornate vehicles through the window—two of them trundling down the snow-dusted path, and the other already arrived. Two very important-looking figures were now disembarking with the help of the Meka.

                “Oh, shit.” 

                He took off like lightning, which brings us to the current events of Alfred running through the halls. Finally, he skidded to a stop at a pair of grand doors and slipped inside. 

                The throne room stretched stunningly before him in navy blue marble and white stone pillars that curved into the soaring ceiling, shimmering with twinkling stars as it was bewitched to resemble the night sky of the North. Alfred's sheepish whispering—"Excuse me—sorry—excuse me—oops, sorry again"—was so loud in the pin-drop silence that everyone was made aware of his clumsy arrival, eyeing him in annoyance as he flitted past them. Winter rubbed the bridge of his nose while Yao, standing beside him with Eduard, fought back a frustrated sigh. Alfred flashed them a sheepish smile as he hurried up onto the dais and skidded to a halt next to Ivan.

                Ivan sat relaxed upon the throne, dressed in his full royal regalia, the thick cloak making him appear bigger and more intimidating than he already was. The Throne of Spades was a sight most formidable, so large and tall it was more suited to seat a giant rather than a human. Its silvery backrest was carved with exquisite precision, mirroring the spade suit with its pointed summit and angular lines of sharp, jutting ice. It was a magnificent throne, but one that appeared seldom used. It was the King's throne, as Ivan's actual throne—the prince's throne—was hidden away, along with the thrones of the other titles; leaving this one, the largest and most powerful, to stand alone. It looked like it had spent some time hidden away as well, dust still lingering on the armrest, indicating that it had only been taken out recently.

                Because the lockdown had been lifted.

                “It is about time you arrived,” Ivan's smirk was telling, his gaze fixed ahead.

                “I couldn’t find your stupid scepter,” Alfred seethed breathlessly.

                “That's because I do not have one.”

                “What!?”

                A few heads whipped around to glare at him, but before Alfred could say anything, the trumpeters began their loud fanfare, signaling the commencement of the reception. They exchanged glances—Ivan with a smirk and Alfred with a scowl—before plastering amiable smiles onto their faces.

                Heavy-grade Meka of bronze and navy steel were lined up along the carpet, the last two at the end marching over to open the large, wooden doors.

                “Presenting: The Order of Nine, the Bratva!”

                The doors swung open, and an order of white-cloaked figures stepped through. Alfred’s jaw fell a tad open at their formidable demeanor—you could tell they were people of importance. The trumpeters continued to play a dramatic theme to their march down the carpet, the staff and Mekavik bowing as they passed. 

                Alfred examined them closely. Despite being called the Order of Nine, there were only six of them (as two were already stationed here in the North). There were three Omegas and three Alphas—all of their faces set stoically, the hems of their thick white cloaks brushing the carpet, halberds and swords glinting at their backs. Alfred didn’t realize he was leaning forward until Yao pinched his side, and he corrected himself sheepishly.

                The trumpets faded when the lieutenants reached the dais. They pressed a fist to their chest, then sank to their knee. 

                Alfred squinted at them. Two of the Alphas were quite big—no doubt packed with muscle under those cloaks, their frames large and heavy like Ivan’s. No doubt one of them was the leader. Spades ranked hierarchies by merit, so it’s always the biggest and strongest who are at the top. Perhaps that one with the wild hair will speak. Or maybe the other one; the one with the glasses, since he’s slightly bigger and more intimidating—

                “It is a pleasure to be in your presence once again, Your Highness.”

                Alfred blinked. It wasn’t the two big Alphas who spoke, but the third, smaller one: the one with shoulder-length brown hair and green eyes. Tall and lean, yes, but certainly not as physically dominant as the other two. How surprising. Alfred was even more intrigued now.

                Ivan’s eyes narrowed, his smile widening. Alfred knew him enough to know that was a terrible omen. “Likewise, Toris.” 

                Alfred swallowed a gasp. Toris? That Alpha, that one with the brown hair, was Toris? 

                Toris nodded once, straightening to his feet. The rest of the Bratva followed. He looks so serious, like he’s never laughed a day in his life. But Alfred didn’t miss the way his green eyes remained downcast in the face of the prince, despite Ivan addressing him directly. In most cases, such behavior was counted as offensive. But Ivan did not seem to care.

                 Alfred’s eyes narrowed. Like everyone else, his weakness is His Highness. That’ll make things a bit difficult...loyalty is a difficult thing to shake, and it’s not a value that should be compromised. But that doesn’t matter. With what’s at stake, whatever Toris knows about the Prince, I'll pry it out, one way or another.

                Alfred found this meeting incredibly boring. They were discussing trade routes, updates on their respective regions, and petty squabbles among the nobles as if it were some kingdom-wide catastrophe. Alfred didn’t see the big deal. Folks in his village fought all the time, and it was settled through the art of fists —like real Spadians, Alfred thought. Though the nobles probably wouldn’t like that. 

                Today, the grand meeting room housed the Bratva instead of the council, the white-cloaked figures seated at the long table curved in a semi-circle around the sunken middle. Alfred, standing next to Ivan, decided to tune out their drivel for a more productive pursuit: analyzing the newcomers.

                Mikkel, the one with wild hair, was boisterous, informal, and full of jokes—which, of course, immediately endeared him to Alfred. He seemed like the type to spill state secrets over a good drink. Mikkel kept goodheartedly elbowing his seatmate, whom Alfred came to know as Berwald—the one Alfred had expected to speak in the throne room. With his stony expression and sharp eyes, Berwald was as fearsome in size and look as Ivan himself. Yet, he spoke only when spoken to, and the way he’d prompt Tino to speak for him hinted at a gentle spirit. In that sense, Alfred felt Berwald was more tactical—tight-lipped—than Mikkel.

                Speaking of Tino, Alfred liked him the most. With a bright demeanor and kind face, he spoke in a cheerful tone, but his actual words told the tale of a lieutenant who was formidable—ruthless, even—when keeping his region in line. Next to him sat Björn, the wisest of the lot, evidently born and raised by the archaic values of Spades’ tribal era. However, that made him a tad inflexible and martyr-like compared to the others. The second loudest after Mikkel was Feliks, an opinionated Omega of flair and confidence, yet easily cowed by Ivan’s iciness. 

                And the last was Toris. The Alpha was quiet, serious, and strait-laced. His reports were delivered well-spokenly, and from their content, Alfred was right to guess that he was very proficient. The East ran like a fine machine under his strong hand, the most militaristic of the three regions, save the North. But, most notably, he was the only one Ivan took initiative in addressing. 

                “And you, Toris? What do you think?”

                And Toris would give the same answer every time. “I concur with their assessment, Your Highness," he'd say, bowing his head, "No further additions.”

                Alfred watched him extra closely. Once, Toris caught him looking, and they held eye contact. Alfred smiled at him. Toris’s brow twitched before glancing away.

                Alfred pouted. What was that about? Why hold eye contact if you’re going to react like that? Does Toris suspect him? Was Alfred being too obvious? 

                “Alfred,” Ivan’s voice cut through his thoughts. “The table.” 

                The Omega nodded. He went down to the middle, where he cranked a lever under the table, and the floor split apart, hissing clouds of steam as the stone-carved map emerged. But unlike last time, where it was simply a table, it kept rising until it covered the entire sunken middle, slotting into place as a new floor. Rivers and trade routes pulsed a blue glow, snaking through the model and converging at the miniature palace. There, the glow beamed from the towers, projecting a hologram of Spades' colosseum in the air.

                Alfred whistled, impressed. No matter how many times he saw it, it still took his breath away. 

                “Now that we are caught up, let us discuss the reason for your stay," Ivan rose from seat, his authoritative voice carrying through the grand chamber. "The Eisvorod Trials are upon us, and in two weeks' time, it will be the venue of our grand return,” he stepped onto the stone map, circling the hologram. “After our decade-long absence, incompetence will be expected of us. We will be under the highest scrutiny. The folk, after all, have learned to manage on their own. Not well”—he smirked sidelong at Alfred—“but they have. As such, we must remind them of our worth as their monarchy.”

                Alfred suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as he slotted six scrolls into the half-open tubes attached to the table's curved edge, where they were shuttled off to each Bratva. As the lieutenants reached for their parchment, Ivan continued: “These scrolls contain the full details of the Trials and the nature of your participation. You will represent the palace as a united front, but fight individually. You do not know who you will be up against, as the elimination structure of the Trial is unpredictable. Thus, review your enemies carefully. Memorize their strengths. Exploit their weaknesses.”

                Mikkel grinned wolfishly as he read. “You win if your opponent doesn’t get up after five seconds, huh? In that case, I'll make sure they stay down. Won't know what hit 'em!"

                “No,” Ivan said sharply. Mikkel’s grin vanished instantly. “You will do enough to win, but not enough to harm gravely. We must be careful of the image we project. The people know us as monsters, as tyrants. We will show them otherwise. We are not terror. We are order.”

               “Yes, Your Highness,” the Bratva answered in solemn unison.

               Then, Ivan’s words slowed, his gaze growing colder. “However...”

               He let the word hang, and the entire room fell into unbreathing stillness. None of the Bratva so much as twitched. Alfred frowned. What was happening—

               “Alfred, you are dismissed,” Ivan said suddenly.

               Alfred’s eyes flew wide. “What?”

               “Now,” Ivan ordered under his breath, glaring sidelong at him.

               Alfred opened his mouth to protest, then swallowed it. His gaze swept over the Bratva—solemn, grim-faced, not even offering him a glance—and a prickle of unease stirred in him. Whatever Ivan wanted to say next, it clearly wasn’t for his ears. So he swallowed his protests, bowed, and took his leave.

                Alfred was beyond annoyed.

                He'd waited outside the door of the meeting hall like a good guard. He wasn't mad about being dismissed—servants were dismissed all the time for privacy reasons—but when they finally came out, Ivan completely ignored him. Ignored! What the hell was his problem? Alfred didn't even mess anything up this time! Still, Alfred had trailed after him, trying to talk to him, maybe get a new task or assignment. But Ivan didn't acknowledge his presence. In the end, Alfred stormed off angrily, and it was Yao who approached him soon after, informing him that he was relieved of any Ivan-related duties for today.

                Well, fine! Who wants to be with that bastard anyway! Good riddance!

                So with nothing else to do, he decided to pester Yao instead. Yao was going to oversee the Bratva's training for the Trials—a job that was supposed to be Ivan's, but he had gone off somewhere—and Alfred begged to tag along. After all, what kind of spy would he be if he didn't analyze their combat styles? He'd expected resistance from Yao, who was usually very cold to Alfred, but the Jack actually granted his permission quite easily. It was almost suspicious if Alfred wasn't so excited.

                Turns out, Alfred was right to think it was suspicious. Yao had an ulterior motive for letting him tag along. The Eisvorod Trials required a minimum of eight participants, and with the Northern Bratvas absent, Alfred and Yao were to substitute. 

                “Sure, I can help out,” he’d said earlier with a shrug and a grin. Now, standing knee-deep in freezing snow, surrounded by some of the deadliest warriors in the kingdom, he was starting to rethink his life choices.

                 Still, he noticed something odd. He looked around, puzzled, before leaning over to Yao. "Where's Lieutenant Nine?"

                "He's not joining," Yao answered curtly, brushing snow off a stone pillar.

                "What? Why not? He's Bratva too, isn't he?"

                Apparently, Alfred’s whisper wasn't as quiet as he thought. Mikkel laughed beside him and clapped him hard on the back. "Don't sweat it, he never joins these things! Our beloved Ninth only ever trains by himself."

                "That's not true!" Feliks defended indignantly. "He trains with us too, it's just that— well..." he glanced at the palace, a dark look clouding his features. "Never mind."

                Alfred raised a brow, but any further pondering dashed from his mind when Yao pushed him back. "Step aside," he ordered.

                The Bratva obeyed, and Yao cranked a spade-shaped lever carved into the pillar. With the groan of ancient gears, a mechanism hidden beneath the snow rumbled to life. Panels slid open, snow poured into the chasm below, and jets of steam hissed out as the ground beneath Alfred’s feet moved. He scrambled back just as the earth split apart, allowing a massive circular arena carved from ice and stone to emerge. Alfred gawked, craning his head as it kept rising and rising, until it groaned into place with a loud thud.

                 Tino clapped his hands in delight. “How exciting! We haven't used the simulation in ages!”

                Alfred didn't share the enthusiasm. If anything, the sight only deepened the pit in his stomach. He felt a little sick. But no! He gave himself a brisk slap on the cheeks, his face setting in a determined huff. You got this. Just think fast, hit hard, and don't die.

                The horn sounded, and the arena creaked into motion. With a hiss of steam, stone platforms began to rotate, pulsing softly with aetherlight. Yao and the Bratva scattered into motion like clockwork (Alfred followed awkwardly). The Eisvorod Trials followed a simple elimination structure: winners fought winners until only one remained. In real Trials, you won by incapacitating your opponent. But since this was just a simulation, victory was determined by knocking your opponent out of the ring.

                Alfred held his own better than expected.

                He survived the first round by disarming Feliks with a feint and a well-timed slide under his guard. Feliks fought like a fencer—luring, dodging, countering—meant to lure and unbalance rather than overpower. Alfred recognized the bait-and-punish rhythm immediately. As a Bratva, Feliks was exceptional by normal standards, but he wasn’t built for brawling. That, or he lost on purpose, because the moment his toe hit out of bounds, he'd flipped his blonde hair over his shoulder and tossed his sword away as if to say good riddance.

                When Alfred saw his opponent for Round Two, he relaxed. Tino was the smallest of them, almost cherubic with his doe eyes and sweet smile. He looked like he wouldn't hurt a fly. Alfred was almost worried about hurting him too much. As they stepped into the arena circle, Tino even offered a little bow.

                “Let’s both do our best, okay?” he chirped. “And play safe!”

                Alfred’s heart warmed. “Yeah, of course! Good luck!”

                The horn sounded.

                Alfred blinked—

                —there was a flicker of silver—

                —then a crack like gunfire.

                Pain flared across his cheek.

                He staggered back, a hand flying up to touch the thin line of blood. Only then did he properly register Tino’s weapon: it was a halberd...but the smoke curling from the point made him realize that it was not just a blade, but a compact rifle. Alfred barely caught the next blow with his bracers, the impact rattling through his bones. Before he knew it, he was on the ground, a barrel pressed to his throat, with Tino's sweet smiling face blocking the bleak sunlight. 

                “That was fast...” Alfred wheezed. Even so, his awe outweighed the ache of his lungs. He flashed a bright, breathless grin. “But, wow, you’re so awesome! That combo with the halberd and rifle? Amazing!”

                Tino blinked. Then beamed, preening at the praise. “Why, thank you!"

                The lieutenant helped Alfred to his feet and supported him to the stands, where he collapsed onto the stone, gratefully accepting a warm flask Yao handed him. He settled in, watching the rest of the matches unfold.

                It felt like a rare privilege, watching the Bratva in action. They ruled their regions as lords (save for the North, where the royal family held absolute authority), but to the people, their existence was categorized as myth, given how rarely they were seen in public. Like their prince, they remained in their castles, sending out soldiers and Mekaviks to act in their stead. So to witness their skills in person was an extraordinary experience for Alfred. 

                Feliks fought with baiting agility. Tino thrived on speed and surprise strikes. Björn moved with clean, graceful efficiency. Berwald was a heavy-weight tank, who bulldozed with brute force. Mikkel blurred between rapid attacks and clever feints despite his large size. Even Yao, though not Bratva himself, had a dragon's grace, striking where defense wavered.

                Alfred tapped his chin, mentally filing away each observation. He also noticed that the Bratva were a lot more carefree outside the meeting room—or, perhaps more accurately, outside of Ivan's vicinity. Without him around, they were a playful and lighthearted bunch. It made him smile.

                Meanwhile, the others continued to spar. Yao circled them on the rotating platforms, occasionally barking critiques:

                "Don't overextend, Mikkel. You're leaving your left open."

                "Center your stance, Tino. Your pivot's too heavy."

              The Bratva adjusted instantly, each correction absorbed without question. Alfred briefly wondered how long they had trained under Yao—and how long Yao had served here—for such deep, wordless respect to exist between them. Or was this just how noble environments worked?

                His experience in the Order was quite different. There had been no community, no friendship or camaraderie. No one helped him up. No one explained his mistakes. No one offered him water. His training had consisted of a dark room, Handler barking "Again," over and over, and getting back on his feet even with a thousand cuts or ingested poison. He had to learn survival when Handler tossed him into his first assignment with no instructions, just one singular command: kill. Still, he considered himself lucky to have had Handler—the old Alpha had bent the rules by taking him in as an apprentice. Guilds normally did no such thing—they hired assassins, not trained them. For Alfred to have been taught at all was a mercy. He supposed that's why no one in the Order took him seriously. Assassination in itself was a solitary act—there's nothing to discuss or convene about, not like the Bratva, who operate like a council. They were simply individual contract workers lumped together in one guild for the sake of organization in the world of criminal activity. 

                Still, as Alfred swung his legs under the stone bench, he couldn't help but wonder what his childhood would have been like if the Order was like this. 

                As Berwald swept Mikkel’s legs out from under him in the final spar, Mikkel popped back up, laughing breathlessly. "Nice to spar outside, huh? Especially after that stuffy meeting!"

                Björn chuckled from the stands. "Indeed. All that talk of trials and tribulations. So serious."

                Berwald grunted as he reset his stance. "As a royal, it's better that he is serious than a slacker."

                Mikkel snorted, dodging another swing. "Oh, seriousness runs in the Braginsky blood. And knowing the track record of that family, he could do to slack off a little more."

                Alfred glanced up from where he was nursing his flask. Tino gasped. "Oh, don’t say that, Mick! He’s doing his best. Even if his methods are a little..."

                "Questionable?" Mikkel supplied, earning another round of laughter.

                Alfred kept his expression carefully neutral, pretending to be engrossed in his drink. He felt a bit confused. He thought the Bratva respected Ivan. They treated his words like law, were careful to be efficient and obedient, and didn't seem particularly fearful like the ministers of the Court. But now, it seems he misread them. Briefly, he wondered if the ministers, too, talked about Ivan like this when he wasn't around.

                "Now, now," Yao tutted scoldingly, healing a cut on Feliks' arm. "Do not judge so quickly. There is always a reason behind actions."

                "And what is his reason, Yao?" Björn asked coolly. "Honor? Integrity? Those are noble values that royals must follow. But the Braginskys are not the average royal family."

                "Yeah!" Mikkel echoed from the arena, twirling his axe. "Though, I suppose His Highness wouldn’t have to resort to such measures if the coffers weren’t emptier than a beggar’s bowl.” 

                Alfred’s eyes widened despite himself. The coffers were empty? Then what about the taxes Ivan placed on the Academy? Did the palace blow through them already? But no...they can’t be right. Alfred’s been the middleman of all of Ivan’s documents being processed, and not a single one talked of any purchase, any transfer, any coin being sent out. So what did—

                The twitch of his brows must’ve given him away, because Yao's eyes flicked to him.

                Like a domino effect, Yao's sudden silence led to the others' quiet realization, and the laughter choked off into awkward silence. 

                Alfred, pretending not to notice, took a slow sip from the flask, eyes still fixed on the match. Berwald and Mikkel continued sparring, but the cheerful chatter on the sidelines had dried up completely.

                Lately, Alfred noticed something was...off. The Bratva, who had once been so lively, now fell quiet the moment he entered a room.

                At first, Alfred thought he was imagining it. But it was harder to ignore the way they refused his presence in their training, shifted away when he was nearby, and side-eyed him when they thought he wasn't looking. Granted, he wasn't a Bratva, but it still stung to be intentionally excluded like this.

                Alfred watched them now from above, perched atop a balcony. His arms were crossed on the balustrade, bottom lip sticking out as he watched the Bratva spar in groups. They looked like they were enjoying their training. They were rough-housing, clapping each other on the back, no doubt exchanging banter and teases, all with laughter on their faces. It truly looked like a lot of fun...

                Figures, he thought glumly. They probably think I’ll go running to Braginsky or something.

                He sighed, kicking a loose pebble. Well, it's no use watching their fun if he couldn't jump in, too. With a gloomy exhale, Alfred closed the double doors behind him and resigned to wandering the halls.

                Well, since he was alone, he figured now was a good time as any to ponder the week's events. Braginsky is clearly hiding something. And it has to do with the kingdom's money. Mikkel mentioned that Braginsky wouldn't have resorted to such measures if the coffers weren't empty. But how could they be empty? Braginsky hasn't purchased anything over the past month, not to mention he received a huge flow of money from the taxes he placed on student enrollments at the Academy (that bastard). I'm sure I didn't miss anything...I went through them thoroughly when I was processing them. And even if he did spend, there's no way he would have blown through all the money he's gained in just a month. He's a jerk, but he's not stupid. What is it that he didn't want me to hear? 

                While strolling down the colonnades in the courtyard, he suddenly perked up.

                Voices.

                He ducked behind a pillar. Glancing around cautiously first, ensuring no one was around, before peeking around the edge. 

                There, behind the trunk of a snow-caked tree, were Toris and Feliks. They seemed to be deep in conversation—or rather, a debate. Feliks's face was pinched with worry, while Toris stood stiff and unmoving, shaking his head at whatever Feliks was saying.

                What are they talking about? Alfred's curiosity was itching. He'd always had a habit of being a little nosy. It's a trait Handler had always praised for its usefulness in reconnaissance—and Alfred's inability to keep to his own devices. He noted Toris's body language, which was guarded and tense. Whatever Feliks was saying, it seemed Toris wasn't budging.

                Finally, Toris said something short—final—and turned away, leaving Feliks alone. Alfred pressed himself flatter against the wall as Toris walked briskly past, his expression hard.

                He's going off on his own? Perfect! Alfred had to bite back a grin. His being by himself is the perfect opportunity to approach!

                Eager, he tracked Toris across the palace halls and into the snowy garden. At one point, Alfred had lost sight of him. Damnit, he's a surprisingly slithery guy. Alfred briefly panicked if Toris knew he was following him and had successfully shaken him off. But no, it turns out Toris had just disappeared into the Mekavik Armory, because when Alfred found him again, he had a Mekavik trailing clunkily after him. When they reached the secluded field, Toris guided the Mekavik to position itself across him. Then, without ceremony, Toris tossed his sword and launched into a furious assault against the robot—barehanded.

                Alfred watched, half-awed but mostly concerned, as Toris struck again and again, harder and harder. Yikes, Alfred winced. Is he frustrated because of his talk with Feliks? Now I really am curious about their conversation.

                Toris's strikes cracked the Mekavik's frame with metallic shrieks, his bloody knuckles smearing all over the brass plating. And yet, Toris didn't falter at all. The pain seemed to fuel him to go faster and harder, until with one final blow, Toris's fist burst right through the Mekavik's chest. Alfred winced. That's a complex gear system heavily reinforced with brass and steel! Remind me not to get on this guy's bad side... 

                The Mekavik’s joints snapped, its pieces falling apart as it crashed to the ground. Toris stood over the heap of sparking metal, shoulders heaving in gasping breaths. His knuckles dripped blood on the snow-slick ground. Alfred felt like he had witnessed a murder of some sort.

                For a moment, Toris simply stared at the broken machine. Then, he let out a resigned sigh and knelt to fix it. Alfred watched in intrigue as he tried to make sense of the Mekavik's inner workings. But as he fumbled with the gears, muttering curses under his breath, it was clear he didn't know what he was doing. A sliver of frustration cracked through. With a low growl, Toris kicked the mangled Mekavik’s body, sending it skidding a few feet across the dirt.

                Alfred bit his lip. Maybe I should say something? Now is the perfect chance to get information out of him. Alfred took a cautious step forward. But I have to be delicate about this. The Bratva have already started avoiding me, I can't let him—

                A sharp whistle of air whizzed straight toward his face. He jerked his head back just in time, the blade of a dagger thudding into the tree-trunk where his skull had just been.

                Holy crap! 

                “Whoever is there,” Toris called, low and cold, “hiding won’t do you any good.”

                Shit. Guess I have no choice. Sheepishly, Alfred raised his hands and stepped out from behind the tree. “Uh, hi, Lieutenant Nine! It's just me,” he said, flashing a guilty smile. “I was just passing by when I saw you break the Mekavik. Thought you might need some help. You beat it pretty bad—but don't worry, I can fix it!"

                Toris said nothing. He simply followed Alfred with narrowed eyes. 

                Undeterred, Alfred plopped down beside the broken Mekavik, already busying himself with the damaged bot. “These should be an easy fix. For royal-grade machinery, their systems are surprisingly intuitive. I know 'cause I'm an inventor myself! Sorta. I'm more of a tinker than anything. But still, experience is experience!”

                As he worked, Alfred talked endlessly, his mouth running on the innate instinct to fill heavy silence. Toris remained silent as stone. He just stood there, arms crossed over his chest.

                “You know, if you want to train by yourself, servant Mekaviks aren't a good choice. They're built for domestic tasks, not actual combat. They can take a little punch from a few kids, but a tough guy like you? No wonder it broke," Alfred laughed to lighten the air. It didn't work. "If you want to train your combat, Guardeviks are the ones best suited for the job. But unfortunately, all of them are posted permanently around the palace. But hey, if you need a real sparring partner, I can help!” he offered cheerily, jabbing a thumb at himself. “Unlike these bots, I can take more than just a few good hits!”

                Without waiting for a response, Alfred sprang to his feet, bouncing lightly on the balls of his heels in a fighter’s stance. "C’mon, let’s spar! No bots, no holding back—just good ol’ fists and bruises!"

                Toris still remained silent. No words, just standing there, looking a bit annoyed as the Omega bounced around him while throwing fake punches, like a puppy poking at an old dog. Alfred knew he was being rather bothersome right now, but there was no way he was backing off now! Not with Toris this close.

                "I don't want to," Toris finally spoke. 

                "Oh, why not? I’m way sturdier than a pile of brass bolts," Alfred grinned. There's no way he was backing off now, not with Toris this close.

                Another moment passed before Toris slowly—finally—shifted into his own stance. Alfred beamed.

                Their match began. At first, Alfred kept it playful, light on his feet, throwing easy jabs to gauge Toris's reactions.

                "Wow, you're pretty strong! You gotta teach me those moves sometime!" Alfred grinned, bouncing on his heels as he jumped back. Toris didn't respond as he parried another kick, and Alfred chuckled a little breathlessly.

                But it didn’t stay playful for long. Alfred quickly learned that Toris's rank as the Ninth, second only to the General regent himself, was not for show. Toris struck with frightening power, fast and sharp, his blows aimed to disable, not spar. Alfred realized it quickly. Toris's body language, his techniques—they were indeed meant for training. But his strength was not. Alfred didn't know if Toris even realized. 

               The Omega forgot all about being a casual sparring partner. His heart raced as he blocked and dodged, gritting his teeth. With the strength of a heavyweight and agility of a fencer, Toris's attacks felt like cracks of a whip. Alfred was fighting for his life just to remain standing. If he dodged a second too late, the lieutenant's swing would bash his head clean off. He put up a good fight—Toris showed moments of visible surprise—and Alfred was starting to gain a bit of confidence. However, confidence is what lowers one's guard. His fraction of relaxation meant Alfred failed to notice his next move, and got swept off his feet by a clever feint.

                Shit, shit! Alfred panicked as he was falling backwards, Toris's fist going straight for his face. He had to do something, and fast, fast—!

                In a moment of panic, Alfred swung his foot, slamming it into Toris’s side with more force than intended. Toris wheezed. Both of them fell, Alfred on his back and Toris skidding across the field. The lieutenant tumbled to the ground, landing hard on his back, the hems of his clothes riding up a little.

               That's when Alfred saw it. 

               On his leg. A gleam of steel where skin was supposed to be.

               Alfred let out a sharp gasp. Immediately, Toris hurried to yank his pant-leg back down. As he stood up, his green eyes were burning. His clear distress made guilt flare in Alfred's chest.

               “Wait, I’m so sorry!" Alfred scrambled, reaching out, "I didn’t mean to—!”

               But Toris wasn’t listening. With one final, seething glare, Toris turned on his heel and stormed off.

               Alfred trudged through the halls, the moonlight shining dimly through the tall windows. He couldn’t get the image out of his mind. Toris, crumpled on the snow-covered training field, his pants hiking up to reveal not human skin, but a prosthetic leg. 

               What happened to him? Alfred wondered. The guilt was still gnawing at him. Did he get into an accident of some sort? He seemed so distressed when I saw it, too. Has he been hiding all this time? Maybe that’s why he’s so removed from the Bratva. How awful...

               I should make it up to him. Maybe I’ll ask the cooks what food he prefers. If I remember correctly, Easterners mostly do soup and bread. Maybe some broth dumplings...

               Something dark flashed in his peripheral.

               “Huh?” Alfred blinked, turning to look out the window. Outside, the palace’s shadow stretched across the snow, and he had turned just in time to catch the silhouette of a cloaked figure sprinting across the palace rooftop.

               An intruder!

               Alfred was already running. His boots pounded down the halls to the nearest stairwell of his tower. He took the steps two, three at a time. He slammed his shoulder into the frosted window with a grunt, shattering the frozen crust and bursting it open. The freezing air screamed through the gap as he looked out. 

               There! 

               The black figure was leaping from one roof to the next, cloak billowing. Alfred glanced down at the ledge. “Damn it,” he muttered. It was too narrow, and the roof was too high to reach from here. 

               He whirled back inside and hauled himself up onto the top of his bed canopy. He reached up and shoved open the old trap door in the ceiling with a loud thunk. The wind slammed against him as he hauled himself onto the sloped roof, the tiles slick and cold beneath his palms. He sprinted after the cloaked figure, his breaths pluming in the cold air. This figure was fast, veering erratically and leaping from roof to roof. They were heading south—the wing containing the vault. 

               Alfred’s thoughts raced. No way. Is this why the coffers are empty? Someone’s been bleeding the palace dry right under everyone’s noses?

               The figure reached the roof’s edge, and jumped. Alfred leapt after them, swinging himself in through the shattered window. He landed on his tip-toes, avoiding the shards of glass. He glanced around vigilantly, searching for the figure. But they were nowhere to be seen. Alfred frowned, his hackles rising. No, he reminded himself. Don't let your guard down. They're definitely still here. He continued creeping through the halls, keeping his eyes peeled. Every few moments, he’d catch a glimpse—a cloak flicking around a corner, or vanishing down the end of a far hall, and Alfred would chase. He ran after them each time, only for the figure to always be gone by the time he got there. 

               Dammit! he cursed. Where did he go? He was just here, he was just—!

               Alfred gasped as he slammed into someone. He stumbled back, instinctively reaching for the knife at his belt. “You—!”

               A large hand seized his wrist in a squeezing grip. Preventing him from reaching his knife, and from falling backward. The hand slowly pulled him upright, and as the figure leaned down, Alfred found himself faced with a pair of cold, violet eyes. 

               “Alfred,” Ivan said in mild surprise. “What are you doing?”

               Alfred was still catching his breath, whipping his head around like the figure might appear again. “There was—! Someone—on the roof—I saw them, I swear, they came down here—I followed them—they were in the halls but now they’re just gone—!”

               Ivan’s heavy gaze didn’t shift. “Calm yourself first. I can barely understand a word of your rambling. You say there was someone here?”

               “Yes! A— A stranger in a black cloak! They were running on the roof and I kept chasing them until here, but now they’re— they’re nowhere!”

               “Nowhere, hm?” Ivan raised a brow. “Perhaps it was a dream.”

               “It wasn’t a dream!” Alfred barked, stepping around him. “C’mon, I’ll show you!”

               He stormed back to the windowed hall, where the shattered window the cloaked figure had jumped through was, and motioned to it. “See—!”

               He froze. 

               It was...completely intact. Not a crack in sight.

               “What...?” Alfred muttered, stepping closer. “No. No. That’s not right, it was broken, I climbed through it !”

               He ran his hands over the glass, searching for even the smallest fracture, but nothing. Alfred’s mind reeled. How is it not broken? I’m sure it was! There was no other way I could’ve entered the building! If it really had been a figment of his imagination, then how was he standing in this hall right now?

               But the window in front of him...it was no hallucination. 

               Alfred stepped back, clutching his head in his hands. “No...I— This doesn’t make any damn sense—”

               Ivan gave a long, bored sigh. “It seems I’ve been overworking you. Come, I’ll personally see you to your quarters. All this paranoia...it is beginning to fray you,” he smirked.

               Alfred clenched his jaw and his fists. He didn’t want to be buddy-buddy with him, but he really did need to lie down…

               “...Fine.”

               And so, they walked together in heavy silence. Or at least, Alfred tried to. He knew Ivan was a useless conversation partner, and Alfred didn’t want to give the impression that he wanted to chat with him. But the quiet was too much for him. 

               With a sharp sigh, he spoke with a sidelong glare. “What are you doing here anyway? Thought I’d seen the last of you when you ignored me after the Bratva conference.”

               Ivan looked faintly amused by his jab. “I was checking the vault.”

               Alfred paused. The vault? So he had nothing to worry about after all. Ivan would have stopped the stranger if they tried to break in. Maybe that’s why the stranger vanished. Alfred relaxed a little, but still felt a tad suspicious. “Why?”

               “Rounds,” Ivan answered smoothly. “Making sure everything is accounted for.”

               Alfred let out a sardonic scoff before he could stop himself. “Right. ‘Course you were.”

               He regretted that instantly. Shit, shit, why did I say that? He shouldn't have asked. Now Ivan was going to zero in on him, think he's suspicious, or close off entirely. He can feel himself sweating as Ivan stares at him. 

               But, to Alfred's surprise, the prince chuckled.

               “You’re sharper than I give you credit for, little guard. Yes, the treasury has missing funds. But I suppose you already knew that, didn’t you?”

               Alfred hesitated. But what the hell, he was already in the thick of it. “I know that the coffers are empty. But I’ve helped process all your documents, and I know you’ve made no purchase over the past month. And you’ve received a huge flow of money from the Academy because of your little taxation plot,” Alfred spat, still petty about the whole thing. “For the treasury to be low on funds is impossible.”

               “It should be,” Ivan hummed. “But greed makes the impossible possible. I’m sure you’ve had your fair share of wanting money, yes?”

               “Of course I have,” Alfred snapped, “But I’ve never stolen. I earned my money, fair and square.”

               “So you agree that the treasury is being stolen from?”

               “There’s no other explanation. You yourself used the term missing. That implies the money is meant to be there—but it's not.”

               “Maybe your imaginary stranger is behind it.”

               “He is not imaginary!” Alfred defended indignantly. “I know what I saw!”

               Ivan chuckled, and Alfred’s anger tempered into a small huff. Gravity returned to his tone. “Is that where you’ve been the whole day then? The vault? You disappeared right after the meeting with the Bratva with no word whatsoever.”

               “My, my,” Ivan leered at him. “You seem rather worked up about that. Did you miss me that much?”

               “Oi—!”

               “But, to answer your question...” Ivan began. Alfred leaned forward in anticipation. 

               Ivan shot him a smirk. “It’s a secret.”

               “What?” Alfred yelped. He shook his fist at him. “Ugh, you—! You seem to be in a rather good mood for someone whose coins are being stolen from!”

               Ivan shrugged, still with that smug smile. “Not all of us express every single emotion so outwardly like you do.”

               Alfred huffed, grumbling a few choice words under his breath, when suddenly, Ivan started chuckling again. 

               “Why are you laughing out of nowhere?” Alfred shot him the exact expression one would give to a gum stuck on their shoe, “So weird.”

               “I just think it’s funny how you express every emotion on your face. It must be nice to be able to show your feelings so openly.”

               Alfred stared at him. He stared to the point that even Ivan became uncomfortable. “Er, what is it?” he asked, unnerved. No one had ever held eye contact with him for that long. How uncomfortable.

               “You looked sad,” Alfred told him, his eyes appearing bluer, brighter, in the dark corridor.

               Ivan stiffened. He turned away, raising a hand to hide his face. “Is that so? My apologies, I did not mean to.”

               “Well, apologizing about it is even weirder,” Alfred huffed, “You know, I’d rather you looked sad than with that frozen smile on your face. It makes you look human, and it makes me hate you less.”

               Ivan lowered his hand to smile faintly at him. “Where would the fun be in that?” 

               Alfred stared. He was about to respond, but Ivan spoke first. “We’ve arrived at your tower,” he announced, stopping at the entrance. “Sleep. We have an important event this week.”

               “Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Alfred grumbled, pushing open the door. As he was climbing the stairwell, he felt a weight swinging in his pocket. Huh? That's strange. I never use my pockets. Puzzled, he searched his uniform. His hand closed around a glass vial, and he frowned as he pulled it out. How did this get in here? 

               In the note attached to it, in neat handwriting Alfred was all too familiar with, it said: 

               For the burn on your arm.

               Alfred turned it over, reading the description. It's a vial that heals scars—albeit fairly new ones, when the tissue was still sensitive. Based on the expiration date, it was made fairly recently, only this year. 

               “What a weird guy...” he muttered under his breath.

Chapter Text

                As it had six years ago, the kingdom of silence burst into noise. 

                The day of the Eisvorod Trials was a quiet affair in the North, but their messengers—steampowered mech-birds—had reported festivals of pomp and splendor being hosted in the capital. Such a thing bewildered Alfred. Spadians were not ones to celebrate—holidays were few and far between for the folk, much to his dismay. Even the reopening of the exclusive Academy, a milestone in their history, had no glamorous parade. It had been a ceremony of duty, children sent to fulfill their education and serve the Kingdom. 

                That was what set the Eisvorod Trials apart. Even in the old tribes, the day of the Trials—coined as the Solstice, but such a term was lost to time—was one that many looked forward to. Tribes of all regions, all classes, put aside their differences to journey to the Kingdom's center and come together in the spirit of camaraderie. Even rival tribes would call unspoken truces so their children could play together. 

                He was no older than three the last time he attended. He vaguely recalled how huge they had once been; They were all anyone talked about. There’d be food stalls and betting pools and people scaling rooftops just to get a glimpse of the candidates. There were...crowds roaring, the cheers so loud it rattled his eardrums and set his little body trembling. He was sitting in someone’s lap, too small to understand the words shouted all around him. What he could understand was laughter—someone laughing above him. Large hands cupped his own, helping his little hands clap for whoever it was they were rooting for. 

                It was warm. It was happy. It was...

                “You’re tense.”

                Alfred blinked, looking away from the window at Ivan. They were sitting across each other in a carriage trundling through the Shiverwood, toward the city of Siber, the location of the coliseum. “What? No, I’m not.”

                “You are. You haven’t spoken in seven minutes and forty seconds. I thought the cold finally froze your lips shut,” Ivan smirked, turning his crown over in his hands idly, “I almost rejoiced for a second.”

                “Shut up. And move your feet,” Alfred kicked his legs in a frustrated huff. “You’re so huge, you’re taking up all the space.”

                Ivan didn’t move. It was indeed an awkward position, but he didn’t seem bothered by the awkward entanglement of their legs. “Why so silent then, hm? Don’t tell me you’re nervous.”

                “Why would I be nervous?” Alfred scoffed, slumping back. “All I have to do is stay at your side like a little guard dog.”

                Ivan hummed in feigned thoughtfulness. “So you were thinking, then.”

                “And if I were?”

                “Nothing. If anything, I’m proud. Doing things for the first time is quite difficult.”

                “Ugh!” Alfred threw his glove at him. Ivan avoided it with a tilt of his head. “Shut up already! It’s bad enough I’m stuck in this tiny box with you for six hours! Since you want to know so bad, I was thinking of the Trials. It used to be the biggest event in Spades before you freaks in the palace shut it down. My dad used to...”

                He blanked out. Whatever had been on the tip of his tongue vanished.

                Ivan leaned slightly forward. “Used to what?”

                Alfred didn’t answer.

                A few beats of silence passed—long enough to almost be peaceful, if either of them were different people. Alfred’s fingers absentmindedly traced the inside of his sleeve, then paused.

                “By the way,” he muttered, as if just remembering. “My scar’s all healed up now. It's like the burn was never there. So...uh...thanks.”

                Ivan said nothing. He just smiled blankly at him.

                Alfred narrowed his eyes. “...From that vial you gave me. You did give it to me, right?”

                Ivan tilted his head slightly. “Did I?”

                “You slipped it into my pocket, you freak!”

                “I do not recall.”

                Alfred’s ears burned red. “What the hell kind of power move are you trying to pull? Just admit you did something nice like a normal person!”

                “I did nothing,” Ivan said mildly. “You must have imagined it. Perhaps you were feverish.”

                “Ugh,” Alfred flopped back on the blue velvet in a frustrated heap, burning with embarrassment. “I take it back. I hope your boots give you blisters.”

                Ivan rolled his eyes. Alfred scowled in his seat. 

                This was seriously such a drag. The only saving grace of this trip was attending the event itself. This was their first time outside; ergo, his first job as an actual guard. But Ivan was really making it difficult to uphold his oath. Ugh, the prince didn’t even need any protection at all! Someone like him was rarely in the tendrils of true danger. No situation ever seemed to faze Ivan—a prince born from power, composure, and infuriating sarcasm, making Alfred’s job more annoying than perilous. 

                 Maybe abandoning him during an attack isn’t such a bad idea after all, Alfred thought darkly.

                “Hey, what the hell?” Alfred exclaimed when he opened the carriage door, a box of food in one arm. Ivan had ceded to Alfred’s request for food after the Omega’s persistent pestering, so they’d stopped at a tavern. Ivan’s enormous violet cloak was draped across the bench opposite him, leaving the seat beside Ivan the only one available. “Where am I going to sit now?”

                “Next to me, of course,” Ivan quirked an eyebrow as if it was obvious. “The cloak was heavy, so I wanted to relieve my shoulders.”

                “Then just put it on your lap!” 

                “It is far too big. Come now, sitting next to me is not that bad, is it?” he smirked, patting the cushioned seat next to him. Alfred glared at him before stomping up into the carriage and slamming the door behind him. He plopped himself onto the seat indignantly.

                “I’m only sitting here because of the cloak,” he clarified sharply.

                “Of course. What did you get?” he nodded at the box.

                Alfred instantly grinned. “A beef bun!” he eagerly opened the box and pulled out what looked like two bread buns sandwiching beef and melted cheese—that looked alarmingly yellow to Ivan—in the center. It was squished inside, the condiments practically oozing out. 

                Ivan wrinkled his nose. “You eat that?” 

                “Don’t knock it till you try it,” Alfred grinned, “Besides, I don’t get to eat beef buns in the palace cause they’re considered commoner food, so this is a rare treat,” he said, happily peeling away the wrapper. It was drenched in grease, making Ivan grimace more. 

                Alfred turned to him. “Do you really not want any food? We’ve been on the road for hours, and Siber's still quite far away.”

                Ivan waved him off. “I am not hungry.”

                Alfred shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

                The carriage ride fell into silence after that. The only noise was from Alfred, who was happily munching. He ripped off big bites but chewed them for a while to savor the taste. Ah, it’s really been way too long since he last had this. Occasionally, he’d glance at Ivan, who was sitting beside him silently. Alfred watched him.

                If he recalled, this was Ivan’s second time outside the palace in years. Possibly since his birth. And yet, Ivan didn’t look outside the window even once. His focus was on his parchments, reading through them for what felt like the hundredth time. Alfred’s face pulled into a frown. Why work so hard to prevent another lockdown if he won’t even enjoy the outside world? 

                He studied Ivan’s face. His focus, his seriousness. Then looked away.

                 Whatever, he thought to himself. He wouldn’t answer me anyway.

                He slumped in his seat. With the carriage lightly jostling, the warmth from the bleak sun, and his full stomach, he closed his eyes as he let the carriage sway him to slumber.

2 HOURS LATER

                Ivan clenched his jaw, trying to smooth out the creases his strong grip made on the parchment. He’d been trying and failing to read for the past hour. The paper was trembling too much to be legible. Calm yourself. Any thinking would be useless without a clear head. I— I need to—

                He jumped in his seat when he felt something suddenly drop on his shoulder. Stiffly, he turned his head, only for a mop of feathery gold to block his view.

                Ivan sat rigid, feeling rather uncomfortable. What was Alfred trying to pull? Was this some sort of trick? Ivan would kill him. He angled his chin, trying to glimpse his face, but the occasional twitch of golden lashes told him Alfred truly was asleep. No good. He tried wiggling his shoulder, but the Omega slept like a rock. So in the end, Ivan just stared.

                When he wasn’t being loud and argumentative and jumping to conclusions, he was actually...quite lovely to look at. The weight of the Omega’s body against his was relaxing, as was his scent. He smelled like a windswept honeysuckle and caramel apples. Ivan wondered if that was what the South smelled like. His hair was nice as well; a beautiful sunshine color that shone like feathery gold under sunlight. His round cheeks were still flushed from the cold outside, and when he breathed in his sleep, it was a peaceful sound, his red lips parting ever so slightly.

                He stared intently. His gaze drifted over the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his arms lay limp over his legs, his shoulders drooped, and his legs stretched out as much as they could in the carriage. Most of all—most important—his body was warm. Just with his head on his shoulder, he could already feel the other’s natural warmth.

                How could he be so relaxed? Smiling, eating without a care in the world. And now he was asleep, completely at ease. The fool never seemed to worry about anything. Did he not remember that this was his first royal event? Alfred could hardly act appropriately in the palace as it was. They needed to make a good impression. Along with ensuring his own competence, he also had to ensure that Alfred didn’t mess up either. Stars forbid Alfred offer a fist-bump to some poor noble. Royalty must not make a single mistake. The way they smiled and the way they talked, the tone of their voices and the pace of their walk, it all had to be perfect. He was taught this ever since he was young. That’s why he couldn’t understand how Alfred could be so peaceful right now. 

                His gaze lingered on his companion’s sleeping form a while longer. With Alfred’s sleeve rolled up, Ivan could see that his arm was unmarred. The burn scar had truly vanished. His shoulders softened. Sighing, he turned to look out the window. 

                 Well...I suppose there’s no harm in a little rest.

                He let Alfred sleep until he caught sight of the city’s skyline gleaming on the horizon. He jerked his shoulder. “Wake up now.” 

                Alfred frowned as his eyes fluttered open, groggy. “Oh...whoa,” he moved away, pressing himself against the carriage door.

                “Had a nice dream?” Ivan smirked, “I assume my shoulder was comfortable since you were sound asleep for three hours.”

                “Actually, I had a terrible dream.”

                “Oh?” 

                “Yep!” he began to tap his chin in feigned thoughtfulness. “I think there was a huge nose involved,” he shot him a sidelong smirk.

                Ivan socked him in the arm, hard, with a menacing smile. “Ah, Alfred, you are such a rude beast. I should not have been so kind.” 

                Alfred grunted from the punch, not wanting to show that it hurt. The coachman tapped the window above the seat across them, obscured by a blue curtain. “Your Highness, we are nearing the city now.”

                “Yes, thank you.” 

                Alfred gasped and slammed his face against the cold glass. His spectacles dug into his nose as he strained to take in the full view.

                The carriage was now trundling through the busy streets of Siber, its steam-powered wheels carrying them past buildings of polished stone and gleaming, their spires brushing the clouds. It stole the very breath from Alfred’s lungs. The area was powdered with thick snow, but it didn't seem to deter the bustling activity. Alfred gawked at the infinite rows of shops with little trinkets buzzing in their window displays; restaurants where people entered skinny and left plump; and tapestries hanging high above, proudly emblazoned with the golden insignia of Spades. Looming over them was a complex network of elevated roads, all carefully curated to ease the flow of traffic, and floating islands gliding peacefully above the skyline.

                Everything moved faster here. It was a completely different world from the slow grasslands of Krasny.

                His fascination must have been plain, for Ivan’s voice broke the silence.

                “Never been to a city, Alfred?” Ivan smirked derisively.

                “There are no cities in the South,” Alfred responded, his face still smushed against the glass. “There's the town, sure, but I rarely go there.”

                “Oh? And why is that?”

                Alfred’s reply was immediate. “Too busy.”

                It was a simple answer, devoid of any remarkable details. Ivan eyed him, trying to detect anything further in his squished features. But he found none, so he shifted his gaze to the window as well.

                A loud horn blared in the distance, heralding the start of their procession. With a flick of the coachman's reins, the brass-and-gear horses surged forward, propelling the carriage into the city square. As they emerged, a deafening din of applause erupted from the assembled crowd, their thunderous applause making the windows rattle.

                It made Alfred laugh. “Wow, listen to that. Your adoring fans await.”

                Ivan’s reply was dry. “I suppose.”

                “What, you’re not happy that they’re clapping for you? If it were me, I’d be eating it up.”

                “That’s because you are easy.”

                “Hey!” Alfred fired up, offended. “The hell do you mean, easy? I’m picky about the sort of attention I receive, too!”

                “And what is this attention you speak of? Let me guess,” he smirked, “Is it during a weight-loss seminar?”

                “No! I—”

                Ivan raised a hand to cut him off. “Enough of that. We are approaching the crowd, and we mustn’t be seen bickering."

                Alfred huffed, slumping back in his seat. He turned to the window. The crowd stretched for miles, a sea of cheering, buzzing faces. He felt equal parts nauseous and giddy. He knew he wasn't the one they were waiting for. But the thought of walking down that carpet when he'd only ever been one of the spectators thrilled him. He could feel his knee start to bounce from giddiness. He had to remind himself he wasn't the centerpiece of this event. If he were, the crowd would be way bigger! 

                The carriage rolled down the path kept clear for them by the Mekavik, going on for quite a bit until, without warning, they lurched to a stop. Puzzled, Alfred glanced around. Did the road come to an end? But where's the—

                The carriage jerked. Alfred yelped as he felt the whirring of wheels churning beneath them. Gears clanked and hissed steam, and suddenly the crowd was falling away—downwards.

                Alfred clutched the seat, alarmed. “Are we going up?”

                Ivan didn’t answer—his gaze was fixed on the sky. Alfred followed his gaze to see the floating islands topped with buildings, parks, and even towns on the particularly large ones. He slid open the glass and poked his head out. They were on an ornate platform that hummed lowly as it lifted them upwards. From afar, the platform seemed to be moving slowly, but actually being aboard was a different story. The wind was rushing past Alfred so strongly it was a struggle to keep his neck upright. But he did, if only to gape at the stunning view they were rocketing towards. 

                There, on the biggest floating island in the Kingdom, was a coliseum. The Coliseum. Circular, carved out of ancient stone, its rim touching the clouds. To see it in person again gave him deja vu.

                “Wow...” he whispered to the wind.

                Steam hissed from the joints as the platform continued to climb, gears turning faster the higher they ascended. The crowd's applause had long since faded away until, at last, the carriage pulled onto the stone path, where even more crowds awaited them, gathered on the grass surrounding the Coliseum.

                A pair of Mekavik stood waiting, bowing as the carriage doors creaked open.

                The crowd hushed, watching with bated breath. They were eager, not just for the prince, but it had been gossiped among the nobles that His Highness would be accompanied by his new guard today. Gossip is as far as it went—speculations were unbecoming of high society, so there was no expected image of what the new knight was like. There was, however, a consensus. Knights of the kingdom's fearsome army were often burly Alphas, scar-riddled warriors, soldiers packed with power in every muscle—certainly not a young Omega with windswept locks and a cheery smile when thanking the coachman with a handshake (how informal!). Puzzled looks were exchanged, ludicrous, questioning whispers of his identity buzzing from tongue to tongue.

                Meanwhile, Alfred was on edge. The moment his foot touched the stone, he felt it. That unmistakable spike of dread. Was someone here? He glanced around, but it was difficult to see beyond the crowd. He’ll just have to keep his guard up...

                Alfred shook off the discomfort to focus. He opened the carriage door with one hand, but refused to bow his head as Ivan stepped out, his violet cloak re-draped over his shoulders. Ivan raised a brow at him. Alfred remained inscrutable. Seemingly amused, Ivan snorted into his scarf and let the door shut behind him. 

                Ivan led the procession down the carpet, as customary. Alfred walked behind him, trying not to feel like a glorified guard dog. It was easy to feel like a side character among the murmurs, the gasps and praises thrown about by the crowd, all directed at Ivan. How perfect his stride is, how formidable he grew, how big and strong and capable their prince has returned as.

                “His Highness grew up so well,” one of the crowd-goers whispered with intrigue.

                “He is almost of age, is he not?”

                “A handsome heir...surely he shall start looking for a bride by the coming year.”

                Alfred struggled to keep his eyes from rolling, his expression twitching. So handsome, he mocked. What a load of bullshit. He could list a dozen things wrong with Ivan’s face. Arrogant. Pale. Constantly scowling. His title is the only thing noteworthy about him. 

                He turned his attention to Ivan, ready to rip apart his physical appearance with every imaginable insult, when he noticed a trembling under the back of his coat. He squinted. What’s going on under there? He hadn’t seen trembling like that since...

                 “I don’t want to go,” Mattie had sniffled once, little hands rubbing his eyes.

                 “Hey, now,” he clumsily wagged a finger at his brother, “How do you know it’ll be bad if you won’t try? You love hockey!” 

                 “I don’t wanna!”

                “Oh, come on! Listen, Mattie. When you get nervous, just put your hands behind your back, like this! Then no one will know they’re shaking.”

                Alfred eyed the tremble under the coat, then at Ivan as a whole. No matter how many compliments were tossed about, what Alfred saw was not a prince. More like...a child. A lost, lumbering child just trying to make it down the path. 

                Alfred lengthened his strides, subtly falling in pace with him. “Your Highness,” he held up his hand, “We’re approaching the steps of the entrance.”

                At first, it seemed like Ivan didn't hear him. Then he blinked slowly, as if coming out of a daze. His gaze slid slowly to Alfred, to his hand, then back to the entrance. It was still quite some distance away. He eyed Alfred’s hand again. Questions, debates, and suspicions all seemed to flash in those cold eyes in a matter of seconds. 

                Ivan scoffed quietly as he took it, his large hand swallowing Alfred’s completely. The moment their palms touched, the tremor stopped. “Don’t tell me you’re worried for me.”

                Alfred kept his gaze forward. “I’m just doing my job.”

                He squeezed Ivan's hand—hard, as if to prove his point. Ivan squeezed back just as hard. Alfred yelped, shooting him a glare. Ivan chuckled. 

                At their entrance, the drumrolls thundered through the coliseum like war cries.

                Horns sounded, banners fluttered, and Alfred looked on in awe. The arena was huge—even bigger than he remembered, if that was possible. The Trials were a faint memory, but from what little he could recall of his toddler days, the energy was just as overwhelming even after all these years. The way the crowds were shouting the ancient chants, banging fists against their chests in salute. Alfred could feel his heartbeat in his throat, giddy.

                They were in the royal box overlooking the arena, the balustrade trimmed in froststone beneath the crest of House Braginsky. Sweeping his gaze across the arena, he could spot the other boxes where the contestants were supposed to be, but they were empty. Huh. Maybe they were still preparing?

                A herald stood near the edge of the balcony, draped in ceremonial navy and silver. At the nod of an attendant, the man raised his voice with theatrical clarity:

                “Now presenting, His Royal Highness— Prince Ivan Braginsky, the Last of his name, the First Son of the North, and the Crown Heir of the Kingdom of Spades!”

                A fresh surge of noise exploded from the crowd. Ivan rose to his feet. The crowd fell silent.

                Alfred was standing beside him—three paces behind, always—when a holographic screen suddenly popped right next to him, making him jump. He gaped as more began to follow, materializing one by one throughout the arena. Dozens, hundreds, then thousands—all across the kingdom, in every nook and cranny, broadcasting this moment from above the streets, the sides of buildings, even in the palms of citizens holding brass-panelled slates. 

                On every screen, Ivan’s face smiled back.

                “People of Spades,” he began, his tone echoing from every screen. “Today marks the grand return of the sacred Trials to our beloved Kingdom. To celebrate not just the reawakening of society, but to commence a new era.” Applause followed until Ivan held up a silencing hand. The tremble in it was no longer. “Even in the era of the Old World, the Trials have always united our people—”

                Alfred tried not to yawn. After hearing this speech over and over in the carriage, the words didn't sound like words anymore.

                Instead, he decided to watch Ivan. To the bastard's credit, despite being nervous just moments earlier, he certainly didn't look it. His speech flowed seamlessly, fanciful phrases falling from his lips with perfect pace and emphasis. That soft, pleasant smile—so unlike the snarling brute Alfred had once nearly killed—was convincing even to him. There wasn't a flaw in Ivan's presentation of himself, and what really struck Alfred was that it wasn't talent, it was work.

               He recalled the nights Ivan had rewritten the speech again and again, cursing under his breath at the slightest flaw, restarting over and over until he got it right. How he’d crumple every draft in disgust, eyes red with exhaustion. Alfred was beyond annoyed because if Ivan stayed up, he had to stay up too. But sometimes, he'd look up from his work and see that Ivan was hanging on the same thread he was. Even with his vision swimming and his fingers trembling, he kept going and going, like someone afraid to stop. It puzzled Alfred why he was so obsessed with perfection.

                But after spending almost a month together, he could make an educated guess. The surname he carried, the crest etched on his cloak, was synonymous with madness, tragedy, corruption, failure. To be acceptable meant working twice as hard. To not be considered dangerous meant not making a single mistake. Otherwise, they'd wipe your existence off the records like you never existed.

                That's why, despite his struggles, Alfred never pinned any blame on the Braginskys. He couldn't.

                “However,” Ivan paused. The crowd tensed, exchanging looks. "There have been changes made to the traditional procedure of the Trials."

                Alfred’s back straightened. What? Murmurs exploded from the stands. Some shocked. Others scandalized. The Trials were sacred—unchanged since the Old World. What did he mean?

               "This, after all, is the return of your monarchy," Ivan’s smile took a wicked tilt. "And we would not wish to bore you."

               With a snap of his fingers, the scream of metal split the air. The spectators cried, covering their ears. The mechanical owls snapped their heads away from Ivan. Their lenses for eyes zoomed, and they took to the skies to stream what was unfolding from above.

               The city was moving.

               Buildings groaned as they crawled out of the ground of their own accord. Streets flowed like rivers, slithering up into the air. Structures warped, bent, and twisted as they flew up, up, up— as if drawn to a magnet connecting them all. Everything crashed together midair, fusing into a single, monstrous mass—a maze of homes, towers, rooftops, and roads forming a labyrinthine sphere among the clouds.

               The crowd gasped. Even Alfred was speechless.

               "You will participate in a race," Ivan's voice boomed from every screen. People in their homes, in the buildings, even inside the shops, peered out their windows to watch the spectacle happening in the sky. "The Coliseum is the goal. Out of ninety-six guilds, the first eight to reach it will clear the pre-liminary round and qualify for the Trials. You're free to do whatever you please to win. There are no limitations," Ivan continued. A little too happily, Alfred might add, especially for the words that followed. "With that said, we are not responsible for any loss of life that happens within the labyrinth."

               Shocked cries rippled through the spectators, alarmed by the new rules. Some recoiled. Others leaned forward with gleaming eyes. Whispers everywhere were the same. How dangerous, how reckless, how scandalous—whether they meant the Trials or the prince was anyone’s guess. And still Ivan stood there, smiling like someone who’d never trembled in his life.

               "Let the preliminary round for the new Trials begin!"

Chapter Text

               Ivan blinked slowly, his blurry vision registering the bleak light outside his window, indicating it was morning. With a grunt, he rose from under his pile of blankets. Then, he caught sight of something unusual.

                Alfred was sitting on a chair beside his bed, his arms crossed and head down. He was lightly snoring—asleep, Ivan realized. He stared at him. Watching.

                He didn't know how much time had passed when Alfred suddenly stirred. With a quiet groan, he awoke, his eyes blinking blearily as they met Ivan's gaze. "Ah, you're awake." 

                Ivan looked away silently.

                Alfred yawned, rubbing his eyes, “How are you? Feeling any better?”

                Ivan turned to him again, his brows furrowing.

                “You drank enough vodka to make a grown man pass out,” Alfred answered his silent question, “Your temperature suddenly spiked, so I wiped you with a cold towel and dressed you in proper pajamas. I don’t know how to nurse fevers or anything, but I think I did okay. Is your temperature still high—” he reached out to feel his forehead, but Ivan slapped it away.

                Alfred raised a brow at him. “What? Is this about last night? Look, people do weird shit when they’re drunk. It’s not a big deal. It’s not like I’m going to tell anyone.”

                Ivan’s expression was still cold, but with a hint of confusion. “I have no idea what you are talking about.”

                Now it was Alfred’s turn to be confused. “Huh? Wait, do you not remember anything?”

                “Is it even possible for people to fall sick after drinking alcohol?” Alfred asked as Yao was checking Ivan’s temperature. The prince was sitting against his headboard, silently letting Yao examine him. He had protested with a cold glare at first, but Yao had ignored him.

                “It confuses me as well. It's normal for someone's temperature to spike when they are inebriated, but such an extreme reaction is unusual. I assume it's just His Highness's body working in strange ways. Meiguo informed me he was in your company last evening,” he addressed the Prince, “How much do you remember?”

                Ivan’s expression was cold as he turned to them. “Nothing,” he answered.

                Nothing, huh? Alfred repeated internally, So he gets to forget all the uncomfortable details. How convenient.

                “I see...” Yao then turned to Alfred. “Might I have a moment alone with you?”

                Ivan stared after them as they left the room, feeling bitter. He felt like he was in the dark about something, something that only the other two knew, and he didn’t like it.

                Ivan was at least aware that he had gotten drunk last night, which was why he was being quieter and colder than usual. He felt ashamed to face them, especially Alfred, because who knows what he had said or done to him the other night. Alfred even said that he wasn't going to tell anyone—but not tell anyone what, exactly? The blonde had even looked miffed when he said he remembered nothing. What had they done last night for him to react that way? Oh, this was so annoying. He never should’ve drunk that vodka, now he had no idea what he had done yesterday, and the mystery was eating him alive. If he were as unreasonable as Alfred, he would think the blonde had given it to him on purpose to incapacitate him, possibly for blackmail reasons.

                But last night, he had looked truly honest. Ivan had watched him from the corner of his eye throughout their little snack time together, trying to detect deceit or malicious intent behind those silver-rimmed glasses, but had found none. Alfred was genuinely being nice to him, but why so suddenly? In their last interaction, he called Ivan an asshole, and they got into an argument before he ran off. Then when he saw him again, Alfred was being friendly?

                Was it perhaps an apology for his behavior? But Alfred was such a proud and immature creature, surely he was not the kind of person to think over his past actions, much less consider himself in the wrong after doing so. Even Ivan didn’t do it, and he was less prideful than Alfred was.

                Then, why was Alfred being so nice to him?

                It wasn’t his friendliness that Ivan disliked. He would actually enjoy it if it wasn’t so sudden. But Alfred's personality seemed to have taken a complete one-eighty in only a few hours, and it eluded him.

                If Alfred was going to be nice to him this way, then Ivan didn't want it.

                “Meiguo, did anything untoward occur between you and His Highness last night?” Yao asked seriously. The two of them were standing outside Ivan's door.

                “What?" Alfred yelled nervously, his cheeks flushing, "N-Nothing happened— Why would you think something happened!?" 

                Yao stared at him, bewildered. "Because you were in each other's company last night, and now he is suddenly sick," he explained slowly. "What else did you think I meant?"

                Alfred cleared his throat anxiously. "Nothing! Anyway, um, what was the question again?"

                The smaller sighed and repeated: "Did something occur between you and His Highness last night?" 

                Alfred replayed the events of last night and remembered what had happened on the Prince’s bed. “Um...” Embarrassed to say it in full detail, he decided to be vague. “Well, I think he was hallucinating and mistook me for someone else. I think he was also having a nightmare, and he started hyperventilating in his sleep after saying the word Sestra over and over.”

                Yao nodded thoughtfully. “I see," then, he sighed, “I hope you can be understanding with him, Meiguo. As you can probably tell, he is not exactly normal. His upbringing has been marred by all sorts of experiences, and the years of isolation have only aggravated his condition.”

                Alfred was quick to follow up. “What kind of things did he experience?”

                “I don’t know,” Yao answered. Alfred sagged. “Everything I know is from Winter, as I wasn't working here yet when it happened. Winter said that when the Sire was young, he'd have hallucinations quite often, but after his father disappeared into his chamber, he gradually stopped. I suppose those hallucinations served as a coping mechanism during that time, so afterward, he didn’t really need it. I was present for a few of them, and they were terrible. It broke my heart every time we had to tell him that it wasn't real," Yao's face twisted remorsefully. "Thankfully, he hasn’t hallucinated for years; doing so again can only mean that he’s encountered someone that provoked it.”

                Alfred blinked. “Who?”

                Yao shot him a dirty look.

                “Ohhh,” Alfred drawled, “Me?”

                “Of course, you,” Yao snapped, “Though I don't know how you provoked it, I must ask you to prevent any further distress to His Highness. With his coronation drawing near, we cannot afford to have his mental state deteriorate further.”

                “But how am I supposed to avoid doing that if I don’t even know how I did it?”

                “Well, you can start by not giving him vodka anymore.”

                “Oh,” Alfred chuckled sheepishly, “Right.”

                “Anyway," Yao continued, unfolding his sleeves that had been previously rolled up for Ivan's examination, "The Prince has a very strong immune system, so don't worry. His illnesses typically resolve themselves within twenty-four hours. In the meantime, take care of him. Oh, don't give me that," he scolded when Alfred wrinkled his nose. “It’s your fault he’s even like this in the first place. You shouldn’t have given him vodka.”

                “It was a peace offering! I was trying to be friendly!” Alfred defended. Yao rolled his eyes and walked away, “Regardless, inform me immediately if his condition worsens. Oh, and," he glanced back over his shoulder, “make sure to keep a bucket nearby.”

                Now, Alfred was alone. He looked back at the pair of imposing doors, then sighed deeply. “This was definitely not in my plan.”

                Alfred powered through the documents with quick-paced diligence. Yao had dropped off two tall stacks of it earlier, and he was already halfway through the second in only an hour—mainly because his turbulent thoughts were fueling his energy.

                So, to recap, the King is planning a war against the Hearts Kingdom and is presumably pocketing large sums of money and resources from the Palace. Money makes sense, but resources? What could he need those for? To make something, maybe? Military weapons could be an option—that’s ridiculous, though. Almost all of the funds already go to the army. Maybe he’s making his own army of Gardemeks, but why bother when the current Gardemeks are literally robots? Their systems can likely be overridden. Anyway, while this is critical information, it’s still pretty much useless without any concrete evidence. As Toris said, it’s just speculation. Damn, so what am I going to do? Sure, I have a possible lead on what he could be planning, but that’s not the main objective of my job. My job is to kill him, but how am I supposed to do that if I can't even get past the lasers? I didn’t get very far with the information I got from Toris too; all it told me was that the King was insane from a bad childhood. I’m no closer to finding anything out than when I first got here! Oh well, at least Toris motivated me to actually befriend Ivan. It would’ve been much harder to start if he had never told me that messed-up story.

                Speaking of, that hallucination thing is wack. I know from Toris that he experienced terrible things, but to hallucinate because of it? That’s...messed up. In a sad way. And who's Sunflower? It’s a nickname, presumably. I doubt anyone actually has that kind of name. Who were they? What were they to him?

                The sound of ruffling sheets caught his attention, and he peered from behind the stack of papers to look at the bed. Ivan was trying to sit up, clutching his stomach.

                Alfred jumped from his seat. “What are you doing?”

                “Bathroom. Vomit,” he croaked, standing up.

                “You shouldn’t be moving around. Stay here,” Alfred pushed him back on the bed, “I’ll get a bucket.” He rushed into the toilet.

                “I can do it myself—” a violent series of coughs interrupted. Alfred quickly shoved a bucket underneath him just in time before the coughing turned into throwing up.

                He kept Ivan’s bangs out of his face with one hand while the other hand held the bucket. After a moment, the vomiting stopped. Alfred leaned over to peer at his face, “Are you okay now?”

                Ivan’s eyes moved to look at him, dazed. Then, seemingly returning to his senses, he slapped Alfred’s hand away, straightening up to tuck himself back into bed as if nothing had happened. Alfred frowned but didn’t take it to heart. Their faces had been too close for his liking as well. Instead, he got up. “I’ll get you some water. Don’t move.”

                After a while, he returned with a pitcher and a glass. Ivan was back under his covers, struggling to keep his eyes open. He filled the glass with water and nudged Ivan as a silent way to tell him to get up. Ivan, with some difficulty due to his heavy weight, sat up. Alfred helped him gulp down the water. He had to refill three times before the Prince collapsed against the soft pillows, falling asleep instantly.

                Alfred stared.

                He had been too busy hating him to actually let his brain register Ivan’s appearance, but right now, where he was peaceful and serene, in a dream-world where no problems plagued him, he looked almost innocent. Like this, he looked human. Like the child that he really was. As he watched him, Alfred almost forgot that he was the most powerful figure in the Kingdom. He wondered which Ivan was the true one—the robotic, perfectionist heir, or this peaceful and childlike sleeper. 

                 Alfred decided not to dwell on it, and soon returned to his desk.

                A fierce snowstorm was blowing outside, causing ominous whistling to echo throughout the palace. The halls looked bigger than usual, the tables and doors towering over him and the chandeliers casting ominous shadows that taunted him with every flicker of the candlelight. A small child was fidgeting with his hands nervously as he crept down the corridor.

                He knocked on the wooden door timidly. "Sestra?” he called out. He reached up to clasp the knob, opening the door with a creak. A young Omega, a little older than the child, was rising from her sheets. She reached over to turn on the dim lamp on her bedside table, illuminating the dark room in a warm glow. “Vanya? What’s wrong?”

                Ivan stepped inside, closing the door behind him. “I am scared,” he whispered fearfully.

                The Omega was instantly moved by his soft voice. “Oh, come here,” she implored soothingly. At her approval, Ivan quickly scurried to her bed. He climbed onto the warm mattress and underneath the thick blankets, settling himself right next to his sister. In turn, she wrapped her arms around him and rested her cheek on his head, one hand patting him comfortingly. “Scared of the snowstorm, Vanya?”

                Ivan nodded meekly.

                “My, how will you be King this way?” she teased gently, “Kings must never be afraid of anything—they are the protectors of those who are scared.”

                Ivan pursed his lips and replied, “I do not want to be King.”

                The Omega was surprised, “Why not?”

                “I do not want to be like Father,” he said.

                “But not all Kings are bad, Vanya. When you grow up, you can be a good King—a just and fearless King who protects and nurtures the people. But for now,” she brushed his bangs away from his forehead, moving her hand down to cup his cheek, “You are still a little child. Until your time comes, Sestra will be the one to protect you.”

                She reached behind her and wrapped a thick white scarf around his neck. “To keep you warm from the winter storms and to protect you in the dream-world,” she smiled. Resting her cheek on his head again, she began to sing a gentle lullaby. A beautiful melody that seemed to drown out the howling winds outside the window, filling the room and soothing Ivan to sleep. He could feel his eyelids begin to droop. Warmth radiated off the dim lamp and blossomed in his chest, spreading throughout the rest of his body and relaxing him.

                As sleep began to take him, his last memory was her gentle song.

               The bedroom door clicked open, a sound that seemed loud in the large, quiet room. Alfred stepped in, holding a steaming mug. “Your Highness,” he greeted, announcing his presence. The prince was still sitting in the same position as earlier, exactly how Alfred had left him when he left to return the empty dishes. His face was turned away, hidden from view, as he stared out the window.

                “Brought you some tea,” Alfred placed it on the bedside table with a soft thud. “Figured you might need it. Yao said it had healing properties and whatnot, so help yourself. He’s worried about you, you know.”

                Alfred fidgeted where he stood, wondering if Ivan was going to react, or at least pick up the mug. When the prince did neither, Alfred awkwardly cleared his throat. “Um, anyway, if you need anything, just call me—” he turned to leave, but stopped in his tracks when he noticed something odd.

                Ivan was crying.

                Tears were streaming down his pale cheeks and dropping onto his silken shirt, looking out of place on his utterly dead expression. His dark, tired eyes, so grim and lifeless, somehow conveyed a tremendous amount of grief.

                Alfred's eyes widened in surprise. “Whoa, hey. Are you— Are you crying?” 

                Ivan didn't respond. He didn't seem to register anything around him at all, not even the view outside the window he was staring out of. Unsure of what to do, Alfred hesitantly approached to sit on the edge of the bed. He continued to just sit there, watching the prince, sharing the moment of silence. 

                He didn't know what urged him to do so, but his hand was suddenly moving. It reached out to touch, but Ivan turned his head away, away from the window and away from the hand, his eyes closed in a defiant frown.

                “Come on,” Alfred murmured. Slowly, in case Ivan would move away again, he stretched his arm more until the back of his warm hand touched the Prince's pale cheek, wiping the tears with an uncharacteristic tenderness. Though Ivan's frowning gaze was still downcast, he stayed still, allowing Alfred's touch.

                Alfred pulled back, feeling a bit awkward as he got to his feet. "Um, get some rest, okay?" He glanced back with one last, uncertain look before hurriedly leaving the room. And this time, Ivan's eyes followed him.

                “Hey, Your Highness,” Alfred greeted as he reentered the chamber, adjusting his winter cloak. It was a deeper blue color than his uniform, lined with fluffy fur to protect him from the cold. "Just came to check on you again."

                He sat down at his usual chair next to the bed and began to routinely check his condition: the rate of his beating heart, his temperature, and his complexion, which was starting to not look sickly anymore. What happened earlier seemed to have had a calming effect on Ivan. He allowed Alfred to tend to him with quiet obedience, no glares or grunts. It was an advantage for Alfred, but he still felt a little uncomfortable. Not because of Ivan himself, per se, but even merely remembering the tears discomfited him. Alfred could tell he was fidgeting more frequently, trying to avoid eye contact with Ivan as much as possible. He was glad the prince wasn't making a fuss—otherwise, there really wouldn't be a way around it. Still, work was work, so he had to carry out his duty. 

                “Bear with me for a second, I need to take your temperature. Give me your wrist,” he held out his hand. Quietly, the prince obeyed. Alfred cocked a brow at the number it displayed.

                “Eh? Forty-one degrees Celsius? We use Fahrenheit in Krasny, I don’t know what this means.” He looked up, their faces close due to how near his chair was, “Your Highness, do you feel hot or cold by any—”

                Abruptly, Ivan turned his head away.

                Alfred blinked. “Um, well...okay then,” he said after an awkward moment. He began to put away the thermometer as Ivan turned to look at him again, studying his figure with suspicion.

                "Are you going somewhere?"

                "Yeah."

                "Where?"

                "Is that any of your concern?"

                Ivan glared, though it looked more of a pout now. Alfred snorted, amused. “Gardemek duty," he finally answered as he got to his feet, "I have to switch the sentinels outside with the ones inside the Palace, plus clean the snow off of them. It might take a while, so I won’t be able to check up on you.”

                He turned to Ivan again, wagging a stern finger, “But that’s no excuse for you to be moving around, got it? You’re still recovering. So while I’m gone, no walking and definitely no doing work. The only movement you should be doing is sitting up to drink water.”

                “But I will be bored.”

                “Can’t you just take a nap?”

                “I have been sleeping the entire day. I do not feel tired anymore.”

                Alfred sighed. “Fine, I’ll get Raivis to send your books up here. Just give me a list.” Ivan reached for the notepad atop his drawer, but Alfred snatched it before he could. “I’ll write.”

                Ivan frowned. “I am sick, not debilitated.”

                “No, but I rather enjoy being the one in control for once,” Alfred smirked. “I actually get to tell you what to do. You should be sick all the time,” he laughed as he picked up a pen. “Now, list away.”

                Ivan was glaring, but complied nonetheless. Alfred tore the sheet from the notepad and tucked it into his pocket, “Alright, I’ll talk to Raivis on my way out.”

FEW HOURS LATER

                Alfred was sitting in the nook under the wooden platform in the library, rifling through another set of royal records. “The Princes of Spades are known to be righteous and caring by nature,” he read aloud. He smacked the book with the back of his hand in incredulity,  "What kind of moron wrote this book?”

                The steady thud of heavy steps reached his ears, and he looked up to see Ivan approaching him, still in his pajamas. He was allowed to walk now. “Oh, Your Highness,” he perked up, “How’re you feeling?”

                Ivan said nothing and just sat down on the armchair across from him. Alfred raised a curious brow at his silence. Ivan’s mood swings were seriously going to be the death of him.

                “You will not get any information out of those books,” he spoke suddenly.

                Alfred blinked. “Huh? Oh, yeah. I’ve been trying to find some books on the royal family, but so far, it’s been a load of crap, and finding information about the Spadian princes is like looking for a needle in a haystack. Plus, the oldest records are in Russian, so I can’t understand a word. Of course, you’re the foremost authority on that topic,” he grinned at Ivan, “but I doubt you’ll tell me anything.”

                “That is because there is nothing to tell. Mental issues are hereditary in the Braginsky family. To avoid scandals, every unfortunate incident to ever be recorded has been removed. And now, there is nothing more to be found about our family other than our names.”

                Alfred recalled the library and how the pages about the royal family had been ripped out, leaving only their dates of death and titles. Most peculiar yet, was that records of the current generation—Ivan’s immediate family—were completely destroyed, leaving no information at all, not even their names. Alfred pursed his lips as he stared down at the tattered family tree on the pages, withered and yellowing. He wondered about the lives behind these names. What had they achieved? How had they lived? It saddened him that they were reduced to nothing more than crazy people, as if they weren't humans with thoughts and feelings. 

                “So you will hardly find anything about the previous Princes, even I myself do not remember.”

                “I’m not trying to find information about them. It’s you I’m trying to find out about.”

                Ivan finally glanced at him. Strangely, he didn't look surprised. He even looked cold—detached, even. “Me?”

                “Yep. You’re my charge, after all. Naturally, shouldn’t I know about you more to be able to do my job more efficiently?”

                “There is nothing to know.”

                “Nothing to know? You have a life, don't you? Favorite color or food? Hobbies? Family?”

                Something flashed in Ivan's eyes when he suddenly gripped the armrest with frightening force, cracking the wood. The effort it took to do this immediately doubled Ivan over in a coughing fit.

                 Alfred jumped to his feet. “Your Highness?” he exclaimed in alarm, “What’s wrong? Are you dizzy?”

                “Let me see.” Cupping Ivan’s cheek with one hand, he pressed the back of his other hand to the other cheek. “Your temperature spiked again. I told you not to push yourself. You need to lie down in your bedroom.” He let go of his cheeks to support his back, “Let’s go, I’ll help you. Can you stand?”

                Ivan shoved Alfred off, so harshly that the Omega tripped over the chair leg. Quickly righting to himself, he stared in bewilderment as Ivan doubled over in a coughing fit once again. "Wha—”

                “Do not act like you care,” Ivan managed to croak out, glowering up at Alfred with a cold glint in his violet eyes. “I know that Toris told you about my past.”

                The shock stumbled Alfred back a step. “What? How did you—”

                “Raivis told me all about it”—Alfred grimaced—“So you can stop with the act, because I do not need your pity.”

                Alfred frowned, “It’s not—”

                “Yes, it is." He slowly rose to his feet, straightening to his full, towering height. ”That’s what all you peasants do—You butter me up with fake lies and kindness because you pity me, but you are worse, because on top of that, you are only acting this way because you want something from me.”

                Alfred clamped his mouth shut, knowing Ivan wasn’t completely wrong. The Prince began to cough more violently, doubling over again. Alfred watched, conflicted, his body instinctively wanting to approach him but his feet staying rooted to the ground.

                “I know you are only being nice to me out of your own self-centered reasons,” Ivan finally said with such icy tone, “So you can forget about doing so. I wanted us to get along only so I could fulfill my duties, not for anything else. I am the Prince of Spades, and I do not need the pity nor the friendship of someone like you.”

                This time, Alfred bristled. “Someone like me?” he repeated incredulously, instantly forgetting any sort of sympathy he felt for Ivan. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean? You know, I’ve been trying to be sympathetic. Even when you shove me off and refuse my help, I don't take it to heart because I know you're grieving. And for the record, I never pitied you. I even respected you for being able to survive what you did, but if you're going to be like this, then you can forget it! If you push the people who try to care about you away, then you don’t deserve to whine about loneliness!” he snatched up his bag from the floor and stomped off. “Go fuck yourself!”

                Alfred never returned to Ivan’s chamber and refused to do so the next day as well. Yao sympathized with him, so he allowed Alfred to avoid his duties. He would go around the palace helping the servants instead, but it was impossible to completely avoid each other.

                One such encounter happened in the library, where Ivan was picking a tome in the nook. When their eyes met, Alfred swerved left, opting to retreat to a different spot, and Ivan ripped the book he was holding in half. However, they couldn't escape their obligatory meetings since they had to maintain a proper image before the ministers. Unfortunately, forcing two time-bombs together was not the best idea, and they had failed at maintaining a proper image seconds within the first meeting.

                "Can you stop breathing so loud?" Alfred spoke abruptly, slamming his papers on the table. The ministers fell silent. "It's hard to focus on my work."

                "Perhaps if your intellect exceeded that of a pea, you wouldn't be so easily distracted by trivial matters," Ivan retorted icily. "Maybe you should just stop being so incompetent."

                "And maybe you should just stop breathing so that you would finally make us and the rest of your people happy. That's the only way you'll ever be able to do so, considering how much of a failure you are. Any more efforts that don't involve your death are utterly useless."

                Ivan snapped the pen he was holding in half, causing the ministers to scoot their chairs further away. Unsettled by the intensity of their fight and frightened by the look on Ivan's face, they retreated into uneasy silence, rendering the rest of the meeting pointless. This happens at every conference. Either they argued heatedly or gave each other the cold shoulder, not speaking or even glancing at each other, but even that was distracting, as the tension between them still crackled like a storm. Both options were equally bad: the staff would rather the two of them just pummeled each other instead of creating such a suffocating atmosphere.

                But despite all of that, Alfred still carried out his duties. He carefully timed his visits to deliver meals—he knew Ivan's schedule like the back of his hand, and would sneak in when the other was asleep or in the bath—leaving notes such as Make sure to eat and Remember to take breaks. Whether or not Ivan read them or tore them up, Alfred didn't know, but he didn't stop anyway, as no matter how angry he was, he was still concerned for him.

                Though, in the afternoons, he still sent Raivis to bring Ivan his lunch.

                “These are the documents from Minister Pavlov, Minister Kolyavich, and Minister Chernoff. Alfred also sent some snacks and deserts, as well!” Raivis cheerfully sorted through the box Alfred gave him, picking up the basket of beignets. Ivan stared at it from the corner of his eyes. "Some pastries, medovik, and ptichye moloko! Wow, I wonder how he got ptichye moloko, they only sell those outside the palace.”

                “...Raivis.”

                Raivis perked up, “Ah, yes, Your Royal Highness?”

                “About...him.”

                The small Alpha blinked, “Do you mean Alfred, sire?”

                “Yes. I have not...seen him lately. Has he left for good? Or..."

                Raivis waved his hands, “Oh, no, no! Alfred is still in the Palace. He is busying himself with helping the servants. Should I let him know you are asking for him?”

                Ivan turned to him with a cold glare. “No. Don’t.”

                The mousy child shrunk back, “Ah, s-sorry, sire...As you wish.”

                A tense silence befell them. Raivis nervously fidgeted with his hands before speaking again, “Um, I just wanted to let you know that Alfred had personally prepared everything, even baking these pastries himself," he gestured to the beignets, "but he asked that I tend to you in his place. Seeing his face would upset you, he said. I think he is trying to give you space, so as to not anger you further.” 

                Ivan frowned deeply, his lips pursed as he looked away. Stubborn.

                He recalled the way Alfred had wiped his tears with such uncharacteristic gentleness. Ivan was embarrassed about how much it had affected him. He had never experienced such a comforting gesture before. He had been so lost in his sorrow that he didn’t even feel the tears. He had no idea he was crying until the Omega had reached over and wiped them off.

                He had been disgusted at first, annoyed that Alfred was touching him, but when he realized what he was actually trying to do, he felt a strange sense of...warmth. In the back of his mind, Ivan had thought they could actually become friends.

                How pathetic of him.

                When Alfred had left to fulfill his Gardemek duties and sent Raivis in his stead to bring Ivan his books and snacks, the young Alpha had let slip that Toris told Alfred about his past history. Ivan was startled at the sudden information and seized the front of Raivis’ collar to threaten him into saying more. Raivis tried to explain himself but only made the situation worse, unintentionally complying with Ivan’s threat and accidentally revealing everything that had transpired between Alfred and Toris.

                And suddenly, it all made sense. It explained why Alfred was suddenly being so friendly.

                He pitied him. Of course, he did.

                He hated pity more than anything. That’s why he despised leaving his chambers. Every time he did so, the servants would stare at him with pity. The poor little prince. That's what they thought of him. It was an insult to him, to his status, to everything he’s been through. Just recalling it made his blood boil, the darkness spiraling out of control in the recesses of his mind. Its sprawling claws were scratching at the door—if he wasn't careful, one would be able to slip out, wrap around his throat and whisper in his ear, urging him, convincing him to do something terrible. 

                He didn't need that. Not now, when he was so close.

                “Er, S-Sire?” Raivis cut through his thoughts. Ivan blinked, returning to his senses to see the young Alpha trembling in his seat, “Um, a-are you well? You haven’t blinked in five minutes, and your expression is scary...”

                “...Yes. I am fine.”

                “Yao?” Alfred called out in experiment, knocking on the tall wooden door. When no response came, he decided to let himself in.

                The powerful smell of incense immediately overwhelmed him. Alfred wrinkled his nose at the lungful attack. He waved, trying to shoo away the air. "Oh my god, the smell is so strong in here," he coughed, peering through his cracked-open eyes to see the former attendant was sitting in his chair, looking through a file.

                It was no wonder that the room smelled so strongly; Yao had at least eight incense sticks burning on his desk. Behind him were shelves filled with jars and boxes, each of them labeled meticulously with illegible handwriting. Unlike the rest of the palace, this room was paneled with dark oak walls, matching the floor, making it feel darker in comparison. Yao's plush blue furniture provided the only relief, like a splash of color, along with his many vases of plants and flowers and folding screen of beautiful artwork.

                “Yao?” he repeated.

                Yao finally looked up. “Ah, you’re here. Come in.”

                Alfred stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Once he was seated, Yao bent down and pulled out a long, narrow box from under his desk. He set it down on the table and looked at the blonde. “Can you guess what this is?”

                “Before we start, what are the parameters of the guessing game? How many guesses do I get? Is there a time limit? A category? Is there—”

                “Forget it, you ruin everything.” Yao opened the box himself. He lifted the lid and revealed a slim sword inside it, gleaming under the subdued light filtering through frosted windows. 

                Alfred gasped. “Whoa—”

                Yao slapped his hand when he tried to touch it, making him yelp. Rubbing the sore spot, Alfred recoiled with a pout. “It’s not for you,” Yao informed sharply, “It’s mine. I’m only using it as an introduction for what I’m going to say.”

                Alfred raised a brow, “Which is...?”

                Yao picked up the file he had been reading. “Your file is impressive. It's clean, with many qualifications that speak to your considerable skill set. However, we have yet to evaluate your physical prowess. Thus, we shall engage in a sparring match."

                Alfred's brows shot up in surprise. “You can fight?”

                Yao frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

                “I don’t know,” Alfred shrugged, “You just gave me the vibe of a prim and proper Omega, and those kinds of people don’t really fight.”

                Yao scoffed. "While I may be elegant, I am fully capable of engaging in battle. Hence, we shall spar to assess your abilities." Leaning back in his chair, Yao offered a mocking smile. "But if you're apprehensive, that's perfectly acceptable. I cannot fault you for feeling scared."

                Alfred gasped, his pride pricked by Yao's words. He jumped to his feet, knocking his chair back. "Scared? I'm not scared!" he declared, "Let's do this!"

                Alfred followed Yao to the training field in the gardens. It was the same field he had sparred Toris in, the packed dirt showing the marks of countless trainings. But this time, instead of lines of marching Meka, there was only one lone figure in the middle of the field, standing as if he were waiting.

                "Your Highness?" Alfred squinted incredulously as they neared. 

                When Ivan turned, he appeared equally taken aback to see him. He stared, and for a moment, Alfred thought he might explode in anger, but instead, his stark face paled into something cold and bloodless. "What is he doing here?" he asked Yao.

                “We will be sparring to test his abilities. I requested you be here so you can be the witness, in case he is ever rebuked from accompanying you outside the Palace.” 

                “That is what you summoned me here for?" Ivan was clearly not pleased. "This is a waste of my time.”

                Yao was unfazed. “Say what you will, but it is protocol. I am aware of the recent tension between you two," he addressed them both now, "but you must not allow personal grievances to interfere with your professional obligations. Overseeing duels is part of your duty as the Prince of Spades.”

                Alfred frowned worriedly, “Yao, he’s still recovering. What if he gets caught in the crossfire—”

                “Your concern is unnecessary and unwanted.”

                Alfred bristled. He turned to Ivan with wide-eyed anger. “You’re still on about tha—”

                He cut off abruptly, whirling around just in time to catch the pole of a spear.

                “Excellent reflexes," Yao remarked, retrieving his own spear from the weapon rack. They were adorned in dark blue with golden tassels adorning the top, and the end of the metal blade bore the shape of a spade. "I did not bring you both here to argue. If you truly wish to avoid seeing each other, then let us make this brief.”

                Alfred and Ivan exchanged dirty looks before parting ways.

                Alfred specialized in long-range, and if he did close combat, it was either with his fists or a dagger. He had wielded spears before—assassinations required having to get creative—it just wasn’t his preferred weapon of choice. It was the weapon he fought the least efficiently with, as it was too long and didn't suit his fighting style. However, asking for a different weapon was shameful in Alfred's eyes. Since Yao was fighting with a spear, so must he.

                The two Omegas took their places on opposite ends of the field, with Ivan observing from a solitary chair on the sidelines. "There is only one rule," Yao announced loudly, ensuring Alfred could hear him from across the field. "A single scratch, and the duel is concluded."

                “A single scratch?” Alfred repeated arrogantly, "Easy-peasy. Are you going to fight in that?” He indicated Yao’s long cream skirt with a nod of his head.

                “I’ve fought worse battles in this attire,” Yao replied simply. Alfred shrugged. “Okay, it’s your call, dude. You really sure you can do this?” he taunted, grinning teasily.

                “Too much talking. Prepare yourself. On the count of three,” Yao declared. Assuming their fighting stances, poised to charge, they counted inwardly.

                One.

                Two.

                Three.

                With a sudden burst of speed, Alfred dashed forward, spear tip aimed precisely at Yao's chest. Yao met the attack head-on, their spears clashing with a resounding clang. Sparks flew from the steel as they disengaged, their weapons clashing again repeatedly as they darted around the field in an impressive display of swordmanship. Once more, their spears met, and with a swift maneuver, Yao slid his spear under Alfred's, twisting it out of his grasp, and sent Alfred stumbling backward as the spear fell between them.

               Alfred wasn't deterred. With a quick slide onto his knee, he rolled the spear onto his foot and launched it into the air with a kick. The spear hurtled toward Yao, who deflected it with ease using his own pole. Alfred caught the spear in time and sprang to his feet, grinning.

               "Well done, Yao! But I'm not done yet."

                Yao remained silent, his expression unchanging. He attacked once more, their spears meeting in a flurry of strikes that sent gusts of wind whipping around them, ruffling Ivan's appearance with each pass. Despite Alfred's power, Yao's agility allowed him to disarm Alfred a second time, but with more force than before, sending it flying off somewhere. Alfred rolled back from the impact, catching himself right before he crashed into the weapon rack.

               Alfred felt slightly annoyed, even a little frustrated. His unfamiliarity with the duel's weapon was slowing him down, making the duel complicated when it didn't need to be. But nonetheless, he couldn't stop the admiration gleaming in his eyes. Impressive, Yao's skill is amazing! 

                Yao stood defensively several meters away, his arm coiled around the pole. Alfred got to his feet, panting as he pondered his next move. Seeing Yao's shift to an offensive stance—a telltale sign of an impending attack—Alfred kicked the weapon rack behind him. A spear arched into the air, and Alfred lunged for it. With another kick, he launched the spear at Yao, catching him off guard. Yao, unprepared to block, managed to twist his body just in time. The spear whizzed past him and stabbed into the earth, staying upright.

                While the blade had not massacred Yao’s face, it had still done enough to finish the duel. The sudden sting of hot liquid provoked Yao to touch his cheek, where a small wound was beginning to leak.

                “Looks like I win!” Alfred grinned victoriously, “Another victory for Alfred F. Jones!”

                Yao nodded in approval, striding towards him. He lifted his hand, and a water-like glow swirled around his fingers, flowing over the wound. To Alfred’s astonishment, the blood receded, and the cut vanished without a trace. Yao stood before Alfred with his flawless skin restored.

                Alfred’s face lit up, gasping in stunned amazement. “Oh my god, was that magic?”

                “No, it was a mechanical contraption that produces illusions,” Yao deadpanned.

                “Uh...”

                Yao slapped his arm companionably, smiling. “It’s magic. I was joking,” he clarified.

                "Y-ep,” Alfred nodded his head awkwardly. “I could totally tell.”

                “So, it seems that your skills are adequate. Though I wouldn’t say for sure, since I kept disarming you.”

                “I’m just not used to fighting with polearms!”

                “That is noted. Now—”

                Clap.

                Clap.

                Clap.

                The slow, deliberate sound echoed across the field. Alfred and Yao turned towards the source, where Ivan sat with a serene shut-eye smile, applauding with unsettling slowness.

                “Well, that was certainly something,” he said as he rose to his feet. When he looked up, his expression had been replaced with a chillingly cold look. “And that something is boring.”

                Yao shifted uncomfortably, feeling a sense of dread, while Alfred was irritated, annoyed even, by Ivan's intrusion.

                “What an underwhelming fight," Ivan drawled as he strode towards them, "Do you intend to guard me like that, Alfred? I would die in seconds.”

                Alfred scoffed, rolling his eyes. “What, and I suppose you have a better plan?”

                “I do, actually. I don't believe that one duel is sufficient to gauge your capabilities, especially against a weak opponent.”

                Both Omegas frowned in offense, Alfred on Yao’s behalf. “The hell do you mean weak? Yao's strong! His skills rank him third in the palace—”

                “But not the first, which, I believe, my bodyguard should be?”

                Alfred's clamped jaw flexed in irritation. Ivan came to a halt right in front of them, so close into their space that it forced them to crane their necks. His presence was suffocating. “That is why I propose that you and I engage in a duel as well. If you cannot even best me, how can you be expected to protect me?”

                Yao looked hesitant, his eyes darting between Alfred and Ivan. “That is...a valid point. But Your Highness, I really think that—”

                “Your thoughts on the matter are irrelevant. Failing to properly assess his abilities and sending him into the field underprepared is a disaster waiting to happen, for which you will be held responsible. I trust you wish to avoid such a scenario?”

               Yao swallowed, his gaze dropping regretfully. Alfred watched him, his face twisting in sympathy.

                “Alright,” he turned to Ivan with a fierce glare, “You want to duel? Let’s duel, big guy.”

Chapter Text

                The two positioned themselves at opposite ends of the field. Ivan slid off his overcoat, revealing the strong figure that Alfred had seen that night of the ball. The prince was built like a different species entirely, packed with thick, powerful muscles that didn't suit his youthful face. Alfred could see them strain against his white tunic as he handed the coat to Yao and loosened his tie, all without taking his eyes off Alfred. Unblinking. Intense. Alfred felt unnerved. Did he have to make such unwavering eye contact? Was this an intimidation tactic? It was making Alfred uncomfortable rather than scared.

                His attention shifted when Yao approached, Ivan's overcoat folded neatly over his arms. "Meiguo, I'm begging you to be careful. Sire is not himself in a fight. Please don't get cocky."

                "I won't, I know what I'm doing," Alfred assured with a dismissive wave, "Now, stand back and let me defend your honor."

                Yao sighed, casting one last worried glance before retreating.

                "Ready for round two, Your Royal Highness?" Alfred called arrogantly.

                Ivan ignored his taunt. "To make this fair," he called out, "We will engage in close combat, no weapons."

                "So a fist-fight then?"

                "Yes. Do you agree to this?"

                "I—"

                "Just kidding. I do not care. You have no choice."

                Alfred huffed in annoyance, raising his fists. Yao positioned himself at the field's edge, raising an arm. "Ready?"

                The tension was crackling—both were still quite angry about their argument, their emotions serving to ramp up their already-simmering aggression. Watching them was a foreboding feeling; Yao felt like he shouldn't be in this field with them if he valued his life. Unable to do anything about it, Yao just dropped his arm outward as if slicing through air. "Fight!"

                Alfred lunged, dirt flying from the sharp movement of his launch. Yao shrieked as he sped past, shielding his face with one hand and keeping his skirt down with the other.

                Alfred was in Ivan's face in an instant. Just as he hurled a punch towards his face, the Prince arched backward, narrowly evading Alfred's blow. Alfred tsked. Still airborne, he flipped over and landed against the wall. The stone cracked under his feet, then crumbled entirely when he launched himself off it.

                He swung a kick this time, but Ivan swiftly dodged, a satisfied smirk curling his lips as the gust from Alfred's movements whipped his scarf. He glanced back up to find Alfred still airborne, determination blazing fiercely in his furious glare. The sight surged a rush of exhilaration through his blood, Alfred's feisty resolve lighting his own fire. 

                Deciding it was time to take the offensive, Ivan lunged for him too. He seized Alfred by the shirt, lifting him higher before delivering a powerful punch to his chest. Alfred plummeted to the earth, the force of his drop causing a big crack in the field, stirring up the dust and obscuring the view. Yao coughed, shielding his eyes, wondering if Ivan had altered the bone structure of Alfred's chest.

                Ivan had barely landed on the ground before Alfred sprang out of the fog to attack with a series of powerful, rapid punches. Ivan blocked and parried, his feet rooted to the ground as Alfred darted all around him, the sound of their fists meeting flesh and bone reverberating like thunder. Finally, Alfred jumped back, and this time, Ivan chased him. They began to dart around the field, destroying everything around them. Colliding in the center, they unleashed a flurry of rapid punches, too fast for Yao to follow until they forcibly separated, only to repeat the process over and over. Every time they collided, the dirt beneath them would crack until the entire field lay in ruins.

                Even from behind the palace walls, the royal staff could hear the thunderous blows. They peered out the window to see the training field wrecked, the dust and dirt occasionally flying up in an explosion.

                Yao sought shelter behind the chair, hands protecting his head from falling stones and securing his feathered hat. This is completely different from our fight, Yao thought, watching Ivan's frozen smile and Alfred's determined blaze of a glare. Was he holding back? Or is he really that unused to wielding spears?

                Meanwhile, Alfred was getting frustrated—not from the fight itself, but with Ivan's expression. It was serene and unchanging, just like their battle in Krasny. Every time he saw it, Alfred felt a surge of every kind of anger imaginable, driving him to attack harder and harder. And yet, Ivan's demeanor remained— in fact, he was becoming more amused. Alfred growled, kicking Ivan away and landing several feet apart.

                "What are you doing?" he seethed, nearly shaking from frustration. Ivan, who had been about to attack again, paused. "What do you mean?"

                "You're not taking this seriously."

                Ivan cocked his head. It only angered him further.

                "You're not giving this your all!" he screamed across the field, "You're enjoying this. The way you're acting, it's as if you're just playing around!"

                "Is that not what we are doing?"

                Alfred stared. He dared him to repeat it. "Excuse me?"

                Ivan looked like he was about to laugh. "Were you really taking this seriously? That was already your all? My, you take so much pride in yourself, in your strength, but when it comes down to it, you are not even good at that."

                Alfred was silent in the face of Ivan's chuckling.

                "Do you know why I want you to take this seriously?" Alfred's voice was strangely calm when he finally spoke.

                Yao shook his head vigorously, hoping he'd look over at him and take the hint. Ivan tilted his head curiously. "Why?"

                In the blink of an eye, Alfred was in the prince's face, his eyes ablaze in wild fury and his voice a seething whisper. "Because I want to wipe that smile off of your face."

                Something shifted in Ivan.

                His forearms flew up just in time to shield his face as Alfred delivered a forceful blow, stirring up smoke and dust. The impact sent shockwaves through the ground, but neither budged. Alfred struck a powerful roundhouse kick at Ivan's unguarded abdomen, sending him rocketing into the training-field wall and blowing a massive hole through the hills behind it. Yao, who had dodged just in time, gaped at the newly formed canyon, then at the murderous scowls of the two duelers. He slipped out from his hiding place.

                This is exactly what I was afraid of, he thought hotly, stomping back into the Palace for reinforcements. No one ever listens to me!

                Alfred quickly launched after Ivan, keeping pace with his flying. Alfred seized him midair, spun for momentum, and then slammed him into the ground with immeasurable force, cracking the ground open. The impact reverberated through the terrain, the hills shaking off their loose rocks.

                Ivan tried to get up on his elbows but was stopped by Alfred, who crashed into him with a powerful punch, crushing him back into the earth and choking the wind out of him. Alfred grabbed his scarf—earning him a seething glare—and began to pummel him with powerful strikes. Alfred panted heavily above him, his legs straddling Ivan's hips as he destroyed the once-flawless face beneath him. Smile successfully wiped off.

                Ivan grabbed Alfred's hips. The blonde gasped and released him. He bristled, floundering at his audacity before Ivan flipped them over. With a vice-like grip on Alfred's neck, Ivan slammed his head on the ground, fracturing the floor. Alfred choked on the blood that surged from his throat, warmth spreading across the back of his head. Ivan stared for a moment, face blank before his violet eyes widened manically, a twisted sort of delight sparking in them. Ivan repeated this over and over, faster and faster.

                Alfred's ears were ringing from the pain. Now that he was on the floor, he could feel his body's every complaint, and it was torturous. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut and did his best to make nothing more than a grunt—it'd be a cold day in hell before he would admit to pain—gradually, he cracked an eye open to see what was happening.

                Ivan looked utterly unhinged. His face was shrouded in shadows, his widened eyes glinting in murderous rage. Being manhandled so roughly, Alfred's chaotic vision couldn't discern if he was smiling. He wasn't glowering or grinning—his face was utterly blank, and yet he still appeared deathly menacing, especially with the blood occasionally splattering onto his face.

                My blood, Alfred thought. His head was slammed downward again, making him grunt. "Why," Ivan seethed, voice harsher than Alfred had ever heard it, sounding more like a vicious growl than human speech, "do you insist on being so enraging? You must be the most irritating creature to walk this planet, all you do is shout and whine and fight me, all because you do not like me—"

              "Of course, I don't like you, you freak—" Alfred screamed, only to be silenced by his head crashing against the bloodied ground.

             "Then tell me why," Ivan raised his voice, hands tightening around Alfred's neck, "Why is it that you hate me so much—" 

             "Because you infuriate me, you fucking lunatic!" 

             His head was slammed once more, harsher this time. Ivan loomed over him, his breaths heavy and labored, then began to lower his head. When he did not stop lowering his head, Alfred felt a stab of panic. What the...What is he doing?! Alarm fueled him into action as he frantically tried to break free, his hands swiping uselessly at Ivan's grasp.

             Gratefully, Ivan stopped when their noses nearly touched, their lips hovering dangerously close. "And what is it," he whispered, his tone rough and angry, "do you think you do to me?"

              Alfred's eyes widened at the provocative question. "You aggravate me," Ivan answered, growling the word, "You challenge my every word for no good reason," he punctuated his words with the resounding slam of Alfred's head, "you complain about everything," and again, "and you never know when to shut the fuck up. All of it infuriates me further because of how much you affect me. I hate it, and I hate you!" he slammed Alfred's head one final time. The blonde gritted his teeth, Ivan's words acting like oil to his flaming rage. The hands that had been pointlessly swiping at Ivan's wrist gripped it with a force that threatened to break bones, which made Ivan falter. Seizing the opportunity, Alfred swung a strong knee to Ivan's gut, causing the Prince to choke, gasping for air as the wind was knocked out of his organs.

                Now freed, Alfred clenched his fist and struck Ivan in the chest, forcing him off and possibly breaking his ribs. Ivan landed on his feet, hand curled around his gut. His luxurious outfit was now tattered and soiled, his flawless face dirtied, and his smooth hair roughed up.

                Alfred felt a fleeting sense of self-consciousness, realizing he must have looked way worse after having his head slammed multiple times. His theory was confirmed when he could feel blood dripping down his face. Alfred wiped his sweaty philtrum, panting.

                Ivan was panting as well, fists raised feebly. He stared at the blonde. He was in a terrible state, with his uniform ripped, his face bloody, and his glasses cracked. But he didn't look any less determined. He was still as fierce and strong-willed as when the duel had first begun. The fire in his eyes hadn't faltered in the slightest.

                Frustration cracked through Ivan's mask. He'd never met anyone so unshakable before. He was like an immovable rock. Both of them were exhausted, but neither wanted to show it. They swayed where they stood, staring each other down.

                Alfred bent his knees, a sign that he was about to pounce. Ivan repeated the action. With a sharp movement that cracked the rock beneath them, they set off, running full speed toward each other, fists raised, ready to attack, their bodies tensing in preparation for the powerful blows, centimeters apart—

                Alfred slowly blinked his eyes open, squinting from the blinding light. As his vision adjusted, he found himself beneath a pristine white marble ceiling, illuminated by the golden glow of a sparkling chandelier in the corner, which is what had blinded him earlier, Alfred realized.

                With a pained groan, he sat up. He could feel every bone in his body crying for help, every muscle begging him not to move. Fucking bastard, he thought, cursing under his breath. He looked around. Lined against the white walls were tall windows and neatly arranged hospital beds. Wait, hospital beds?

                "Oh," A voice startled Alfred. He jumped—his body wished he hadn't—and turned to the voice. It was Yao holding a tray of water and a plate of pills. "You're awake now."

                "Ah, yeah," he said, eyes following Yao as he sat down on a bedside stool. "Um, what happened?"

                "You collapsed is what happened," Yao's tone was a mix of exasperated anger as he set the tray on the bedside table, "You and His Highness punched each other at the same time, knocking each other unconscious. Winter and I arrived just in time to witness it. It was a good thing he was there to assist me. I couldn't have carried the both of you alone, especially His Highness. Even Winter struggled to carry him."

                Alfred turned sheepish. "Yeah, I'm sorry. We went way overboard. At one point, it was just a straight-up brawl, not a duel."

                "Nothing like getting into a brawl and blacking out on your first month here, hm?" Yao sighed reproachfully. "Meiguo, why did you goad him into taking the fight seriously? What kind of person even does that? Most people hope that their opponent is merciful."

                Alfred pouted guiltily. "I just couldn't stand not being taken seriously. Didn't you hear what he said? He admitted that he was treating it like a game. I wanted us to be on the same page, but he had to go and act like a dick about it."

                "Well, people do not typically respond well to provocation, you know."

                "Taking a fight seriously isn't interchangeable with trying to kill someone."

                "I suppose not. But I did warn you to be cautious. He's a different person when he's in combat."

                Alfred recalled Ivan's manic expression when he was slamming his head into the ground. "Right, I get what you mean now. But, in my defense, I didn't listen to you!"

                Yao rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just consider yourself fortunate that the damage you two did can be reversed through magic. If not, we would have sued you for charges," Yao took the small plate from the tray and proffered it to Alfred. "Here, drink these."

                "Sure! Um, what are they?"

                "Painkillers. My magic is powerful, but not without its limitations. I fixed your cuts, fractures, and internal bleeding, but the pain in your muscles is something that only drugs can fix," he handed him a glass of water.

                "Oh, okay." Alfred downed the pills and then the glass of water. "I have to say, I'm curious about your magic. Is it just healing, or can it do other things?"

                "It can do other things such as this," Yao raised his hand, and a liquid glow enveloped Alfred's empty glass, lifting it out of his hands and onto the table.

                "Whoa! That's so cool!" Alfred exclaimed eagerly, "Do all royals have that magic?"

                "Yes. The rulers of the Kingdom hold magic. But Spades' monarchy isn't stable right now. Instead of the typical Ace, King, Queen, and Jack, we only have an Ace and Jack. Being the regents, Winter and I are the ones with true magic. Actually, His Highness isn't supposed to have his magic yet either, but Winter had felt pity for him when he was young and granted him his magic so he could protect himself."

                "Is that allowed?"

                "Exceptions exist, I suppose. I was not supposed to be Jack either, but the laws of governance necessitated it. While His Highness is a ruling prince, he is not recognized as such officially because he is underage. On paper, Winter is the only monarch of Spades, but that is not allowed. The Kingdom of Spades requires a dual rulership, comprising both a King and a Queen—or, in our instance, an Alpha and an Omega. The Clubs Kingdom permits sovereignty without a Queen, and Hearts without a King, but in Kingdoms like Spades and Diamonds, both monarchs are required. So, Winter granted me the position of Jack as the second regent to uphold the Kingdom. But really, His Highness shoulders most of the work—Don't scoff, I'm serious. You know, he is not that bad of a person."

                Alfred scoffed again. "The earlier events beg to differ."

                "Have faith, Meiguo," Yao implored softly, "Given the opportunity, you may yet discern his true character. I know you think he is evil and everything bad in the world, but he's not. He's just...strange. His morals are questionable, but he's not bad. So, I hope you at least make the effort to get along. He's quite lonely."

                Alfred wilted, hating the way his defenses faltered. He quickly dashed the feeling and crossed his arms petulantly. "Whatever. Maybe I'd be more inclined to befriend him if he were nicer."

                You do have to befriend him, Alfred's conscience spoke. You need information about the royal family, and who knows the royal family better than the last remaining member?

                I did try to befriend him, he reminded the voice in his head. And look how that blew up in my face! Never again.

                "And besides, after today," Alfred continued aloud, "I think any hope of an amicable relationship between us is gone."

                Yao shrugged, "Perhaps. However, regardless of the state of your relationship, civility is required during the Siber Station ceremony," he emphasized pointedly, "This event is of great significance, being held in the capital, which is quite different from Krasny. The inauguration of the train system marks a milestone in our history. Thus, it is important that neither of you creates a scene."

               Alfred frowned. He wanted to retort that such advice should be directed at Ivan instead, but a knock on the door interrupted him. "Excuse me," Raivis poked his head through the crack. "I was instructed to escort Alfred to General Winter's office?"

                "He's still resting," Yao frowned. Raivis began to stutter out a response, but Alfred raised a hand to stop them. "Nah, it's cool. Besides, this must be important," he moved to get out of bed.

                Yao rose to assist him, concerned. "Are you sure? Your muscles are still sore."

                Alfred waved him off. "Really, I'm fine. My bones are all fixed, and a little muscle pain is nothing I can't—" Alfred groaned loudly through gritted teeth as he got up from bed, then sighed once his feet were firmly planted on the floor, "—endure. See, Yao? I'm fine!"

                Yao had a look of cringe.

              "Don't worry, I shall provide aid if necessary," Raivis assured Yao with a respectful bow. The healer sighed in acquiescence. "Very well, but be careful, Meiguo. Do not overexert yourself."

                Alfred waved in farewell as Raivis guided him out of the room. "Will do!"

                The moment the door closed, Alfred choked out an "Oof!" when Raivis suddenly crushed him into a tight embrace, forcing the oxygen out of him.

                "Um, Raivis?" Alfred wheezed, more or less inquiring why he was hugging him. Raivis looked up, tears brimming in his large, violet eyes. "I'm so sorry, Alfred!" he bawled.

                Alfred's eyes widened in bewilderment. "Wha—? Why are you apologizing?"

                "I-I told Sire about you and Toris! That's why he's been so mad at you and tried to kill you earlier!" he confessed with a cry, his tears soaking Alfred's hospital pajamas. "I didn't mean it! Honest! It just slipped out! Please forgive me!!"

                Raivis' pleas dissolved into bawling cries, and Alfred was lost on how to react. He looked around as if anything nearby could help him before awkwardly patting the boy's back and head. "It's okay, Raivis," he soothed, "I'm not mad. I'm more surprised about why you know about it, actually."

                Raivis sniffled, "Toris told me about it. B-But he told me about it in confidence!" he added hurriedly, "He never intended for any of this to happen."

                Alfred nodded understandingly, running his fingers through Raivis' ash-blonde locks. "Don't worry, I know. I don't blame either of you. I don't think anyone involved is to blame. As much as I'm angry at the Prince, I understand why he would be upset over it. So don't beat yourself up, okay? It's not your fault."

                With a meek nod, Raivis released Alfred from his embrace. As they resumed their walk, the young Alpha continued to express remorse. "I know you told me it's not my fault, but I can't help but feel guilty! The Prince inflicted great harm on you," he said remorsefully.

                Alfred scoffed dismissively, "If anything, I was the one beating him up pretty bad. Oh!" he perked up, "What happened to His Highness anyway? I didn't see him in the hospital wing."

                "Yao tended to your injuries while General Winter saw to His Highness—um—elsewhere. I am uncertain of his current condition. I haven't seen them since, but I assume he's healed. After attending to you, Yao went to go find them."

                "Come to think of it, I didn't see any doctors or nurses in the hospital wing."

                "Other than being the Jack, Yao is also the palace healer. Being on skeleton staff and all, he's the only physician here. His study is stocked with medicinal herbs and pharmaceutical pills. Considering his occupation, his healing magic is convenient. Only Omegas have those."

                "Whoa, so Yao's a doctor! That's so awesome!" Alfred exclaimed brightly.

                Raivis smiled, nodding in agreement, "Very awesome. That's how he came to work in the Palace, actually. When His Highness was a child, he was in so much grief that he fell into a deadly illness. Winter had been attending to matters outside the Palace, and that's where he met Yao. Upon hearing of the Prince's condition, he brought Yao back with him. Yao was eager to comply as he was poor back then, ragged-looking with tattered clothes."

                Alfred couldn't imagine that. Yao was so sophisticated and graceful that he assumed he had always been of high status. Alfred would never have thought that Yao—who was afraid of getting dirt on his dress—had been impoverished once.

                "He saved His Highness' life, and he's been working here ever since. I think he was only a bit older than me back then, a mere fourteen-year-old. I think Sire was six years old at that time," Raivis stopped before a set of ornate doors. "Erm, a-anyway, we're here now."

                He knocked lightly on the door, announcing, "Mr. Winter, I have escorted Alfred Jones as per your request," before turning the knob and ushering Alfred into the room. He fleetingly thanked Raivis before stepping inside, closing the door behind him with a shiver. It was freezing in here, probably because of the two ice giants seated in here.

                Wait, two?

                "What is he doing here?" Alfred flung a finger in Ivan's direction. The Prince didn't react. He simply sat with his head hung low. 

                "Calm down and have a seat first, Alfred." Winter gestured to the vacant chair beside Ivan. Alfred hesitated before warily taking the seat. "Now that both of you are present, I wish to extend my apologies."

                Alfred blinked, "Apologies?"

                "I was the one who instructed Yao to assess your capabilities. I had not anticipated any injuries, and I deeply regret the harm inflicted upon the both of you."

                Alfred didn't think it was Winter's fault in any way but stayed silent. He was pleasantly surprised by Winter's politeness.

                "But I also want you two to apologize to each other."

                "What?" Alfred yelled, abandoning his earlier claim of being quiet. "Why should I apologize to him?"

                Winter's countenance shifted to one of icy sternness. "Watch your tone. We are in the Palace."

                Alfred bowed his head apologetically, "S-Sorry, sir."

                "I'm saying this because the situation is not solely attributable to my actions," Winter clarified, "Had both of you exercised restraint, this regrettable incident could have been avoided. Yao told me everything. He said that you goaded him to approach the duel seriously and made things worse."

                "Is it bad to ask that we be on the same page about the duel?" Alfred defended, "I was being serious, but I wasn't aiming to kill him like he was!" 

                "Regardless of your intentions, provocation was an ill-advised tactic," Winter retorted sharply. "While desiring to be taken seriously is commendable, your method for doing so was wrong. The situation could have gone down many different paths, but your provocation steered it towards the worst one."

                Suddenly feeling ashamed, Alfred hung his head.

                "And you," Winter redirected his attention to Ivan, who met his gaze for the first time. "I am very disappointed in you. It took four hours for Yao to heal you two; that's how severe your injuries were. I have always imparted to you the importance of maintaining composure, as true Kings must never lose their cool. To see you lose control in such a manner, especially during a fight, is disheartening. Your obedience is usually impeccable, but today, it was not. You can't do this to every bodyguard you get," he lectured sternly.

                Alfred sat awkwardly to the side. He felt like he was watching a parent scold their child. Which is probably what this was, he figured.

                "How do you expect to ascend to the throne if you respond so brashly to mere playground taunts?" Winter's tone softened slightly, revealing his disappointment. "You are very strong, Your Highness, but that is not an excuse to be ignorant of your own strength and cause harm to those around you. That cannot continue, do you understand? True strength lies in composure and moderation. Power is to be used nobly, and those who have it must bear the responsibility of protecting others, not to inflict harm upon them. These are the principles I have been trying to teach you for so long, and I am displeased to see that it has not stayed with you."

                Ivan remained silent, his gaze fixed on the ground. He did not react beyond creasing his brows. 

                Winter sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Alfred. Do you know why I chose you for this job?"

                "Um...because of my amazing file?" he joked, grinning feebly.

                "No—although that certainly factored into the decision. But mostly, it was due to Handler."

                Alfred's stomach dropped. He laughed nervously. "You mean my boss at Steambird, right?"

                "Yes," Winter answered. Alfred breathed a sigh of relief. "There were many others I could have chosen. Soldiers from our own military, agents from security organizations, and even those who have already had former experience with being a bodyguard. And yet, I chose a journalist who works part-time in a diner and a mechanics shop to guard our only heir. Why? Because when I met your boss, he first warned me of your personality—stubborn, belligerent, prideful. And I knew immediately that you were the perfect candidate for this position."

                Alfred was puzzled, and it showed on his face. "Er, because...?

                "Because," Winter said, finding Alfred to be a moron, "That's exactly the kind of person the Prince's bodyguard should be. His Highness is used to cowardly brown-nosers who yield to his every whim out of fear. He needs someone he will actually listen to, someone strong that can keep him in place and, most importantly, keep him safe. Today's events have reaffirmed that you are more than a match for him," Winter explained. Alfred felt flattered, unable to fight a smile from his face.

                Winter's tone turned serious again. "Therefore, I must reiterate what I told His Highness several weeks ago. You are required to get along. This is not a request but an order from the Ace of Spades. It is an urgent demand due to the train inauguration approaching, where you two must act amiably in public. If any similar incidents happen from this moment onwards, rest assured there will be severe repercussions. Am I understood?"

                Alfred and Ivan nodded.

                "Am I understood?" he repeated, sharply this time.

                "Yes, sir," they mumbled in unison.

                Winter leaned back in his chair. "Good. Dismissed."

                Alfred was curled up at his window nook, wrapped in thick blankets and devouring his dinner. Due to Ivan overworking him, he hadn't been able to eat a proper meal, only snacks.

                His mind had been working overtime for the past few hours. So, to recap what I've done so far: I found the King's chambers along with the impossible set of lasers. The library was a dud. I went through the hundreds of royal records desperately trying to find any bit of helpful information but found nothing other than useless Spadian history. Eduard was a liar, saying everything about the royal family was there. It definitely wasn't— there wasn't a single book about them there! At least, not the current royal family. I read through the entire Spadian royal bloodline, but once it reached the present generation, the page had been ripped out. A lot of the books had ripped pages; what kind of quality is that? The orb has the power to update the library every second and constantly rearrange the shelves in an infinite space, but it can't cast a protection spell on its own books? Give me a break.

                Other than the library, I only have one lead. Befriend His Highness and find out his secrets. But I had already tried doing that, and His Highness lashed out at me. He thinks I pity him, and this duel didn't make things better. If anything, it worsened it.

                But I have to try. The fate of the Kingdom depends on our relationship, and trying to be on friendlier terms is basically progress, isn't it? Since I need to coax information out of him, and the only way he'll do that is if we're friends. Like Yao, he's really perceptive, so I need to be careful. I can't start charging into his privacy the moment he gives a small sign of friendliness. I need to be careful with my pace. If I start asking questions too soon, he'll close back up again, and worse, he'll be onto me.

                Alfred suddenly groaned aloud, thumping his head on the wall behind him. I really don't want to be friends with him! He hardly has any interest in me as a person. Asking to be friends will make it seem like I'm begging for his company—which I'm not! Call me prideful, but I don't want to be seen as desperate. And even if he wasn't going to think of it that way, how would I even start?

                Alfred perked up. Now that I think about it, Winter told us to apologize to each other, but we didn't do it. Maybe I can start by doing that? Oh, but it would be so satisfying to just take the win. I don't want to say sorry to that guy. I mean, if anything, he should be saying sorry to me! Alfred huffed self-righteously. I was trying to be friendly, but he and his terrible mood swings ruined everything. 

                After a moment, he slumped. No, that's not right. Heroes always take the high road no matter how much they don't want to 'cause we're nice like that. And it's not like I'd be doing it just for the mission— I'm not entirely blameless. Winter was right; I shouldn't have provoked him. No matter my intentions or feelings behind it, it's still not a good thing to do. I should apologize. With a heavy sigh, he got up from the window nook. How would I even apologize, though? What should I say?

                He was about to slip on his fluffy slippers when a soft knock rapped at his door.

                He frowned in puzzlement. Is that Raivis again? He moved to open the door. Since he was expecting the usual mousy Alpha, he was looking down, but his vision was instead met with someone's lower regions covered by silk navy pants.

                His gaze ascended, meeting a pair of violet eyes. Ivan stood outside his chamber, clad in his night attire. The moon shone brilliantly above, its streams floating into the tower and bathing Ivan in its ethereal glow. His ash-blonde locks shimmered silver under the lunar light, and the dark surroundings made his features all the more noticeable, his nose standing out more than usual.

                Alfred gaped at him for a moment. "Your Highness?" he exclaimed incredulously once the shock wore off, "What are you doing here?" 

                Ivan straightened his posture, assuming a diplomatic air. "Good evening, Alfred."

                "...Uh-huh...good evening to you too?" Alfred repeated warily, "Why are you here? Are you still mad about earlier? Did you come here to finish the job? I don't really want to get in another fight, but if you're going to start where we left off, I'd have to oblige because dying is not an option—"

                "No," the Prince cut in coldly. Alfred flinched at being interrupted. Seeing this, Ivan took a deep breath and composed himself. "No... " he amended, "I just...wanted to talk to you about something."

                "Oh," Alfred frowned in confusion, "Okay..." He stepped out from behind his door and closed it behind him.

                He crossed his arms expectantly. "So, what is it?" he said curtly. Being assertive might dissuade the Prince from killing him. Ivan took a deep breath again, making Alfred raise a brow. What is this lunatic planning?

                 "I am sorry."

                 Alfred blinked. "Huh?" he gaped dumbfoundedly at Ivan. He heard what he said, but it wasn't registering in his brain.

                 Ivan glared, pursing his lips. It looked like it was paining him to do this, and having to repeat himself made it worse. He took a deep breath again and, through gritted teeth: "I said, I am sorry. I...I know that you were just trying to be friendly, and it was immature of me to jump to conclusions and get angry. So, I'm sorry."

                 Alfred's eyebrows shot up. "Wha— Dude, what the hell? You can't apologize!"

                 Ivan narrowed his eyes coldly. "What are you talking about?" It took a lot of self-pep-talk and pushing down of pride for Ivan to come down here and apologize, yet Alfred was angry with him? Ivan bristled, those dark shadows in the recesses of his mind frenzying into a violent storm that began to seep into the corners of his vision, taking over him—

                 "I was planning to apologize to you! I was putting on my slippers to go to your chamber before you came and did it first, you thief of thunder! I've been mulling over what to say to you for hours!"

                 Ivan blinked. Then, unbelievably to Alfred's eyes, he started laughing. His cold, unfeeling face was scrunched up in joy, his hand still bunched up in his scarf.

                 Alfred's entire face flushed red. "What are you laughing at?" he demanded, now incredibly embarrassed.

                 "Nothing, nothing, it's just," Ivan's laughter trailed off, but his mirthful smile stayed—at least, Alfred assumed it did. He was covering his mouth with his scarf. "Why would you be planning to apologize to me?"

                 "Because!" Alfred huffed, "I'm not entirely blameless for what happened. I did provoke you, which was wrong. I shouldn't have done that, even though you were treating it like a game and not taking me seriously, and you tried to kill me even though I wasn't trying to kill you," Alfred rambled, then heaved a deep sigh. "I was still the reason things escalated, so I'm sorry too."

                 Alfred was shuffling his feet as he talked, looking down awkwardly. He never knew what to do in these kinds of situations. Emotions made him uncomfortable.

                 Ivan chuckled, "Well, that is quite mature of you, Fredka."

                 “Huh?’

                 “Hm?”

                 "What'd you call me?"

                 "It is just a nickname."

                 "It sounds weird," Alfred wrinkled his nose.

                 Ivan frowned. "Fredka is not weird— Ah, not the name, I mean," he smirked.

                 "Whatever! I can tell it's not derogatory, at least, so I guess I'll let it slide. So, we have a truce now, right? I'll hold up my end and not make things too difficult for you. But that's a two-way street, alright? You also have to be nice to me!"

                 "I will...try."

                 "What do you mean you'll try?" Alfred repeated incredulously, "You'll do. I won't be nice to someone who isn't nice to me. Make my life hell, and I'll make your life hell. That's how I work."

                 "It is not that I do not want to," Ivan clarified, "It is just difficult for me to be friendly to people. I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not exactly stable—"

                 "Oh, no way, really? I had no idea."

                 Ivan gave him an unamused look. "—thus, I have difficulty socializing with others. I do not know if my words are rude or not, as I am unable to discern such things. If you feel like I am being mean, feel free to tell me—nicely, of course—and I will adjust accordingly."

                 "Of course. As long as you're nice to me, I'll be nice to you too." For my mission. "Understood?"

                 Ivan nodded curtly. Alfred nodded as well, rubbing the back of his neck. "Good, good. So, I guess that's it then. See you tomorrow, Your Highness," he waved lazily as he turned to reenter his room.

                 "I do not think you are weak."

                 Alfred paused, glancing back at him. Ivan's fists were clutching the tails of his scarf. "I never have. I just...wanted to tell you that."

                 Alfred blinked, and his grip on the doorknob loosened. He smiled faintly. "Thank you."

Chapter Text

                Ever since their truce a few weeks ago, Alfred thought they might get along better now, but he had been wrong.

                Well, it’s not like it was too bad. Ivan didn’t pick as many fights with him as before, but the workload was aggravating. Alfred was a hard worker, but he functioned only to the beat of his own chaotic rhythm, not a strict schedule. Ivan, it seemed, lived by the opposite philosophy.

                It’s been a few weeks since then, and the pair have fallen into a routine.

                At the break of dawn, Alfred would already be in the kitchens. He'd prepare a blend of black tea infused with cinnamon, cloves, and orange slices, then steep it while he made both his and the prince's breakfasts. Winter had given him a schedule regarding Ivan's diet with strict orders not to deviate from it. Alfred honestly felt bad, and counted his lucky stars that it wasn't him on the receiving end of this diet plan. All Ivan could have for breakfast was kasha with cottage cheese, while Alfred could pile as much bacon and eggs onto his plate as he wanted. It was a strange feeling, to be able to eat so much, so he was relishing it.

                Once done, Alfred would place the meal on Ivan's window-side table before heading to Ivan's closet room, where he would choose the prince's outfit for the day. He browses the expensive watches before pulling out three boxes for Ivan to choose from. He’d select his shoes and set them down next to the seat in the corner. He helps Ivan dress every morning: tying the knot of his tie when he wears one, buttoning his royal jackets, adjusting his coats, securing his watch, and fastening his shoes. 

                While doing all this, he would brief Ivan on his schedule. To his bedgrudging credit, the prince was a focused worker. He delighted in teasing Alfred, but once it was time for work, he was serious and put all his focus on it, which was admirable. It made it easier to honor their truce, though it seemed even the mature Ivan was not immune to temptation, for he still made fun of him every once in a while. But Alfred would take whatever relief he could get.

                He also forced Alfred to attend his conferences with the task of writing down the proceedings. With the attention span of a giddy squirrel, Alfred found it near impossible to concentrate on their tedious prattle. It astounded Alfred every time how little someone could say with so many words. No one liked hearing themselves talk more than a minister who had the floor. These wrinkly elders were of no use at all, and he hoped that when Ivan became king, he would replace them all. Alfred had bitten his tongue so hard to keep from screaming, "We get it!" that he tasted blood; he was under strict orders to be low profile, and offending a room of political officials would not be low profile.

                Thus, Alfred’s notes were not only messy and rushed, but missing information. Ivan got annoyed with him every time. Even if he did do the notes well, Ivan would sneer and say, “You got these from Raivis, didn’t you?” Which was...sort of true. But only the information! He didn’t just take Raivis’ notes!

                He had also been tasked with getting drinks for them, much to his annoyance. Memorizing each minister's coffee preferences, he hurried to the kitchen to prepare the drinks himself. On one occasion, he mistakenly served a latte to a minister with a dairy allergy, prompting a severe scolding and a torrent of apologies. Alfred cringed with embarrassment, bowing repeatedly, feeling even worse as he caught sight of the Prince’s amusement in the corner of his eye. Ivan had laughed at him for three years after that.

                When he wasn’t being yelled at in pointless meetings, Alfred was trailing behind Ivan constantly, a thick stack of binders and papers in one hand and a phone in the other. He once accidentally stepped on Ivan’s heels from how distracted he was, earning himself a glare. Alfred thought he had some gall to be acting like that to someone who was doing a lot of work for him.

                Currently, he was standing outside an office room, waiting for Ivan. A minister had been caught sneaking out of the North to divulge information about the Palace to his son’s corporate employees. Alfred had been aching to get out of the frigid Palace and almost envied this minister for doing so. He had only been in the Palace a month, but it felt an eternity, especially with his lack of progress. With all valuable information on the royal family wiped from the records, his Toris route a dead end, and no way to access the west wing, his only option was to build a friendship with the Prince.

                “Fredka,” Ivan called.

                Alfred entered the room. “Yes?” he said, eyeing the trembling minister, whose head hung low.

                Ivan was leaning on the minister’s desk. “Next appointment?”

                “A meeting with General Winter regarding the new threats.”

                Ivan simply nodded, lifting a cigarette to his lips. He was about to light it when Alfred snatched it out of his hands, “Whoops— Smoking isn’t allowed in the palace, Your Highness.”

                Ivan stared, before slowly turning to the minister in an unsettling manner. The minister quickly averted his eyes, staring at the ground. Ivan exhaled sharply, his expression cold, before straightening.

                “Y-Your Highness, I promise I will not repeat this,” the minister pleaded, changing tactics, “It— It was an honest mistake!”

                “A mistake is made once,” Ivan informed icily, “and you have been doing this for several weeks. And for what, so your failure of a son can cheat his way to the top and be granted a partnership with the Palace? Disgraceful.”

                The minister winced in shame. Ivan then smiled. “But, you are right. There was a mistake made—and mistakes are to be corrected.”

                He turned to Alfred, who nodded. With a snap of his fingers, the Meka outside marched into the room and seized the minister by the shoulders. “No, no, please!” the minister begged, struggling against the firm hold of the imposing robots as they carried him out of the room. Alfred stared after them, his lips pressed tightly together. He felt dirty to be following Ivan’s cruel orders like this. But ultimately, the minister’s actions were not only wrong but endangering the palace, so he decided to accept the blissful ignorance and plausible deniability of not knowing what the Meka would do to him down in the dungeons. 

                The minister’s secretary stood in the corner, watching fearfully as her superior was dragged away. Once Ivan stepped out, Alfred approached her. "Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, "I'm sorry about His Highness."

                The secretary managed a small smile. "It's okay," she assured, though her voice trembled, "I'm used to it. The prince has suffered through a lot; enduring quietly is the least I can do."

                 Alfred faltered at her words. Her response was something that he disliked about the staff. Though the ministers were exasperating, they at least respected Ivan, being daily witnesses of his true brilliance by working with him on the Kingdom's political endeavors. The servants, on the other hand, seemed to pity him instead. Their intentions were kind, so Alfred couldn't fault them for it, but it still rubbed him the wrong way. Ivan worked tirelessly to earn their respect, so to know that the reverence they showed him was out of pity rather than genuine admiration was quite saddening. Yet any sympathy Alfred felt was swiftly vanquished whenever Ivan opened his mouth.

                 Nonetheless, he thanked the secretary before leaving. Hurriedly, he set off to catch up with Ivan's brisk, purposeful pace, whisking out his phone to start a call. Due to the meeting with General Winter, they had to reschedule the meeting with the Siber Academy principals, which Alfred was now doing in Russian.

                They stepped onto the lift, and Alfred pressed the top floor button. They stood in silence until Ivan spoke, “It has improved.”

                Alfred blinked. “What has?”

                “Your Russian. You had a hard time in one of our prior meetings.”

                Alfred cringed at the memory. The ministers had zeroed in on him, asking him questions in Russian since Ivan had gone to the toilet. He completely floundered and had been eternally grateful when Raivis stepped in to placate them.

                “Yeah, I guess. It’s all thanks to you.”

                “I see," Ivan hummed, "I suppose my advice and support were helpful.”

                “Actually, it was more of the degrading comments you gave me every time I made a mistake in pronunciation and accent. It was a big motivation,” Alfred said, drenched in petty sarcasm. After the disastrous meeting, Ivan taught Alfred Russian, though he only knew business jargon and still struggled with speaking it, having learned for only a few weeks. They had an argument about it, with Alfred saying it was unreasonable to perfect a language in such a short time. Ivan said he had mastered eight languages in only two years, so it was clearly a skill issue of his. Alfred wanted to punch him.

                “Degrading comments, hm? Then I will spare none of them if it brings such improvement.”

                Alfred gritted his teeth. “Thanks.”

                “But you know, you made a mistake earlier.”

                Alfred frowned, “I did?”

                Ivan turned to face him, “It is not pearnesty, but perenesti.”

                The blonde’s jaw went slack, then tightened. “Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I want to perenesti another brawl with your ass.”

                “You need to roll the R and harden the tee sound at the end.”

                “I can’t roll my Rs, and you know that!”

                Alfred’s stomach grumbled loudly. He flushed in embarrassment, and the elevator fell into silence. The quiet was broken by Ivan’s snort. Alfred blushed deeper when Ivan began to restrain mirthful giggles. “Shut up!”

                “That is the third time today. You regularly stuff your face with food and are still starving? How amusing, Fredka.”

                “It’s because I have to wear a corset under this outfit!”

                “Is it because of your fat? I assure you no one cares.”

                Alfred snarled. He was sensitive about his weight and hated that Ivan had picked up on that. “No, it’s because it’s part of the outfit. Can’t you go one day without being an ass?”

                “Can you not go one day without being annoying?”

                “Fuck you!”

                In the blink of an eye, Alfred was forced into the lift’s corner. Ivan blocked the light as he loomed over him, so close into his space Alfred couldn't not look into those wide, hollow eyes. “Fredka, let us play nice, da?”

                “You started it!”

                Ivan narrowed his eyes. “Is that so?” Then, to Alfred’s surprised relief, he backed away. “I am...sorry, then. I will try to be more...considerate of your feelings.”

                “A-Ah, yeah, you— uh, do that,” Alfred replied awkwardly. Ivan apologizing was so rare that he never knew what to say when it happened—plus, he didn’t know if Ivan actually meant it, so he couldn’t take it too seriously. “Anyway, I haven’t served— I mean, provided you with any refreshments with the busy schedule. You hungry or something?”

                Ivan raised a hand as if to silence him, “I am fine. I focus better this way. I do not feel any hunger when working.” As if on cue, his stomach growled, louder and longer than Alfred’s.

                “...I’ll prepare some.”

                Ivan refused to grace him with a thank-you.

                There wasn’t a day that Alfred didn’t dread that his bodyguard job was more profound than simply protecting the Prince. Alongside his domestic duties, he was also tasked with helping Ivan with his royal garb, one of which was his ornate white cloak. The same cloak he wore during the Siber Academy’s grand opening.

                It really was a magnificent piece: voluminous black fur framed the collar, braided chains of golden polyester rested on either side with a golden clasp pinned at the front, the insignias of their kingdom glossing across the hem and black leather lapels. This cloak screamed royalty with every stitch, yet retained the wintry modesty characteristic of Spades itself.

                Alfred didn’t like it.

                “Do not drag it like it is a rag,” Ivan chided as Alfred heaved the regal piece of clothing across the wooden floor, “That cloak costs more than your life. It has been in the royal family for generations.”

                “Yeah, yeah,” Alfred grunted dismissively. Ivan leaned down, allowing him to drape it over his shoulders.

                Alfred began to adjust the cloak to make it look presentable. He was in the middle of fixing Ivan’s collar when they heard a knock from the main room. Alfred looked at Ivan, who nodded his approval, then called out, “Come in!”

                The sound of the door opening in the distance echoed into the closet, and the click of heels came toward them, stopping at the closet’s entrance. “Are you two ready yet?” Yao asked, standing at the threshold with his hands elegantly clasped together.

                “Almost,” Alfred responded, making final adjustments to Ivan’s attire—double-checking the clasp and smoothing out his hair—then stepped back, squinting at him in scrutiny. He turned to Yao brightly, “Ready!”

                “Are you ready as well?” Yao eyed him. The blonde was in his usual uniform and navy cape, his hair as disheveled as ever.

                Alfred shrugged. “I don’t think it’s too important for me to fix myself up. I’m just the bodyguard.”

                “Aw, what a shame,” Ivan crossed his arms, turning to him with a sardonic smirk, “I was looking forward to the day that Alfred F. Jones put effort into his appearance. Perhaps a dress? Form-fitting?”

                Alfred scoffed. “In your wet dreams.”

                “Alright,” Yao interjected, regaining their attention before they could derail into a fight. “If you are finished, proceed to the grand entrance. A carriage awaits your arrival.”

                The pair began to exit, but Alfred had barely walked a few steps before a slender arm blocked his path. “Not you. I need to talk to you about something,” Yao said, his golden glare anchoring Alfred in place.

                Alfred blinked. Ivan, who had stopped when Alfred stopped, looked back at them questioningly. Yao turned to him. “You may go.”

                Ivan hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly as he glanced between the two Omegas. In the end, obedience won out, and he followed the command, exiting the room silently.

                Once they heard the echo of the closing door, Yao turned to Alfred, his stern eyes piercing into him. “I know you and His Highness do not get along well, so I'm going to reiterate over and over again to make sure it sticks. I worry that your belligerent spirit may get carried away in fighting and will forget the Prince in the process. He may not look it, but he is anxious about today, as it is his first public event in a decade. I do not want the day to be ruined for him, so please remember your duty and don't get carried away as you did in the duel."

                "I won't. I value my duties more than anything," Alfred said rather seriously. "And I would never jeopardize it with my personal feelings."

                Yao studied him critically, his golden gaze burning into his own. Alfred remained unfaltering. Finally, Yao sighed. "I just wanted to make sure," he assured softly. "But I see that I had nothing to worry about. Alright then, make haste; I assume the Prince has missed pestering you."

                Ivan sat quietly in the carriage, a sole finger drumming an impatient rhythm on his bicep as he stared out the window. His mind was blank, barely registering the snow-white landscape embraced in a partial shroud of morning mist outside his window.

                The click of the carriage door brought him back to earth, turning to the bodyguard now climbing inside.

                “Well, you certainly took your time,” he remarked idly, watchful eyes following Alfred as he took a seat across from him. “What did you and Yao discuss?”

                Alfred shrugged. “Nothing important,” he lied, “Just drilled me about the ceremony again.”

                “Afraid your squirrel brain might forget, I suspect.”

                Alfred glared at him, annoyed. He told Yao he wouldn't fail his duty, but Ivan was really making it difficult to uphold his words. And anyway, the prince hardly required any protection at all! Someone like him was rarely in the tendrils of true danger. No situation ever seemed to faze Ivan, who consistently demonstrated formidable strength, cool composure, and a good amount of quick-witted sarcasm, making Alfred’s job annoying rather than perilous. His attitude toward Alfred made him wonder that if there were indeed threats in the event, abandoning Ivan wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

                “Very amusing, Prince,” Alfred mocked, sarcasm drenching his words. “I do hope you keep this buoyant humor of yours for the inauguration since you have to put on a cheery smile for your people. I know how much you hate these droning events.”

                “You are wrong, as always,” Ivan replied crisply, smoothing out his cloak. “I admit that I do have a general disdain for publicity events, but that does not mean I do not work hard for them. I take all of my duties as prince seriously and do not treat any of them with less diligence than I do with my other work, especially for this inauguration in particular.”

                Alfred cocked an eyebrow. "Why in particular?"

                "It is the first public event held by the Palace in a decade." 

                "...Ah," Alfred recalled that Winter and Yao had said the same thing. "Are you nervous?"

                Ivan let out a small scoff. "Even if I were, I doubt you would care. Or be helpful about it."

                "Hey, I would!" Alfred insisted. "But if you're going to be like that, then maybe I won't after all!"

                The outburst elicited a chuckle from the Prince. "We will see. I can finally witness the full potential of my knight today—you do decently with paperwork and menial duties, but I have yet to see your abilities as a bodyguard."

               "Well, I guarantee you won't be disappointed!" Alfred crossed his arms proudly, "Sitting in this carriage with you is someone with years of experience. You should be honored!"

               Relief softened Ivan's tension at the change of topic. Feeding Alfred's ego was always an effective way to distract him. "Years of experience? In what, eating contests?"

               "How dare you!" Alfred gasped, "I keep telling you I'm not fat!"

               "I did not say anything about your weight."

               Thus, the Prince and his bodyguard ventured on toward the cities, their arguments filling even the outside air and keeping the coachman entertained.

                “Hey, what the hell?” Alfred exclaimed when he opened the carriage door, a paper bag of food in one arm. The bench across Ivan had his enormous white cloak splayed out on it, leaving the seat beside Ivan the only one available. “Where am I going to sit now?”

                “Next to me, of course,” Ivan quirked an eyebrow as if it was obvious. “The cloak was heavy, so I wanted to relieve my shoulders.”

                “Then just put it on your lap!” 

                “It is far too big. Come now, sitting next to me is not that bad, is it?” he smirked, patting the cushioned seat next to him. Alfred glared at him before stalking into the carriage, slamming the door behind him, and plopping himself onto the seat indignantly.

                “I’m only sitting here because of the cloak,” he clarified sharply.

                “Of course. What did you get?” he indicated the paper bag.

                Alfred instantly grinned. “A burger!” he pulled out a tall box, beaming widely.

                “...Is that not too tall for a burger?” 

                “Not at all!” Alfred opened it to reveal a grotesquely large burger with a fat patty, crisp lettuce, and its condiments practically oozing out. It made Ivan grimace more. “You seriously eat that?” 

                “Hey, don’t judge me! I don’t get to eat burgers in the Palace cause they’re considered commoner food, so this is a rare treat! Also, do you really not want any snacks? We’ve been on the road for several hours, and we still have a few more hours to go until we reach Siber.”

                Ivan waved him off. “I am fine. I am not hungry.”

                Alfred shrugged, “Suit yourself.”

                The carriage ride fell into silence after that, the only noises being Alfred’s munching. He grinned happily as he ate—it had really been far too long since he last had a burger—and would occasionally glance at Ivan, who was staring out the window silently. Alfred watched him for a bit, wondering if he truly wasn’t hungry, but soon returned to eating. Ivan had rejected the request for food, and even if he were hungry now, he wouldn’t want to eat the burger.

                He finished eating without regret and decided to save the soda for later, as he already felt quite full. With the carriage lightly jostling, the warmth from the bleak sun, and his full stomach, Alfred felt his eyelids slowly growing heavier. His body relaxed, and his head tilted slightly to the side. When the carriage drove a roundabout, Alfred’s head drooped, dropping onto Ivan’s shoulder. 

                Ivan, who was lost in thought while mentally preparing for the inauguration, flinched from the sudden contact, and he whirled around to see a head of feathery gold resting on his shoulder. He stared wide-eyed for a moment, contemplating what to do. If this were a month ago, he would have pushed him away, but now...he just wanted to look at him.

                When Alfred wasn’t being loud and argumentative and jumping to conclusions, he was really lovely to look at. The weight of the Omega’s body against his relaxed him, as did his scent, which comprised of sweet caramel and candied apples (Sometimes, when he was angry, it'd shift into the scent of honeyed butter). His hair was nice as well, a beautiful honey color that shone like feathery gold when faced with sunlight. His round cheeks were still flushed from the cold outside, and when he breathed in his sleep, it was a peaceful sound, his red lips parting ever so slightly.

                He watched Alfred, staring at how relaxed his body was, how his arms lay limp over his legs, his shoulders were drooped, and his legs stretched out as much as they could in the carriage. Most of all, most important—his body was warm. Just with his head on his shoulder, he could already feel the other’s natural warmth, and it made him smile. 

                Ivan briefly wondered how he could be so relaxed. He had been smiling and eating like he didn’t have a care in the world, and now he was asleep. The fool never seemed to worry about anything; did he not remember that this was his first royal event? Alfred could hardly act appropriately in the palace as it was. They needed to make a good impression, and with so much work piled on his desk, Ivan had not found the time to rehearse his speech properly. He’d have to revise it during this carriage ride. One stutter or pause in his pace would make him a fool in the eyes of the public. Along with ensuring he himself didn’t mess up, he also had to ensure that Alfred didn’t either. God forbid Alfred should offer a fist-bump to the Federal Railway Administration or lose his way upon reaching the stage. Royalty must not make a single mistake. The way they smiled and the way they talked, the tone of their voices and the pace of their walk, it all had to be perfectly calculated. He was taught this ever since he was young. That’s why he couldn’t understand how Alfred could be so peaceful right now. 

                His gaze lingered on his companion’s sleeping form a while longer before turning to look out the window once more. He let Alfred sleep until he caught sight of the city’s glass skyscrapers glinting on the horizon. He jiggled his shoulder. “Fredka, wake up now.” 

                Alfred frowned as his eyes fluttered open, groggy. “Oh...whoa!” Alfred yelped when realization struck him. He jerked away, pressing himself against the carriage door.

                “Had a nice dream?” Ivan teased, “I assume my shoulder was comfortable since you were sound asleep for two hours.”

                “Actually, I had a terrible dream.”

                “Oh?” 

                “Yep!” he began to tap his chin, acting as if he were trying to recall. “I think there was a huge nose involved,” he smirked, glancing at the Prince from his peripherals.

                Ivan socked him in the arm, hard, with a menacing smile. “Ah, Fredka, you are such a rude beast. I should not have been so kind~” 

                Alfred grunted from the punch, not wanting to show that it hurt. The coachman tapped the window above the seat across them, obscured by a blue curtain. “Your Highness, we are nearing the city now.”

                “Yes, thank you.” 

                Alfred gasped. He slammed his face against the cold glass, his spectacles digging into his nose as he strained to see the full extent of the scene outside.

                The carriage was now trundling through the busy streets of Siber, its steam-powered wheels carrying them past glass buildings that reached skyward, catching the afternoon sunlight, glinting and gleaming, stealing the very breath from Alfred’s lungs. The entire city was dusted with thick layers of crisp snow, but it didn't seem to deter the bustling activity outside. Alfred gaped in awe at the never-ending row of shops, restaurants, and the neon billboards hanging high above. Looming over them and casting rivers of shadows was a complex network of elevated roads, all carefully curated to ease the flow of traffic. On the sidewalks, people were striding purposefully in the colors blue and violet, their colorful-clad figures like splashes of color in the otherwise wintery atmosphere. They looked busy and impatient, some holding briefcases, others stacks of papers, while a few talked rapidly into their phones. 

                Everything seemed to move faster here. It was a completely different world from the calming grasslands and bricked cottages of Krasny that Alfred knew.

                His fascination must have been plain, for Ivan’s voice broke the silence.

                “Never been to a city, Fredka?” Ivan asked with a touch of amusement.

                “There are no cities in the South,” Alfred responded, his face still smushed against the glass. “I live in a village. The town is the closest thing we have to a city, but I rarely go there.”

                “Oh? And why is that?”

                Alfred’s reply was immediate. “Too busy.”

                It was a simple answer, devoid of any remarkable details. Ivan eyed him, trying to detect anything further in his squished features, but found none, so he shifted his gaze to the window as well.

                "Isn't this your first time seeing the city too?" Ivan's attention shifted back at Alfred's question. He was no longer smushed against the window, and was now looking at Ivan expectedly.

                "My first time seeing the outside world in general," Ivan corrected with a small smile. "It is...as beautiful as I imagined it. Unfortunately, I cannot appreciate it in its entirety." H

                He gripped the thick file in his hand as he said this. Alfred pouted. "That's no good. It's your first time out here, and all you can think about is work. You should've joined me when I went down to order food."

                Ivan shook his head. "It is better this way. If I make a mistake in the event, I won't be allowed to leave the palace again. I would rather retain that privilege, even if I cannot make the most out of it."

                "But what's the use of working so hard to be able to go outside if you can't even enjoy it?" Alfred asked, a tad frustrated. "Isn't that the whole point?"

                "...I suppose."

                Alfred bumped their shoulders, grinning at him. "Then you can enjoy it a little, right? I'm sure a few minutes of sightseeing won't erase all your practice. In fact, it might even help you relax. Being too nervous is also detrimental."

                Ivan pursed his lips, shifting his gaze to the world outside the glass, at the bustling cityscape whizzing past in a blur of colors and shapes. For once, his surroundings were not limited, not enclosed by tall stone walls. He was free. Beyond this carriage, he could go anywhere he wanted, and he'd see all sorts of things, not just trees and snow and trees and snow. He'd see people—hundreds, unfamiliar, other people—and an endless blue sky, not one cloudy and grey.

                He once thought that this world was too far beyond his reach, but now he was actually here, and he couldn't even enjoy it.

                Still, he shook his head, his gaze falling to his lap as he remained quiet. Alfred sighed in disappointment. Ivan had looked out the window with such longing, only to still refuse. He wondered how much conditioning he had gone through to prioritize work so much. But, if he was going to be this way, then he might as well support him.

                He reached over to the opposite bench and picked up the file. "So, the inauguration proceedings," he began to flip through the pages, "Do you want to go over them again?"

                Ivan turned to him in brief surprise. Then he relaxed, and smiled faintly. "I would like that."

                A loud horn blared in the distance, heralding the start of their procession. From the safety of their distant hiding place, they could hear the muffled announcement through the speakers:

                “And now, to close this ceremony, we now present His Royal Highness!”

                With a flick of the coachman's reins, the majestic horses crafted out of gears and polished brass surged forward, propelling the carriage from its hidden spot. As they emerged into view, a deafening din of cheers erupted from the assembled throng, their thunderous applause reverberating through the air and causing the ground to tremble.

                It made Alfred laugh. “Whoa, you seem to be well-liked, dude.”

                “Do not call me such a thing. Also, there is a difference between that, and what they are are doing.”

                “You’re not happy that they’re clapping for you? If it was me, I wouldn’t be able to fight a smile off my face.”

                “That’s because you are easy to please,” Ivan responded with a smirk. “You relish in any sort of attention because you never get any as-is.”

                “Hey!” Alfred exclaimed sharply, “No, I don’t! I’m picky about the sort of attention I receive, too!”

                Ivan cocked an eyebrow, “You receive attention? Let me guess,” he smirked, “Is it during a weight-loss seminar?”

                “No! I—”

                Ivan raised a hand to silence him, “Enough of that. We are approaching the crowd, and we cannot be seen arguing."

                With practiced poise, they composed themselves into a dignified posture, plastering smiles as they awaited the opening of the carriage doors. As Alfred kept his gaze outside, watching hundreds of people clamor and buzz with excitement, he suddenly felt...nauseous.

                There's...a lot of people out there...

                The longer he watched them, he could only think about how ready they would be to judge him. To watch him blunder and fail, then point and mock him with their hundreds of sharp eyes. Alfred did well with crowds, but only if he was a part of them. It was entirely different if you were the one being watched. His hands began to twist anxious folds into his uniform, bouncing his knee. He wrenched his gaze away from the window—as watching such a large crowd was worsening his nausea—and his gaze fell on Ivan.

                The silence was thick—and through the quiet, Alfred could hear a persistent thumping sound. Ivan's fingers were twisting the tails of his scarf, the only indication of any distress, as Ivan's expression was inscrutable as he stared out the window. But when Alfred focused on his chest, he could see it it rising and falling rapidly, synchronous with the rapid beat of his heart.

                “What's up with you?” Alfred raised a brow.

                Ivan froze. “Nothing."

                "You're about to tear your scarf with how much you're twisting it up. That's not nothing."

                Ivan looked down at his hands, then slowly released the woolen tails. He remained quiet, so Alfred probed more. "Are you nervous?" 

                Ivan glared at him, but it was half-hearted. Alfred persisted. "It's okay to be nervous. This is the first public event in ten years, right?"

                "My first one ever," Ivan corrected quietly. "I have never been out of the Palace before this, remember?"

                "Oh, right," Alfred smiled sheepishly. "I'm sure you'll do great, though. You practiced a lot."

                Ivan raised a brow. "Are you comforting me?"

                Alfred jerked. "No! It's just— It's weird to see you this way, that's all! You're always confident, so seeing you so nervous is making me nervous, too— yeah, that's it! So it's not like I care or anything."

                Ivan snorted, before bursting into a laugh. "How cute," he smirked, "Are you truly embarrassed? There's nothing to be ashamed of."

                "Quite the contrary, there's tons to be ashamed of. God forbid I'm caught showing any sympathy for you. I didn’t know you were even capable of feeling emotions. You’re like,” he gestured wildly, searching for an appropriate adjective, “a freaky winter robot.” Perfect. "And if you mess up, I won't be able to go outside either, and I think I'd go haywire if I was cooped up in that Palace with you twenty-four-seven, twelve months a year. So technically, I'm only doing this for me! Not that I care about you or anything!"

               "Yes, yes," Ivan rolled his eyes. "I do not care about you either. No emotions involved whatsoever."

               "Good!" Alfred countered, "Then we're on the same page."

                The carriage came to a halt in front of the long blue carpet, where Meka guards stood along its length, their strong metallic frames keeping the eager crowd at bay. Alfred did his best to calm his pounding heart. Although he knew no one would really be looking at him—after all, they were here for Ivan—he couldn't shake off the nerves. Drawing in a deep breath, he decided to shift his attention to Ivan. 

                Ivan was staring out the window again, appearing composed. To his credit, his breathing was steady and he was no longer fidgeting, but his fists clenched so tightly that his nails would have pierced his palm were it not for the gloves. Alfred reached over to touch his hands. Ivan flinched, freezing into a statue.

              “Calm,” Alfred reminded in a whisper as the coachman hopped off his seat to open the door for them. Too preoccupied to bristle at the touching, Ivan just nodded and took a deep breath. When the carriage doors opened, their smiles were back on their faces.

                Instantly, the crowd shushed each other and fell silent, watching with bated breath. To both their confusion and awe, a beautiful Omega had stepped out first. He thanked the coachman cheerily before turning his smile to the watching crowd, who instantly broke out in cheers once more.

                Keep calm, Jones, Alfred reminded himself, eyeing the cameras clicking away rapidly, their bright flashes illuminating the area. The people were making no effort to hide their confusion.

                “Who’s that?”

                “I’ve never seen him before.”

                “Where’s Yao?”

                “Did they replace him?”

                “Who cares, this one is lovely!”

                “Beautiful!”

                Alfred didn't know whether to preen at their praise or feel empty. He had enough experience in Krasny to know it wasn't sincere, but he couldn't help the pride fluttering in his chest. 

                A few photographers at the front of the crowd were calling out to him, asking him to look their way for the picture. He turned with a dazzling smile and waved cheerfully at them. The photographers’ faces tinged red, the goal of clicking a picture of this mysterious beauty long forgotten. Alfred blinked at them, smile turning blank at the reaction.

                Huh. It must be hot for them in that sweaty mob.

                Suddenly, the loud clamor ceased, and their attention shifted elsewhere. Alfred turned around to see Ivan climbing out of the carriage. Remembering his job, he scurried over to aid him. He held Ivan’s large hand to help him down the steps, his other hand lifting the long cloak to make sure it didn’t get stuck in anything.

                Ivan leaned down to whisper. “They seem to like you."

                Alfred shivered at the feeling of his breath in his ear but covered it up with a sheepish smile. The scene melted the crowd and a clamor of Awws filled the air, a sentimental few at the front pressing a hand to their chest.

                “Who is that Omega anyway? Is he an attendant like Yao?”

                “Are you serious? The Prince never let Yao touch his hand like that—he’s clearly his mate!”

                “His mate?”

                “The Prince has a mate now?”

                “I can’t decide which one of them is luckier.”

                “What an eye-candy couple!”

                Alfred could feel his smile twitching. Him? Ivan’s mate? Never. Not even if you paid him billions worth of gold. Honestly, he didn’t know why they were falling all over themselves for Ivan. Sure, he's the prince, but to fawn over him that much?

                Maybe it’s because of his looks? He peered up at Ivan from the corner of his eyes; like Alfred himself, he had a deceiving smile frozen on his face—One that was soft, whispering of kindness, understanding, and gentleness, which Ivan possessed none of.

                Is His Highness good-looking? Alfred asked himself. Personally, he couldn’t see it. Perhaps it was because he knew too much about the Alpha’s personality to regard him as physically attractive. 

                Abruptly, Ivan’s gaze cut to his, making eye contact. Seeing that Alfred was staring at him so openly, he smirked. "Something on my face, Fredka?" 

                The blonde flinched, then huffed. "No, just your ugly nose." He swung his gaze forward, embarrassed at being caught.

                But the feeling faded away quickly, replaced with an overwhelming sense of looming dread. His gut was screaming at him, but when his eyes scanned the area, he could only see excited bystanders. He narrowed his eyes, trying to squint past them, willing his vision to see something hidden, but nothing.

                “Fredka?” Ivan whispered, “Your scent spiked.”

                Alfred didn’t tear his eyes away from the crowd. “I can sense something—someone. Possibly an attacker,” he whispered, “But I can’t see them.”

                Ivan slightly furrowed his brows at this serious claim. He straightened up further. “Be vigilant, then. We cannot let them harm the citizens,” Alfred nodded at this before Ivan continued, “But do not make it so obvious that you are sensing danger. It will make the crowd panic and alarm the attackers. Control your scent.”

                Alfred took a deep breath, relaxing his tense facial muscles so that his expression would be the picture of serenity. As they neared the end of the carpet, Alfred nudged him in his side. "Look, you made it," he pointed out with a grin, "And you didn't mess up. All you have to do now is deliver your speech."

                Ivan blinked and realized that he did, in fact, make it to the end of the carpet without worrying. He had been too busy talking to Alfred to think about it. He nodded with a smile. "I will do my best."

                They stepped onto the stage where the Federal Railroad Administration was waiting, along with Raivis, who was standing nervously in the middle. Behind the platform was the impressive Siber Station, standing tall with its glass walls and gold-colored metal. Elevated railways were protruding out of both sides of the glimmering building. The stone tracks, held up with large pillars, continued to snake throughout the city and out of sight.

                “Y-Your Highness!” Raivis greeted with a nervous smile, “I am glad that you had a safe journey here, and I am truly honored for your presence,” he bowed deeply, and the Administration followed.

                “Likewise,” Ivan said, inclining his head. Alfred moved past them to take his place on the side of the platform.

                Raivis raised the microphone again, his voice booming throughout the area. “And now, to close this ceremony, our own Prince of Spades, revered by all, will now give his own remarks.”

                As Ivan moved to take the microphone from him, Raivis returned to his original spot. As he passed by, Alfred gave him a discreet thumbs up, mouthing Good job, which seemed to ease the young Alpha's nerves.

                Ivan began his own speech, and Alfred did his best to stay awake during it. They had rehearsed so much in the carriage that the words didn't sound like words anymore.

                Thus, he decided to use this time to observe him instead. To his credit, despite being nervous just moments earlier, Ivan certainly didn't look it. His speech flowed seamlessly, each word meticulously chosen and delivered with precision, and the way he smiled—so soft and pleasant, so different from the feral beast that Alfred had almost killed twice—was perfect as well. There wasn't a flaw in Ivan's presentation of himself, and what really struck Alfred was that it wasn't talent, it was hard work.

               When they had practiced in the carriage earlier, Ivan would suddenly stop and curse under his breath, restarting over and over until he got it right. He had been that way when writing it, too—Alfred proofread all his drafts and thought they were commendable, but all Ivan could see were errors. Alfred was exasperated with this trait of his because if Ivan stayed up all night then he had to stay up too. He'd mostly loiter around the room or use his phone, but every so often, he'd look over and see that Ivan was barely able to stay awake. His vision was swimming, but he kept going until his output was above expectations. It puzzled him why he was so obsessed with perfection.

                But after spending almost a month together, it made sense. Raised to believe that anything less than perfection was failure, he pushed past his limits to exceed that. Being from a family of royals known for being crazy, all of whom had failed and corrupted Spades more and more, Ivan had to work even harder to prove himself. Alfred couldn't even blame the royal family at this point—that kind of impossible pressure, driven by fear of being forced into isolation and removed from history, would make anyone break. 

               But surprisingly, Ivan didn't. Even with all of this, he still had humanity in him, and he showed it countless times: how he had cried the day he got sick, his anger when he thought Alfred was pitying him, the way he snapped during their duel, and the countless nights when he'd stay up until the late hours of night, cursing himself with every tiny mistake he made. It was a reminder that beneath the crown and title, he was simply a person striving to fulfill his duty and earn his place in history.

               A child forced into position too early.

               Alfred suddenly felt guilty.

               A sharp movement in the distance. Alfred perked up. He narrowed his eyes. For a second, there was nothing, but then the quick-moving shadows returned once more.

               “And it is with great pleasure that I—”

               Alfred squinted more, trying to discern their hurried movements, a difficult feat due to his inadequate eyesight.

               “—the Prince of Spades, declare the Siber Station—”

               Alfred’s vision cleared enough to see a few figures clad in black clothes running around behind the crowd. One was holding a two-way radio—or, as Alfred liked to call it, a walkie-talkie—and seemed to be reporting the happenings. The figure looked up as if examining the train station. Frowning in puzzlement, the blonde turned around. Just as Ivan cut the ribbon, announcing the word “Open!”, two sleek trains shot out of the station, one going eastward and the other going westward.

               And, to Alfred’s horror, there was a darkly dressed figure crouching on top of one of the trains—and was pointing a rifle.

Chapter Text

                As the confetti cannons went off, Alfred lunged for Ivan. “GET DOWN!” he tackled Ivan to the ground, narrowly missing the bullet that whizzed past them and nearly struck a crowd-member’s foot. It instead hit the blue carpet, forming a small, burned black hole that smoke hissed out of.

                The cheers instantly turned into screams as the crowd began to panic and disperse, pushing and shoving and squeezing each other in an effort to get away from the area. The Meka had begun movement as well. From stiffly standing sentinels, they sprang into action and began to herd the distressed crowd to safety. The heavy stampede of a thousand feet rumbled the ground beneath them, making the Administration and Raivis sway and stumble.

                “You! Meka!” Alfred screamed at the nearest one. The robot halted, then mechanically turned to him. “Take them with you!” he indicated the FRA and Raivis with a jerk of his head. “Make sure to protect Raivis! He’s a child!”

                The Meka bobbed its head, then extended its limbs all the way to the platform, grasping the entire group in a tight, steely embrace. He effortlessly picked them up and then quickly marched away, the FRA and Raivis screaming as they were held up in midair.

                With them safely out of the way, Alfred scrambled to his feet, “Your Highness, get up, they’re here!”

                Ivan jumped to his feet as well. They intended to follow the Meka who had taken Raivis with them, but they barely took a few steps before another bullet fired, this time nearly grazing Ivan’s large nose.

                “Nope, not that way!” Alfred grabbed the Prince’s arm and dragged him the other way. They bolted down the streets, shoving past the panicked citizens who were running about haphazardly. “Get to safety!” Alfred yelled, “Running around won’t help! Get shelter—!”

                A rain of bullets attacked them, making the nearby bystanders screech louder. One of the bullets hit the building, causing a large chunk of it to break and fall off. Alfred watched with wide eyes, then frantically scanned the ground. There was a little child in the middle of the street, repeatedly crying for his mother, not noticing the shadow of the boulder engulfing him.

                Alfred quickly abandoned Ivan’s side to snatch the child right before the boulder dropped to the ground, cracking the road’s concrete. The child, realizing what could have happened, cried even louder. “Shh,” Alfred soothed, patting the child's head. “It’s okay, you’re safe. Do you know where your parents are?”

                The child shook his head. “W-We,” he sniffled, “We got separated in the crowd b-because there are so many people.”

                “Okay, well,” he quickly looked around. Across the street was Ivan dodging the bullets that were targeting him specifically, and the blonde felt his panic rise. He had to get this child to safety quickly so he could get back to his job. “Do you know where the police station is?”

                The child thought for a moment, then nodded. “It’s over there,” he pointed to the direction that people were running in. Alfred nodded. “Okay, do you think you can make it to the station on your own?”

                The child pursed his lips, then shook his head. “It’s scary...Can you go with me?”

                Alfred made a noise of sympathy, “I’m sorry, buddy, but I can’t. I have another person to protect. Um,” he looked around again, then, to his relief, there was a Meka running down the street, its heavy feet thudding on the ground with mechanical noises, herding another group of panicked citizens to safety. “Hey! Hey, wait!” he called out to the robotic sentinel. The Meka stopped and turned to Alfred with a whir of its optic sensors.

                “Carry this kid to the nearest station,” he lifted the child up and into its steely brass-colored arms. The child looked alarmed and not at all comfortable being held by a large, scary-looking robot. Alfred reached up to pat him, “It’s alright, he won’t hurt you. He’s a friendly robot that will take you to safety, okay?”

                The child simply nodded before the Meka ran off again. The moment they were out of earshot, Alfred flinched when a sharp metal sound rang right next to his ear. He jumped back to see Ivan behind him, holding a broken piece of metal from a car. He was holding it up defensively, like he had used it to deflect a bullet. He then seized his bodyguard's arm and sprinted down the sidewalk.

                “We cannot stay here,” Ivan yelled over the chaotic clamor of the city, “The citizens are getting caught in the crossfire. We need to lure the attackers elsewhere!”

                “There is an abandoned factory a mile away,” Alfred called back, “We can't go inside, but the area surrounding it is full of buildings, tanks, and smokestacks. We can hijack a car!”

                Alfred halted in front of the nearest vehicle. “Sorry to whoever owns this,” he muttered before punching the window, cracking a hole through it, and making the rest of the glass fall away. He unlocked the car from within and then swung the door open, “Get inside!”

                Ivan climbed into the passenger seat, and Alfred got in the driver’s. “You couldn’t have chosen a bigger car?” Ivan complained. His head was bumping the roof as Alfred had ripped open the car’s compartment and was now sorting through the wires.

                “You’re really going to be picky about the car right now?” he yelled.

                “Where are they?!” A gruff voice shouted behind them. They whirled around to see a cluster of black-dressed figures regrouping on the sidewalk.

                “Oh, fuck this!” Alfred abandoned the wires and took out his dagger. He stabbed it into the car’s ignition switch and sharply turned it. The vehicle roared to life. “Oh my god, I did it!” he laughed in triumph, “That’s the first time I’ve tried that!”

                “Celebrate later!” Ivan reminded loudly, “They are coming towards us now!”

                Indeed, the car’s roaring ignition had garnered the attention of the darkly-dressed group, and they were now running toward them. “Uh, wait!” Alfred wrung his hands, panicky. “I just realized I don’t know how to drive!”

                 Ivan whipped around, looking like he could strangle him. “You know how to break into a car but not how to drive?”

                “THOSE ARE TWO VERY DIFFERENT THINGS!”

                One of the attackers slammed their hands on the car, peering his wide eyes through the windows, startling a cry out of Alfred.

                “Hey, it’s the Prince!” he yelled, “He’s hiding in here!”

                “Oh, forget it! I will drive!” Ivan climbed over and, with quite some difficulty, switched seats. Just as the attacker had taken out his knife, Ivan slammed his foot on the gas pedal, and the car lurched forward, zooming away at the speed of light.

                Alfred pressed himself flat against his seat, screaming at the dangerous pace that they were driving. They sped out of the main part of the city and were now driving past the smaller buildings, a spot of evergreen visible in the distance. “Did we lose them?” Ivan asked.

                “Um,” Alfred began, but the question was answered by a gunshot hitting the car’s rear, making them jump. “No, we didn’t.”

                Ivan cursed under his breath and swerved off the street. The car bumped over the sidewalk and into an alleyway. Alfred looked back to see a black van jumping the curb as well and following them through the close space. It was a tight fit for them, but they were managing it. “Is there a way to open the sunroof?” Alfred asked, pulling out his rifle.

                Ivan pressed the button, not stopping to wonder about how Alfred managed to pull out an entire shotgun from under his uniform. Emerging from the open sunroof, Alfred began to release rapid gunshots at the black van. With them unable to open the doors and having no sunroof, they couldn’t shoot back. Alfred, always the sharpshooter, managed to hit the driver right in the chest, the window cracking from the shot and revealing the other members to him. With the driver dead, the car faltered and began to flounder in the tight alleyway, scratching against the brick walls. The one in the passenger seat took the initiative to drive, but it was futile.

                Alfred narrowed his eyes and shot every single person he could see, then shot the front two tires. The car screeched to a halt, its interior bloodied with red splatters, no longer having any live bodies inside it.

                Alfred collapsed back into his seat, “Okay, they’re gone.”

                “Really?” Ivan cocked an eyebrow, “You were only up there for around five seconds.”

                “Long-range is my specialty," Alfred smirked. "Especially these babies,” he held up his precious gun and hugged it affectionately.

                “Might want to make sure the safety is off before you do that."

                Alfred wrenched his face away. “Oh, right!”

                The car exited the alleyway, revealing a landscape of evergreen suburbia. The abandoned factory’s smoke tubes and warehouse roof could be seen in the distance. “So, what now?” Alfred asked awkwardly.

                “Stay vigilant,” Ivan answered sternly, “Those cannot be the only attackers. Such a small group would not have the guts to intrude on a royal event, so they must be a proper threat.”

                “Yeah, you have a—”

                They lurched sideways when something crashed into the car. “What the—!” Alfred peered out of the backseat window to see another black car, this time having a rotary cannon installed between the driver and passenger seat.

                They lurched sideways once more when another black car, the same as the other one, crashed into their other side. Now they were sandwiched between the two cars.

                “Oh, shit, now what?” Alfred yelled. Ivan pursed his lips, glowering coldly as the cars began to pull away, only to crash into them harder. They repeated this several times. “Give it up, Princey!” One of them taunted loudly, “We’re bringing your head back to the big boss!”

                Ivan snarled, then abruptly slammed the brakes, making them both lurch forward. Then he quickly swerved and jumped the curb once more, speeding away on the grass, the journey bumpy from the uneven ground.

                “Fredka!” Ivan called out. The blonde nodded affirmatively and emerged from the sunroof again. He tried shooting their tires, but the car was so bumpy that he kept missing, and he couldn’t concentrate enough, what with the flurry of bullets attacking him. Both cars had rotary cannons that they were shooting the car with, cracking the back window and denting the rear. Along with the cannon, each car had two people shooting at him. Alfred considered it a miracle he hadn’t been hit yet—these people were really bad shots, it seemed.

                They reached the end of the grassy field. Ivan floored the gas pedal, making them fly off the curb and drop heavily onto the street. Alfred lurched from the motion—he had fired a bullet while doing so and had accidentally shot one of the opponents. He fell off the car, but then the other car, which was right behind them, had run over him.

                Even Alfred could hear the crack of the bones, which made him cringe. Oops, he thought.

                “Your Highness!” Alfred yelled, “Make sure to steer clear of the neighborhood itself!”

                “I know!” Ivan swerved left at a tree, making the car behind him crash into it, “You do not have to tell me!”

                “Just making sure!” Alfred punctuated his words with a loud bang, shooting the driver of the car that crashed.

                This continued until they reached the abandoned factory. Alfred shot the top corner of a brick building, causing a large chunk of debris to fall onto the ground and block their path. Due to this, they managed to lose the attackers for a while and parked the vehicle in a concealed location.

                They climbed out of the car. “You should lose the hat and the cloak, by the way,” Alfred advised, “It’s difficult to run with all that.”

                “I was going to remove it even before you told me,” Ivan retorted, ripping his cloak and hat off. Alfred rolled his eyes and walked away, peering around the corner of the building they parked behind.

                “Okay, coast clear.”

                “The car is abandoned,” one of the attackers reported on his radio, “Let’s split up and find them.” he and his group dispersed, scurrying into different parts of the factory field in pairs.

                One pair held their guns at the ready, eyes darting around vigilantly as they rushed through the tanks and pipes. As they passed an alley opening, Alfred emerged and knocked them both out by slamming a metal box to their heads. As the bodies dropped to the ground, Alfred threw the box to the side. Meanwhile, Ivan was ripping a pipe off of the nearby building. “Prince!” he called his charge’s attention, “This way.”

                They jogged down the abandoned street. “So what is your plan, exactly?” Ivan asked. Alfred frowned at him, “Plan?”

                Ivan gave him an incredulous look, “Do not tell me you just plan to wipe them all out? You are not certain of their number, Fredka. We would be here all night.”

                “I think it’s more disturbing that you’re not concerned about the implication of massacre, just upset that we have to stay in this factory longer than we have to.”

                “Do not change the subject.”

                “Ugh, calm down, will you? I got this covered—”

                Alfred was interrupted when an attacker rushed out of the alley they just came through, and shot a bullet at Alfred’s head. Ivan hurled his pipe, which concurrently deflected the bullet and hit the man in his face. With a yelp and a gush of blood exploding from his nose, he fell to the ground with a thud.

                The two of them tried to run, but another attacker jumped down from an iron-black fire escape, holding a dagger and ready to strike as he pounced at Ivan. The blade nearly touched the Prince’s eyes before Alfred kicked him out of the way with a powerful swing, launching him at a brick wall and causing a massive crack.

                “Covered? How exactly do you have it covered?” Ivan probed.

                Alfred groaned out loud, “You’re seriously continuing that? Can’t you just trust me? I’m supposed to be your bodyguard—”

                “I would not even trust you with brushing the fur of my cat.”

                “I bring you your meals, handle your confidential documents, dress you in the morning,” Alfred listed, “and more. How could you not trust me? If I were so untrustworthy, I would’ve poisoned you already.”

                “How do I know you have not? Perhaps it’s a slow-working drug that will eventually drain me of all my energy, and then you get to implement whatever retribution you have in mind once I am a vegetable.”

                “Are you hearing yourself?”

                “Yes, I sound crazy. But sometimes there is a time for crazy.”

                “There is never a time for crazy!”

                The resonant echo of his cry reverberated through the field. Then, gradually, the ground began to rumble, a distant thundering sound looming in the distance. The two of them looked down to see the street’s debris vibrating, and their brows furrowed in puzzlement. Looking up, they could see an entire army of black-dressed Alphas charging at them like a sea of darkness—if the sea could hold guns and bare their teeth.

                “Run. Run, now,” Ivan seized Alfred’s bicep and took off in the opposite direction, bolting down the street. “Look what you and your loud mouth did, you brought them all right to us!”

                “You say that as if it’s a bad thing!”

                "How is this not a bad thing?"

                “Because this is perfect!" Alfred grinned, "Like this, I can actually feel the excitement of battle. This is my moment!” His feet screeched to a halt. The act made Ivan come to an abrupt stop as well.

                “What are you doing?” he asked in alarm as Alfred whirled around and started running towards the army. “Fredka! Come back!”

                “No!”

                With a curse, Ivan followed after him, easily catching up to the Omega's pace. “What do you think you are doing?” he hissed, “You are putting both of us in danger!”

                “Danger?” Alfred repeated, “This is hardly danger! You’re the most powerful figure in the Kingdom, why are you afraid of them?”

                “I am not afraid,” Ivan snarled, “This is not about me. This is about you running headfirst into peril without thinking first. Have you not stopped to think of why they are running towards us as a collective group? It could be a trap, yet you’re just charging headfirst. You are not only endangering yourself but others, be more considerate—”

                “That is the last thing I need to hear from you, of all people!” Alfred snapped back. "We should just kill them instead of running away! If we leave them alive they're going to cause more havoc! Now let me do my thing!"

                Not leaving room for argument, he quickened his pace. Ivan cursed under his breath as he followed.

                Swiftly dodging the bullets, Alfred grabbed a nearby box that was twice his size. His powerful grip wrenched his fingers into the navy-blue steel, using it as a shield. The bullets ricocheted off the box, a few bouncing back to strike their original shooters. Once in close proximity, Alfred hurled the box at them, knocking down a significant portion of the enemy horde like bowling pins. With a heavy thud, the box landed in the center of the mob, staining its bottom with the blood of motionless bodies. Alfred leaped onto the metal container and then plunged into the midst of the crowd with a powerful punch. From Ivan’s vantage point, it almost resembled an explosion from the way dust, debris, and bodies erupted in the distance.

                Alfred’s punch incapacitated several more, yet there were still many left. They lunged at him, launching physical attacks and gunshots in unison. However, Alfred, a skilled assassin since the age of ten, deftly evaded every bullet while countering the physical assailants with his own brutal strikes.

                When Ivan finally reached the area of the brawl, there was no longer anyone standing, with the exception of Alfred. He stood in the center of the piles of corpses, hunched over and breathless, his golden bangs concealing his darkened face like a curtain. His blue eyes were widened in mania and adrenaline, almost glowing in the shadows. Yet, despite that, he was completely unscathed. The only evidence of a struggle was the blood splattered all over him.

                Abruptly, he stood up straight, leaning back as he stretched his arms upwards. "Whoo!” he exclaimed, “Now that’s a fight!”

                Ivan eyed the corpses, particularly the ones whose bodies were crushed underneath the metal box, as he stepped over them. “Wow. Good job.”

                Alfred brushed his fringe out of his eyes with a prideful smirk, “I know, right? I'm the best, as always.”

                Ivan glared at him unamusedly. “That was clearly sarcasm. Why would I congratulate you for revealing our location?”

                “Revealing to who?” Alfred retorted incredulously, “I just defeated all of them. Look! There’s no danger.” He extended his arms, gesturing towards the heap of bodies, “Just trust me. I'm your bodyguard, so it's my responsibility to be aware of these sorts of things."

                "You being my bodyguard does not mean—"

                "Then maybe it should."

                Ivan bristled, his jaw tightening. "Must you always?"

                "You're the one insisting on this conversation—"

                "And this is your idea of compromise?"

                Alfred shook his head disbelievingly, throwing his hands up as he turned around, "You know what, we have other things to do than argue—"

                "Can you ever just agree?" Ivan snapped, "Must you always fight me on every little thing? You have been like this from the moment we met in Krasny. Obstinate, immature, unyielding to good, plain common sense—" 

                Alfred scoffed out a laugh. "Well, I can certainly understand why that would be so troubling for someone like you. Someone who's used to always getting his way, someone who's always giving orders—" 

                "I do not give orders—" 

                "You do!" Alfred snapped, "You give me orders, and you expect me to listen—" 

                "And why shouldn't you listen? I am your prince—"

                "And you think that fucking matters to me?" Alfred snarled, "I don't give a rat's ass about who you are. I will never listen to you, or to anyone I wholeheartedly disagree with. Do you think just because I work for you, I'm to blindly follow whatever you do? You have not earned my loyalty for that—my respect for that. But of course, why should that matter, hm? It's not like I could expect you to understand. You're used to getting your way, to having people follow your orders, all because you're a spoiled, selfish little—"

                Alfred fell quiet when a metal cylinder was suddenly tossed into the air, landing between them. When it made contact with the ground, suspiciously hued gas began to hiss out. The two of them flinched and jumped away from it, instantly knowing what it was. They clapped their hands to their mouths, covering their noses as the gas slowly began to grow and expand, enshrouding them in opaque fog.

                “Whatever you do, do not breathe it in, Fredka. You do not know what it is made of,” Ivan warned.

                “Yeah, I know,” Alfred huffed, feeling insulted, “Where did it even come from?”

                He turned to look around, but instantly a cloth was slapped to his mouth, and a burly arm wrapped around his middle. Alfred’s struggle was immediate, but whatever drug they doused the cloth in worked faster.

                “Fredka?” Ivan turned around in alarm at the sudden cut-off of his companion’s sentence. He frowned at Alfred’s disappearance. A sudden shift in the fog behind him provoked him to turn around sharply, eyes darting around for any sign of movement.

                A tense moment of silent stillness passed when suddenly, several black-dressed men lunged at him from the fog. Ivan’s reaction, like Alfred’s, was instant. On instinct, his fists swung. Since he is a large target, he was more difficult to subdue.

                Several more opponents piled on top of his broad frame, jumping onto his shoulders and tugging on his limbs. He tried to swing them off, but there were too many, and eventually, one person pounced onto him from behind and harshly shoved a strange-smelling cloth against his mouth. He flinched from this, but since his arms were occupied, he couldn’t remove it. His vision was blurry from the movement, and the fog was making it worse, he could barely see anything. Unable to stop himself from accidentally inhaling the drug due to the struggle against his attackers, it was only seconds before his eyelids began to close.

                Alfred slowly, groggily, blinked his eyes open, feeling strangely heavy. His face felt hot, and his head was painful, as if blood was rushing through the wrong places. His vision began to clear, and that’s when he saw a rusty wall adorned with large pipes and a large tank to the side.

                But the tank was upside down?

                Wait, no, Alfred realized. I’m the one upside down. “What the...”

                “Finally awake?” A cold voice spoke from close behind him. Very close behind, to the point that he could feel their body rumble against his. Jerking to full consciousness at this revelation, he looked around wildly. He was bound in ropes and suspended from a rusty ceiling in an abandoned warehouse. To his dreaded chagrin, he was not the only one.

                “Stop moving!” Ivan snapped at him, “I am dizzy enough without you swinging us around.” He then groaned, “I cannot believe you got us captured by a group of amateurs whose headquarters are a decaying storage house.”

                “Me?” Alfred repeated incredulously, “How is this my fault?”

                “You brought that army to us and revealed our location to them, and of course, you charged in headfirst without stopping to think if it could be a trap. Now we are stuck here together.”

                “Oh, don’t get your scarf in a twist, Prince,” Alfred mocked dismissively, “This isn’t my first time being kidnapped—I’ll get us out of here.”

                “Oh, just like you got us into this situation in the first place?” Ivan retorted sharply, turning his head to glare at Alfred, but since they were bound with their backs to each other, all it did was swing them around. “If you just knew how to use your ears and listen, we would not be here right now.”

                “I told you I got this covered!” Alfred turned his head around, too, swinging them the other way. “Just trust me—”

                “Trust you?” Ivan repeated, louder now, “Why would I trust you when you are the reason we are even in this mess—”

                “It’s not completely my fault! They’re only here ‘cause you’re the prince, so technically! It’s your fault!”

                “Now that is a ridiculous reason—”

                “How is it ridiculous—”

                “—you are just making up any sort of excuse now—”

                “—it’s not ridiculous when it makes a hundred percent sense. Mind you, we could have been able to run away after I defeated that army if you had just kept your mouth shut and not questioned my judgment—”

                “—maybe if you knew how to fucking listen, we would be on the way back to the palace by now, but no, you just had to ignore me—”

                “—it's literally my job to do this, why don’t you shut up first—”

                “Wow,” another voice echoed through the humid room, instantly silencing Alfred and Ivan’s overlapping argument, “This is the Prince of Spades?”

                The click of shoes on the stone ground resonated through the vast, empty room. The royal pair were bound in the middle, a spotlight on them, while the rest of the vicinity was drenched in shadow.

                “And,” the figure paused, “whoever this other one is.”

                Alfred gasped in offense. “Hey, that’s rude! Who even are you, anyway?”

                “Me?” A gunshot abruptly sounded, startling both, even more so when they dropped to the ground with a heavy thud. The snapped rope pooled beside them, the end of it hissing with smoke from the blackened hemp. Alfred had barely begun to open his eyes when a boot slammed down on the burning rope, making him flinch.

                “I’m the one who’s going to take your lives,” the figure finished, leaning down. He was an older Alpha, seemingly almost thirty, but it was hard to tell since he wore a mask over his eyes. He wore a sinister smile, sharp canines glinting in the ominous spotlight.

                But Alfred, who’s seen more dangerous expressions on his icy charge, and Ivan, who was unfazed by anything, didn’t react.

                The stranger scowled, then roughly grabbed Alfred’s face by the jaw. “Think you're tough, huh? Who the fuck even are you? We only wanted the prince.”

                “I’m his bodyguard,” Alfred answered through his squished cheeks.

                The stranger cocked an eyebrow, looking at him up and down. “You? A bodyguard? Ha!” he barked out a laugh, turning Alfred's face from side to side with a sharp grin, “You’re more suited for working at a brothel, little Omega.” 

                “Did you want something from us?” Ivan interrupted coldly.

                Slowly, the stranger wrenched his gaze away from the snarling Alfred to look at the Prince. “Yes,” he answered. He shoved the blonde’s face away and got to his feet. “And what I want, is your head, Your Majesty,” he pointed a gun at Ivan, aiming for his forehead.

                “I do not see how that would be beneficial,” Ivan responded, unbothered by the barrel pointed at him.

                “Oh, it’s very beneficial. To have the head of the monarchy’s absolute ruler is the perfect way to establish the Rebellion as a proper threat. To show what we are capable of—to show how inferior the monarchy is. Revealing your head to the public would establish us as a power, and people would bow to us, they would kneel to me!” he squatted down to look at Ivan closer, pushing the barrel against the Prince’s forehead, forcing the younger to look at him. “Do you have any idea how long we’ve been chasing you?” he whispered, his tone teetering into hysteria, “I’ve been setting fire and ransacking every pathetic little place you royals have stepped into for years, hoping—hoping that at least one of you would fall victim to it! But no! You escape, you escape every time! I don’t know how you did it, how you always managed to slip from my grasp, but this time, I’m not letting you get away.”

                “This time, I will have your head,” he stood to his feet, fanning his arms out, looking up at the rusty spotlight teetering above them, “and this entire Kingdom shall bow to the Rebellion!”

                "What?" a shaky whisper.

                Ivan and the stranger, who fell silent at the interruption, looked over at Alfred. He was deathly still, his eyes were wide—dark and empty and distant, as if he were reliving something painful beneath them. Ivan, though it was subtle, could feel the tremors of his shaking body against his back. “That was you?”

                “What the fuck are you talking about?”

                Ivan couldn’t see his expression, but he could feel the air begin to pressurize around them, making it hard to breathe. Alfred’s scent—usually the sweet flavor of caramel and candied apples—was strong and pungent, a sign of negative emotion, and it was suffocating.

                “My village," Alfred repeated with haunting calm. "It was ransacked, the adults were killed, and the children were kidnapped. Was that you?” 

                The stranger frowned, squinting at Alfred as if trying to recall his face, then shrugged, “Who knows? I destroyed so many villages, it’s hard to keep track of all of them.” Then, he smirked, “But it definitely sounds like me.”

                “And you’re fucking proud of that?” Alfred snapped with such thunderous volume that the warehouse shook beneath them. “You massacred innocents! And for what? Just in hopes of killing the royal family? Do you have any idea the magnitude of suffering the survivors of your stunts have experienced?” His voice was very harsh now. Growling and snarling, his voice was more beast than human. “Untie me from this rope so I can tear your fucking throat out!” he screamed, beginning to struggle violently.

                He wanted to destroy them, make them feel what he had felt, the feeling of desperate hopelessness, the spiraling panic when you realize that you’re done for, the beating heart roaring in your ears in the midst of utter chaos and terror, screams and gunshots and smoke overwhelming your senses. With the adrenaline coursing through his veins, fueled by these memories, he snapped the rope like it was nothing more than elastic bands.

                It freed both him and Ivan, but Alfred paid no notice to the Prince. Once he could feel the restraints fall off his wrists, he shot to his feet and charged at the Alpha, teeth bared and fist raised, prepared to strike.

                However, when he neared the Rebellion leader, he was electrocuted with a taser to the stomach. Alfred stumbled back, clutching his gut where the taser was still shocking him. He kept his infuriated eye contact with the man, even though the electrocution was making his vision incredibly blurry. He swayed one, two times before he dropped to the ground, curling in a fetal position.

                The Rebellion leader snapped his fingers. “Lock them both up. We’ll keep them in a cell, torture him with starvation before finally cutting their heads off.”

                Black-dressed Alphas suddenly emerged from the shadows, surprising Ivan. He watched as they lifted Alfred off the ground—Alfred, who was writhing in pain—and heaved him out of the room. But he said nothing, he didn't react. Simply, he let himself be lifted up and dragged away. 

Chapter Text

                The pair were shoved forcefully into a cramped, stone-walled room. The stranger appeared before them as the wrought-iron doors swung back and locked into place. “Hope you have fun in here, Your Majesty. Might as well say your goodbyes to your loved ones before we cut your heads off—oh wait, you can’t!” the stranger laughed boisterously as he walked off.

                Ivan’s large body took up more than half of the tiny cell, leaving little space for Alfred. But it seems that he didn’t mind, or perhaps just didn’t notice, because he instantly curled up in the corner, hugging his knees to his chest.

                Ivan strained his ears to keep track of the retreating footsteps. Once the sound was gone completely, he spoke. “Good, he is gone. Fredka?”

                Alfred didn’t respond. He was breathing erratically, glaring at his knees.

                “I see you are still reeling from earlier,” Ivan observed, “But you cannot be like this for long. Wrap up your emotions so we can escape already.”

                “I can’t believe...”

                Ivan blinked, “Hm?”

                “...after all these years...there was a reason for that fire...” Alfred murmured to himself, his body beginning to shake, “I thought it was just bad luck...they told me it was my fault...”

                Ivan watched as his glare turned wide-eyed and his grip on himself tightened. Then, he watched as Alfred suddenly let go of his knees in favor of hugging his abdomen, hunching over even more. His trembling increased, and Ivan could hear his heavy, labored breaths, which resonated particularly loudly in the enclosed cell.

                How? How was this possible? All his life, he thought he was the reason for the village getting burned. The adults, before they had died, had told him that he was to blame, that it was all his fault, and for ten years, he believed them. He lived with the guilt of killing innocents and destroying his and his brother’s life for ten years. And now—now he was learning that it wasn’t his fault after all, and he didn’t know whether that was good or not.

                Or perhaps it was his fault still? Why would they blame him otherwise? Oh, who was he kidding? Of course, they blamed him. Even now, if Krasny were ever set on fire, he would still be blamed. He was their scapegoat because he was the outcast. Why was it always him? Did the world really hate him that much? 

                His stomach was aching now, his entire body felt sore from how powerfully his heart clenched at these revelations. His chest’s pounding beat echoed in his ears so loud that he didn’t notice the sound of shuffling clothes and someone scooting closer to him. That’s why, when a large, heavy hand dropped onto his head, he tensed. 

                “It won’t stop,” Alfred whispered shakily, referring to his knotting stomach, “It won’t fucking stop.”

                “You need to calm down,” Ivan said as gently as possible, “You cannot lose yourself to your emotions here.”

                "I can't, I can't..." he whispered shakily, panickingly.

                "You can. You must." 

                Alfred didn’t respond further. His body’s tremors weren’t calming down. With a sigh, Ivan lowered his hand, tracing it down Alfred’s face to cup his cheek and lift it up, forcing him to look at him.

                “Fredka, I know that what the Rebel leader said was a terrible revelation for you, but you cannot let it affect you right now. You have a duty, a job to fulfill. You are still on the clock, which means you are still my bodyguard. You want to be a hero, do you not? Heroes are steadfast and solid. They do not so easily lose themselves to their hearts amid peril, as you should not as well. Do you understand?”

                Alfred looked away, his features scrunched up in a scornful grimace, restraining his rage in the form of begrudging acquiescence. “Yes, Your Highness.”

                Ivan stared. Gradually, sympathy began to soften his cold features.

                “Fredka,” he began, voice softer now, “I am not asking you to forget. You have every right to feel what you are feeling at the moment. I am just saying that there is a time for everything, and that time is not now. You cannot show weakness in an enemy base. So show me what you can do, okay? Prove that your strength is not just physical.”

                Slowly, he looked up at Ivan, eyes wide, his trembling long since ceased. He searched Ivan’s face, trying to find any jest, mockery, or malicious intent, but found none. He was simply waiting patiently for Alfred’s response.

                The blonde narrowed his eyes a bit, giving Ivan a weird look. “This is creepy,” he whispered. 

                “Stop acting like a baby, and I will stop treating you like one.”

                Alfred, who was calm now, shoved him away with a huff. Ivan had been way too close. Again. “I’m not acting like a baby. You know, you have some gall to tell me to stop feeling my emotions when you don’t even have a plan of your own.”

                “Who said I did not?” Ivan smirked and pulled out a two-way radio. Alfred straightened up sharply, mouth falling agape, “Where did you get that?”

                “I stole it from the Rebels when they were taking us here. I already sent a morse code to Winter, and he should be on his way now.”

                Alfred pouted. “But I don’t want to be saved by them. I want to put these guys to sleep myself.”

                “I know that,” Ivan agreed, “And that is why I am going to do this.”

                Alfred frowned in puzzlement, suspicious eyes following as Ivan slowly stood up, careful to keep himself crouched down so his head didn’t hit the ceiling.

                He peered through the wrought-iron bars to see if anyone was around. A few feet away was a Rebel sitting in a chair, head downcast as he snoozed away. His shotgun was cradled in his crossed arms, with a smaller pistol glinting in his holster. As far as Ivan could see, there was no one else around.

                Ivan gripped the part of the bars that held the lock—with some difficulty due to the large size of his hand—and, with a rough, metallic squeak, crushed it into a ball. He wrenched the destroyed lock out of the bars, then pushed the entrance open.

                Alfred jumped to his feet. “You couldn’t have done that earlier?” he snapped brattishly.

                Ivan shrugged. “You were going through something.”

                The blonde rolled his eyes as he stalked past him. 

              Ivan approached the sleeping Rebel nonchalantly. He tapped him on the shoulder, and the Rebel slowly blinked his eyes open. "W-Wha?” he muttered groggily, rubbing his eye. He blinked rapidly to make his vision clear, but he couldn’t see anyone. Puzzled, he turned around, only to be met with Ivan, flashing a cold, shut-eye smile at him.

                He hardly had a chance to react before his world went dark. Ivan forcefully slammed the crushed iron ball against his temple, shoving his head into the wall and splattering blood. The Rebel slumped against the wall, unconscious.

                Without wasting a moment, Alfred rummaged through his pockets and discovered a set of keys. Smiling in triumph, he tucked them into his pocket and seized the pistol from the Rebel’s holster. “So, what now?” he turned to Ivan.

                The Prince’s eyes widened, then narrowed into a smug grin. “Wow~ Are you finally asking for my help?”

                Alfred bristled in embarrassment. “T-That’s— Well, if you’re not going to take it seriously, then fine!”

                “Oh, Fredka, I am only teasing!” he laughed, poking the blonde’s cheek repeatedly.

                Alfred huffed and slapped it away, “So? Any plan?”

                “Yes, actually."

                "Boss! Boss! The prisoners have escaped!" A rebel yelled, bursting into the room. The Rebel leader, who had been engrossed in a game of gambling, immediately jumped to his feet, causing his chair to crash into a wall with a satisfying thud.

                "What the fuck are you waiting for then? Go find them, you dumbass! Everyone else, as well! Get out! Retrieve the Prince and his bitch by any means necessary, or I will shoot each and every one of you dead!" he screeched, firing a bullet into the ceiling to shock the Rebels into action. They scrambled out of the room in response.

                The Rebels hurried out like a wave of darkness, spreading throughout the warehouse. Some searched the basement, others searched the floors, and some checked the roof, but they couldn't locate the royals anywhere.

                "Any sign?" The Rebel leader asked impatiently, tapping his foot on the decaying floorboards. "No, sir. We found nothing," they responded.

                "You're all useless! If they are not in the warehouse, then search for them elsewhere—"

                Before he could complete his sentence, a sudden explosion shook the area, causing everyone to lose balance. Their ears rang from the thunderous sound, which repeated itself after a few seconds, with equal intervals.

                "What the fuck is that that?" the Rebel leader cried out, clutching his ears in pain. Outside, he could observe the leftover embers of the bomb igniting into raging flames.

                "I believe it's a bomb, sir—"

                "I know it's a bomb," he snapped, his voice piercing. "But why is there a bomb? What the fuck is happening?" The dilapidated warehouse started to crumble and quake, shedding its accumulated debris. "Everyone out!" The leader yelled at the top of his lungs, his voice reverberating through the metallic corridors.

                The Rebels didn't need to be told twice, and they hurriedly made their way towards the exit, their footsteps intensifying the trembling of the ground. As soon as the last Rebel stepped out of the warehouse, the building collapsed into a heap before them, the metallic clang deafening their ears. Fallen lamps scattered oil and fire, causing a massive inferno that blended with the flames already raging outside. The combination of dust and smoke made it impossible to see and suffocating to breathe.

                They barely had time to mourn the loss of their headquarters when, out of nowhere, gunfire filled the air, causing the Rebels to shriek and scream.

                One by one, they fell, blood spurting from their bodies and splattering on the others. The Rebel leader frantically scanned the chaos, feeling helpless as his men perished before his eyes. He was lost, unsure of what to do while everyone around him screamed and fled. The Rebels outside tripped over each other, their terrified cries merging with the symphony of gunshots. The air became thick with the smell of gunpowder, and fear lingered in the air like ripe fruit.

                Amidst the pandemonium, a figure emerged. From the fire stood Alfred, wielding two rotary cannons. He stood tall, with a smug sneer on his face. The surviving Rebels stared in shock, their faces drained of color. "Well," he said, his voice dripping with smugness, "That was quite the explosive party, wouldn't you say?"

                "What are we waiting for? Attack!" one of them yelled. Spurred, the Rebels charged at the blonde bodyguard as a united force. As they closed in, Alfred began to fire. He reloaded in the blink of an eye, pivoted, fired, pivoted again, his actions a blur but accurate as enemy after enemy fell to the ground. It was a grotesque experience, with blood splatter after blood splatter ending up on every inch of Alfred with each strike, but one that he was used to.

                What he wasn't used to, was their amount. The sheer number of them was beginning to overwhelm him. Alfred found himself reloading more frequently, the pauses becoming longer. Sweat dripped down his face as he struggled to maintain his pace. The enemy pressed in, closer and closer, and his shots grew wilder, less accurate. "Damn it!" In seconds, he ran out of bullets, and was now just wildly swinging around his cannons and hoping it would land, but it was difficult. Every time he struck one down, another was already jumping at him. Over and over and over, until Alfred didn't know which way to spin and what spot to hit, as they seemed to be coming at him from all sides. He could feel himself becoming sluggish and frantic in his confusion. 

                A savage blow struck him hard, sending him tumbling to the ground. His guns slipped from his grasp, skidding out of reach. He reached for his guns, but his limbs felt like lead, and the rebels' feet had already kicked his weapons away. They jeered at him from above, sneering at his position and Alfred braced himself when it looked like they were about to lunge at him. Hundreds of arms with angry hands no doubt prepared to tear him apart limb from limb.

                Cold. It suddenly felt cold.

                A burst of ice erupted through the ground, knocking back the rebels with a powerful force. Alfred blinked from his spot on the ground, then in the next, he was suddenly behind a massive wall of muscles draped in luxurious finery, a strong grip on his wrist keeping him there firmly. Alfred gaped upwards, craning his neck to watch as a tall, tall structure of ice was rocketing through the ground, spreading tremors through the earth. His gaze fell, following the icy mist spiraling down the frigid crystal to see it whirling out of a large, scarred hand. Alfred's brows twitched downwards when he noticed the hand trembling. When Alfred squinted, he could see a dark purple begin to appear at the tips of his fingers, snaking its way up to his elbow. He shifted his gaze to the owner of the hand; Ivan, who was wincing in pain. 

               Finally, the ice stopped rising. It towered over everything else, so ridiculously massive it could've been seen all the way from the other side of the land. 

               Ivan is breathing heavily, keeping his purpling arm upright with his other hand. Alfred's frown twisted in concern. "Your Hi—"

               His wrist was seized once more, and he was being yanked in the opposite direction, now sprinting at full speed through the maze of warehouses, down the dusty alleys and through dark intersections. When he looked back, he could see why. The rebel leader had escaped from behind the ice and was now chasing them, his snarl murderous and the pistol in his hand twice as. He was screaming obscenities at them from afar, shooting frantically but never landing a hit.

               "Are they here yet?" he asked loudly over the whooshing in their ears and the firing of the bullets.

               "Not sure," Ivan answered, "I have not gotten a response from Winter, but they should be on the way—"

               Ivan cut himself off by snapping his head upwards, where the sound of crumbling debris had reached his ears. A sharp chunk of a brick warehouse was hurtling toward them. In a panic, Ivan released his hold only to shove Alfred with all his might, propelling them both in the opposite direction. Alfred grunted as he tumbled onto the ground, finding himself trapped in the alleyway with the brick boulder blocking the entrance. 

               "Your Highness!" he yelled over it.

               Ivan couldn't respond. He was a mile away already, running from the stranger still hot on his heel, his heavy footsteps shaking the ground. 

               "Stop running already!" he shouted, "We both know I'll catch you, so just end this fucking game!"

               Ivan gritted his teeth. He wanted more than anything to stop running and just rip that puny rebel leader's head right off. But he was explicitly instructed not to in Winter's code, as they needed to capture as many alive as they could. Thus, his only option now was to prevent the leader from pursuing him. Ripping a pipe out of a nearby wall, Ivan forcefully struck it against the leg of a tank tower, bending the metal column and causing the entire structure to droop sideways. The man panicked as the tower began to fall. As the tank was about to reach the ground, the Rebel realized he wouldn't make it. In a desperate final attempt, he aimed at the roof of a nearby building and fired a shot, shattering large chunks of brick and concrete that began to plummet to the ground.

               Startled by the gunshot, and noticing the dark shadow that was gradually engulfing him, Ivan looked up in alarm. Above him, a massive pile of bricks was hurtling downwards, falling and falling, rushing towards him. Eyes squeezed shut, Ivan felt himself fall, his back hitting the stone floor with a thud. Although he could hear the rubble raining down around him, dropping like dead pigeons and shaking the floor, he couldn't feel the weight of it. Confused, Ivan cautiously opened his eyes only to snap them wide open at the sight before him. 

               Alfred was hunched over him, his forearms caging Ivan's head. His back had taken the brunt of the debris, his once fine uniform now ripped and bloodied, but Alfred's expression indicated that he was oblivious to his injuries. His sun-colored bangs hung between them, like a golden curtain, shielding their faces from the world outside them. His eyes were widened in shock, the murderous cold of his eyes replaced with a bright, sparkling emotion—genuine worry.

               "Ivan!" Alfred cried, "Are you okay?" 

               Ivan's breath hitched.

               Alfred's words barely registered in Ivan's ears. His heart pounded so loudly that it drowned out most sounds, but the sound of his name—his given, human name—resonated into his brain like a fading echo. His bright blue eyes were warm with genuine worry, stealing the very breath from Ivan's lungs as his wide eyes fixed solely on the Omega above him. 

               Before Alfred could repeat his question, a distant shout interrupted him and made him look up abruptly. "It's the Royal Guard! Run!" voices shrieked. The sudden loss of eye contact snapped Ivan out of his daze, and he blinked rapidly, trying to dispel his rose-colored vision.

               A few meters away, Alfred could see a group of people—clad in blue, white, and gold, like Alfred was—rushing into the scene as the Rebels scrambled to escape. Amongst them was Winter, his tall figure standing out even amid the chaos. "Capture as many as you can!" his deep voice boomed. Then, he swiveled in their direction. From his vantage point, he could see them surrounded by large chunks of debris, Alfred's bloodied back covering Ivan's body. He could also see Alfred beginning to sway, his vision blurring. The blonde had let his body relax at seeing reinforcements, but that meant that the amount of adrenaline and energy he had used up hit him all at once.

                "Alfred!" Winter yelled from afar, but it was futile. Winter was just a blob to him, his yell was a distant echo that barely reached Alfred's ears. He could feel the vibrations of their yells and the commotion around him, and he sensed Ivan starting to speak beneath him, but the words were incomprehensible. His senses had stopped functioning.

                As his vision began to fade, he felt one final yell.

                "Alfred!"

                "Ugh..." Alfred slowly cracked his eyes open, but they were stinging. Just opening them felt like his eyeballs were being pierced with needles. Along with that, something was blinding him. 

                "Awake now?" A soft voice asked. 

                Alfred blinked rapidly to get his vision to clear, and he realized that the sparkling chandelier was what was blinding him. To his dreaded realization, the walls were plain white. "Please don't tell me I'm in the hospital wing," he groaned lowly.

                "I thought you did not like it when I lied?" the voice teased. Alfred recognized the voice, and he groaned again. "Oh god, not you..."

                "Wow. Flattered. Is that how you greet me after I sat here for hours, awaiting your recovery?"

                Puzzled, Alfred glanced beside him to see Ivan sitting next to his bed, his body comically large on the small stool. It amused Alfred, enough to make him chuckle. Ivan raised a brow, "In a good mood?"

                Alfred shook his head, still smiling, "You just—pfft—you look so big compared to that tiny chair. It's comical."

                "I am surprised you know what comical means." 

                "Hey! I'm not completely dumb! Even I know what comical means!" Alfred bristled at Ivan's comment, instinctively trying to rise from the bed, but regretted it when he hissed in pain. "Ouch, nope, shouldn't have done that."

                Ivan instantly moved closer, aiding Alfred as he continued to sit up. "Are you alright? You should not be moving."

                "I'm fine. I'm sure Yao healed my injuries already."

                "Still, you exerted yourself a lot earlier. Fighting off an entire army of Rebels all by yourself, it is no wonder that you collapsed. You should rest now, be relaxed." 

                "I am relaxed."

                "You do not sound relaxed."

                "Well, I am. What's with you? Don't tell me you're worried for me or something," Alfred chuckled, "Be weird."

                "Should I make fun of you?" 

                "Yeah, 'cause that makes everything better," Alfred rolled his eyes, his words soaked in sarcasm. Ivan didn't get a chance to retort when the door suddenly burst open, and the temperature seemed to drop a few degrees. Winter marched in, his typically cold and stoic expression replaced with one of stern fury. Ivan quickly stood up. 

                He stalked towards them. "That was reckless," he hissed, and after a moment's pause, Alfred realized that it was directed at Ivan.

                "Da, I understand."

                Now Alfred was confused. "Hey, thanks for what you did tonight," he intervened, leaning forward a bit to address Ivan, whose back was turned to him.

                "Do not thank him," Winter snapped, his angry gaze fixed on Ivan. "What he did was highly dangerous. I instructed him to transmit your location and escape quietly. I never authorized him to engage in a confrontation with the Rebellion, let alone cause extensive damage. He defied my orders, and now we must use funds we do not have to repair damages that could have been avoided. We could've kept quiet about this; no one would have known what happened if it weren't for the massive glacier in the middle of the warehouse field. What were you thinking?" he hissed again, "This will only worsen our reputation. You could have died. You could have been seen."

                "But we weren't, no one was at that factory," Alfred argued, "If Ivan didn't do what he did, that entire army of Rebels would have caused way more damage. If we escaped and they found out, they would have ransacked and destroyed even more innocent villages just to find us. At least this way, they're weakened." He wasn't entirely sure why he was defending Ivan, but he found it unjust that Winter was angry at him when their survival was thanks to his actions.

                "Fredka, calm down."

                Alfred pouted. He hated when people didn't stand up for themselves. "I'm just saying," he muttered, averting his head in embarrassment, "You were pretty cool."

                Winter continued to frown as he glanced between them before finally sighing. "Never mind that. I suppose he does have a point. A hundred dollars of damage is better than a million. Nevertheless, I will not tolerate a repeat of such behavior. And Alfred, you are to remain in bed for another day."

                "What?!" Alfred exclaimed as Winter departed. He huffed, folding his arms indignantly as Ivan settled back into his seat. "Can you believe that?" he grumbled, his tone sulky.

                Then, he perked up, as if remembering something, "Oh my god, the Rebels! We were literally just talking about the Rebellion, but I got distracted and didn't ask General Winter about them! What happened to them? Did Winter capture them all? Oh please, don't tell me they got away! What happened?!" 

                "Shh, calm down," Ivan soothed, his hands moving to rest on Alfred's flighty arms, stilling them,  "Now is not the time for you to be panicking, Fredka. You are still recovering, your muscles are very strained."

                "But—"

                "Arguing further is futile."

                Alfred shook his head, stubborn, "No, you have to tell me! The Rebellion—"

                "—escaped," Ivan finished solemnly. "It seems you cannot be distracted, so I will humor you: yes, they managed to flee. They're very crafty at creating diversions," he muttered with chagrin, "but we did manage to capture at least one. He is shackled in our dungeons as we speak, and to capture a Rebel to gain information was the plan from the start, so I would say it has been a successful night."

                "Successful?" Alfred repeated incredulously. "The Rebels got away—" 

                "A very few number of Rebels got away," Ivan corrected, "You killed a majority of them. I told you, did I not, to subdue and weaken their numbers? Well, you did it." 

                "That's not what this is about," Alfred argued, "The plan you told me was to let me go wild, and I did that because I wanted my revenge on them. I wanted to wipe them out the way they wiped my home out. For even just one of them to get away, that's a failure on my part!"

                Ivan stared at him, studying his indignant face. The intense eye contact almost made Alfred gulp, but he suppressed the urge. Finally, he let out a deep sigh. "I am sorry."

                Out of every response, Alfred certainly didn't expect that. "What?" 

                The Prince pursed his lips, looking away with a frown, " I—" Ivan began, then rephrased, "They escaped because of me. If I had been more careful, you wouldn't have gotten hit by those rocks and collapsed from exhaustion. You could have had your revenge." 

                Alfred stared for a moment before sighing. "Hm, yeah, I suppose I would have. And I'm still pretty upset that they got away. But I don't regret what I did."

                Ivan blinked. "You do not?" 

                The blonde shook his head. "Nope. If I had the chance to redo today, knowing all that I know now, I still would've abandoned the fight. Because when I saw you getting chased, my body moved on its own, and I didn't hesitate to run after you. I guess it's an instinct of mine, to save people who I see are in danger. Besides, you saved me too. When I was getting outnumbered, and the first time that the debris fell. Is your hand...?"

                Ivan pulled his cloak over his bandaged hand. "It is a normal drawback. No worries."

                Alfred pursed his lips. He felt guilty, but he didn't know what to say. Instead, his lips quirked up. "I guess we're even then? You break your hand protecting me, I break my back protecting you. It's a very heroic thing to do, isn't it?" he grinned, almost mischievously.

                Ivan chuckled, a genuine sound that resonated from somewhere deep within him. It wasn't a laugh borne of malicious delight or mockery—Ivan had laughed once after apologizing to him in his tower, but this laugh was different. It seemed to come all the way from the bottom of his cold, dead heart. "Yes, I agree. It was very heroic."

                Alfred beamed at his agreement, happy that someone was playing along with him. Ivan watched him ruefully. Then his demeanor switched. He straightened, his gaze hardening as he fixed them on Alfred's. "We will catch them, Fredka," he promised earnestly, "All of them. I swear to you."

                His blue eyes widened a fraction, taken aback by his sudden change in demeanor. Then, he smiled a soft smile of his own, touched by his earnest declaration. "Thank you. But, you know, today was rather exhausting," the blonde smirked, "I think your hero could use some food." 

                “Let me guess, burgers?”

                “Right-o!”

                “I told you we do not have those in the palace.”

                “Then make them! It’s just bread, meat, and some vegetables! Have some pity for your poor savior!”

                Ivan sighed, “Alright, alright, I will ask the cooks”—“Yay!”—“On one condition.”

                Alfred paused his cheering, “Huh?”

                “What you called me earlier tonight. Say it again.”

                The blonde frowned in puzzlement. “Your Highness?”

                “No.”

                “Sire?”

                “No.”

                “Asshole?”

                “No.”

                Alfred frowned further, puffing his cheeks in a thoughtful pout. The moonlight seeping through the window shone on him, making his hair glow like gold. Then, he tilted his head, blinking his bright eyes. “Ivan?”

                Ivan’s smile widened. “Yes.”

Chapter Text

                “Good afternoon, General.” Ivan greeted politely as they stepped into the gloomy office of Grigory Winter. 

                “Your Highness. Alfred,” Winter greeted back, gesturing them to sit. “I wanted to discuss the Rebellion. Our captured Rebel has proven useless; I don't know whether he was threatened into silence or just undyingly loyal. His resilience, at the very least, is commendable, if not annoying.”

                “This Rebellion is the same group of terrorists that we discussed in the Bratva conference," Ivan revealed. "The crimes they committed matched the reports the Bratva had given last month."

                Winter nodded. "That's right. I have the reports here. From the South's Grispholm Castle," he presented a stack of documents bearing the signatures of Tino and Berwald Oxenstierna at the bottom of the document, "the West's Egeskov Fortress," he produced another stack, this time signed by Mikkel and Bjørn Köhler, "and the East's Kharlivka Castle," and a final pile signed by Toris Laurinaitis and Feliks Lukasiewicz. “These documents detail instances of murder, abduction, assault, arson, and theft, just like the Rebel leader had mentioned. The soldiers in the South, West, and East have handled the abductions and are currently reconstructing the destroyed villages. It's clear that while this Rebellion may be small, they are still a threat— a rapidly rising one, at that. We must eliminate them as soon as possible before they grow in numbers. Since you were kidnapped, I presume you overheard information. Write a comprehensive report of your counter," he ordered, handing Ivan a paper, "Spare no detail and leave no word unwritten."

                "Alfred,” he addressed the bodyguard, who was sitting deathly still with an unsettling expression. “I promise we will do our best to capture them all. So bear with us, and don’t worry.”

                Alfred nodded stiffly, but he still wouldn’t meet anyone's eyes.

                “Your Highness, ensure the completion of that report. And should you encounter the Rebellion again, do not repeat last night's actions. Though it turned out well, it is still risky.”

                “I understand, General.”

                “Good. You are dismissed.”

                “Fredka?” Ivan called, finding Alfred in the newly repaired training field. He was surrounded by broken robots, electricity sizzling from their joints and their metal limbs folded like pretzels. Right now, he was fighting with an unscathed Meka. “It is cold out here. You are not wearing your cloak.”

                “I’m fine,” Alfred kicked the android, sending it flying into one of the sheds. The shed collapsed a second later. “I can’t train properly with it on.”

                “You will not be able to do your job properly if you catch a cold,” Ivan stepped forward and pulled the fur-lined navy fabric around his bodyguard’s shoulders, clasping it at the front. He stepped back, smiling. “There, is that not better?”

                Alfred raised a questioning brow. “You’re being nice. That’s weird.”

                “Hmm? It’s not weird at all. Here I thought we would have a more amicable relationship after yesterday.”

                “Well— yeah! But, still not used to it.”

                “I will do it more then, so that you will be used to it.”

                Alfred rolled his eyes. “Whatever, dude. Thanks for the cloak, I guess. Now move out of the way so I can train properly.”

                Ivan moved out of his way as told, but kept speaking. “I did not expect you to put this much effort into your job. Did you not say that you would let my ass die, as you so eloquently put it?”

                Alfred punched another robot into a wall. “I’m not doing this for you,” he said rather seriously, “I’m doing this so I can destroy those Rebellions. Who knows when we’ll be sent out of the Palace again? I need to be sharp.”

                “Ah, a difficult feat for someone as dull as yourself. I thought you were fine with the way things ended last night?”

                “I never said I was fine with it. If last night was repeated, I would do the same thing over again, but that's because I have to, not because I want to. I still want to put them behind bars.”

                “Your hero complex, I presume?”

                Alfred glared at him, sharp eyes glinting behind glass frames. “Yeah? What about it?”

                “Do heroes usually massacre people? You killed quite a lot before you got outnumbered.”

                “I already said I was blinded by revenge!” Alfred responded hotly, ashamed of his loss of composure that night. “I won’t let it happen again, so stop bringing it up.” 

                “I will, provided you fully explain why you had been so affected that night.”

                Alfred wrinkled his nose. “What’s it to you? None of your business.”

                “Ah, how rude," Ivan hummed, "Here I am trying to know more about your peasant life, and you act this way. It baffles me how you are so liked in the palace.”

                Alfred huffed. “If you’re going to just chat with me, you can forget it and go back inside. If not, at least make yourself useful by fixing these Gardemeks. That was just the last one,” he pointed at the robot he had just destroyed.

                “Is that how you ask for help?” Ivan crossed his arms, “You peasants really have no manners. What makes you think I will fix those for you after the way you requested it?”

                Alfred frowned indignantly. After a pensive moment, he began: “Can you fix the training robots...” Ivan lifted a brow expectantly. Alfred sighed sharply. “...please?”

                “There,” Ivan smiled, “Was that so hard?” With a flourish of his hand, an icy blue glow—a smoky vapor in contrast to Yao’s water-like magic, just like last night—surrounded his hand and whirled around the destroyed Gardemeks. In the blink of an eye, all of them were as good as new, including the shed in the corner.

                “Thanks, I guess," Alfred said awkwardly. He eyed Ivan's hand, but the skin was covered with a glove. “Is there anything else you have to say? Or are you going to watch me like some stalker?”

                “I will watch, but not like a stalker. Also, you have not answered my question.”

                Alfred raised a brow at him as one robot swayed to its feet. “What question?”

                “About why you behaved that way in General Winter’s office.”

                “I already answered, didn’t I?” Alfred kicked the android in its steel breastplate, sending it stumbling backward. “It’s none of your business.”

                “Why are you so adamant about keeping it secret?”

                “Why are you so adamant about finding out?”

                Ivan pursed his lips. He watched with an uncharacteristic frown as Alfred destroyed another training dummy. “Fine. Be that way. I will go back inside.”

                Alfred watched him walk away, conflicted. Ivan had been nice and trying to know more about him, which Alfred knew was an opportunity he should’ve jumped at. Ivan was practically offering a gateway to friendship, which Alfred needed in order to get information.

                But he didn’t want it to happen that way. Alfred had spent all his life burying his past in the back of his mind, pouring himself into his work and putting all his effort into caring for Matthew just so that his mind would be too preoccupied to recall his earlier memories. Alfred didn’t want to talk about his past—not even Handler or Davie knew about it. He and his brother had a silent agreement that they would never speak of it again. He hadn’t thought about his past in years, and he wasn’t going down that spiral again because of Ivan.

                Alfred turned back to his training Meka and punched it unnecessarily hard, causing the field wall to crumble once more.

                Alfred sighed sharply, putting his hands on his hips.

                He felt like he’d circled the entire palace at this point! He had stopped every passing servant he encountered, “Have you seen His Highness?” he had asked each of them, with no luck. How was Alfred supposed to apologize at this rate?

                While Alfred was destroying the robots training, he reflected on his conversation with Ivan and felt the seed of guilt take root. Ivan had tried to be nice—even giving him his cloak—but he had been a complete jerk. Sure, it was a sensitive subject, but that didn’t give him the right to be so rude. He could almost hear Matthew chastising him in his thoughts.

                With a guilty heart and renewed determination, Alfred stashed the wrecked remnants of his training in a shed, entered the warmth of the indoors, and began his palace-wide search for Ivan in hopes of apologizing. His quest, however, was proving to be a futile endeavor. With an hour and a half ticking away into the afternoon, Ivan seemed to have disappeared entirely!

                Tired from all his running around, he slumped against a frost-laden window. He let his usually busy mind quieten as his head rested on the icy glass surface, his eyes instinctively scanning the outside world.

                Suddenly, he stilled. A few miles away was a bricked, barn-like structure— the stables. A majestic black-and-white shire horse stood calmly at the entrance, letting itself be brushed by a certain scarf-wearing figure.

                Alfred bolted upright and then hurried down the corridor. He slid down the stairs’ wrought-iron railings, fleetingly apologizing when he nearly knocked over a servant carrying a tray of tea. As he neared the door to the outside world, Alfred pulled his fur-lined hood over his head and rechecked the clasp on his cloak. Once satisfied, he pushed open the wooden door.

                The stunning winter landscape greeted him as he jogged toward the stables— but only for a few seconds. The cold slapped him in the face when he started running, making him instantly regret his decision. He immediately switched to a walk, cupping his gloved hands around his mouth to warm his face, his breath escaping through his fingers in the form of opaque mist.

                After a few moments, he reached the stables. His boots crunched the snow beneath him, announcing his arrival, but Ivan did not look at him. He was stroking the horse’s fur with a dandy brush, seeming to ignore Alfred. His usual hollow smile was frozen in place.

                “Um, hey, Ivan,” Alfred begins. Ivan still did not look at him. “Listen, about earlier—”

                “Do you like horses, Fredka?” Ivan asked calmly, disappearing behind the horse.

                Alfred blinked, “Er, yeah? I like animals in general,” he followed after Ivan but made sure to keep a distance from the horse. He wasn’t lying when he said he liked horses, but that was in theory, not practice. “But listen, I just wanted to—”

                “Have you ridden a horse before?” Ivan interrupted gently again, now brushing the thigh of the animal.

                “Um, no. I’ve seen horses in person, but I’ve never ridden them,” Alfred said, eyeing the black-and-white horse. It was large and imposing, its shiny coat indicating it was well taken care of.

                Ivan hummed, still smiling. “I see.” He moved to the horse’s other side, and Alfred followed. Ivan was now brushing the horse’s neck, muttering gentle words with a soft expression. His body language was entirely at ease, and so was the horse’s. Alfred had to wonder if he visited the stables often to be this close to the animal. He shook his head and tried to get back on track, “Look, I came here to—”

                “Do you want to ride a horse?” Ivan cut him off once more.

                Alfred froze. “Uh, this one?” he pointed at the shire horse.

                Ivan chuckled as if Alfred had said something funny. “Of course not. Kievan does not accommodate any rider other than myself. You will ride a different one,” Ivan moved further into the stable, ignoring Alfred’s calls of protest. A second later, he returned with a palomino-colored horse. “This one’s name is Captain.”

                Alfred shook his head, inching toward the exit, “Nah, I’m good—”

                “Nonsense, come here.” Ivan grabbed Alfred’s arm—firmly, but not painfully—and pulled him in. “Now, go pet it,” he said.

                Alfred shook his head. Ivan sighed and placed his hands on Alfred’s waist. The Omega jerked. “Whoa! Whoa! No!” he yelled, trying to pry his hands off, but they kept a firm grip. “I don’t appreciate being manhandled!”

                “Well, you will not move if I do not do this,” Ivan said, pushing Alfred towards the light-colored horse. The animal's rare blue eyes, a feature typically reserved for palominos and buckskins, regarded him with curiosity, remaining still despite the humans' struggle before it.

                Alfred's head shook in rapid, jerky motions, his feet digging into the dirt as he tried to pry off Ivan's grip with frantic hands. “I really don’t—”

                “It is just a horse, Fredka,” Ivan urged in a soothing tone, “It will not bite you. Unless you smell like sweet apple—which, actually, you do. But it still will not bite you.”

                Alfred shook his head more, doubling his efforts. Ivan gripped him tighter and leaned down, hovering his chin over Alfred’s shoulder. “You must calm down, Fredka. Horses can smell if you are afraid.”

              Not that the animal would act on it, of course. Even now, Captain remained unperturbed, simply observing their struggle. Ivan had deliberately chosen this horse for its gentle disposition, a fact he chose to keep to himself.

                Alfred forced himself to take deep breaths, ceasing his struggle but still trembling (that one was involuntary). Ivan nodded. “Good.”

                Now subdued, Alfred was pushed further, now mere inches away from the blue-eyed steed. Slowly—cautiously, afraid that Alfred would suddenly yank away—Ivan took his hands into his own and peeled the gloves off. Alfred, too preoccupied with the animal staring widely at him, didn’t react.

                “Now, go ahead and pet him,” Ivan whispered, guiding Alfred's trembling hand towards the horse. “Open your hand.”

                Alfred squeezed his eyes shut, wrenching his head away as he reluctantly exposed his palm to the horse. His heart was pounding erratically in his chest while Ivan was holding a barely contained chuckle. The Prince was enjoying the moment immensely. He liked this cowardly Alfred a lot more than the usual snarky one, he decided.

                The horse stared at the human hand, his gaze flicking between it and the human it belonged to. Then, he closed his eyes and leaned in, pushing his soft muzzle into the open palm.

                Alfred cracked an eye open at the gentle contact. Captain opened his own blue eyes as well. Alfred's face brightened in relief, and he let out the breath he had been holding in the form of a breathless chuckle. A feeling of accomplishment washed over him.

                “See? He likes you,” Ivan smiled, guiding Alfred's hand to stroke the horse's muzzle, which the animal leaned into. Alfred's smile widened, and he allowed Ivan to guide him, showing him the correct places to pet the animal while whispering advice and guidance into his ear.

                Subconsciously, Alfred could feel Ivan’s hand squeezing his waist and was briefly puzzled, not understanding the necessity of the gesture. Alfred wasn’t trying to flee anymore, so there wasn’t any point in holding him. Deciding it was just Ivan being his weird self, Alfred chose to focus on the sensation of the horse's soft fur gliding beneath his touch instead.

                When his cheeks started to hurt, he realized he’d been smiling like a fool the entire time and was suddenly aware of Ivan’s eyes watching his face, but he still couldn’t bring himself to care. There were some things in life that required selective ignorance to truly enjoy.

                Captain blew a strong, warm breath through his nostrils, ruffling Alfred's hair and fogging his glasses. The unexpected action elicited a giggle from Alfred, the sound ringing out into the cold afternoon air. At the sound of Alfred's warm laughter, Ivan froze. A strange sensation stirred within him, his breath catching as he observed Alfred's radiant expression of joy. Shaking his head, Ivan forcefully pushed aside the thought. That was not a path he should be considering at all.

                Redirecting his thoughts, he sought to engage Alfred in conversation. “Have you conquered your fear now?”

                Alfred bristled. “I wasn’t scared scared, just nervous! Heroes aren’t scared of anything!”

                Ivan raised a brow, “Again with this talk of being a hero?”

                Alfred puffed his chest out at the topic of his self-proclaimed role, an unshakable belief twinkling in his eyes. “Of course, heroes are the coolest. They’re strong and brave and save the day!”

                Ivan smirked. “I see. Since our hero here is so brave, I am sure he will not mind riding the horse now?”

                Alfred froze like a deer caught in headlights. “Oh, um,” He began to inch towards the exit again. “I think the hero has his limitations—”

                Ivan’s smile widened, “Aw, but if the hero cannot even mount a noble beast, how will he ever hope to save the day? Come now, Fredka.” 

                “No, wait—!”

                Ivan yanked him in by the arm and hoisted him up by the waist. Alfred yelped as he was plopped stiffly onto the saddle, eyes still wide.

                “There we go,” Ivan announced with a triumphant smile, giving the horse an affectionate pat before mounting Kievan. Once settled, he urged their horses forward with a click of his tongue.

                Alfred nearly lost his balance as the horses surged forward, letting out a panicked yelp. He began to flail atop the saddle, “H-Hey! Where are we going? I don’t know how to ride a horse!”

                Ivan turned with a serious look. “Calm down. If you struggle like that, the horse might buck you off.” At that, Alfred immediately stilled. “And do not worry. Captain is smart enough to follow my directions, not yours. All you have to do is not fall off—surely even you can manage that.”

                Alfred huffed in irritation but followed instructions, staying silent and still. Riding a horse was definitely not part of his plans for apologizing, which he hadn't even been able to do because of Ivan's interruptions! And now he wasn’t even sure he wanted to apologize because of how much of a jerk Ivan was being, forcing him onto a horse and indirectly calling him an idiot.

                But Alfred was the hero, and heroes do the right thing! Which, right now, was taking the high road. Besides, Ivan was probably only acting this way because he was still upset about earlier, so it was up to Alfred to make things right.

                The horses walked a slow pace through the winter garden, their steady clip-clop adding a melodic rhythm to the otherwise silent landscape, their silhouettes starkly contrasting the pristine white. They walked past shrubs dusted by snowflakes, under tall skeletal trees that brushed the sky with their arching branches, and down frosted bridges over frozen lakes.

                Surprisingly, Alfred found it slightly comforting, the hushed quiet and eerie stillness, like the world was holding its breath.

                Captain followed behind Kievan, allowing Alfred to secretly observe the Prince. Ivan's usually impeccable posture was relaxed, his reins held with casual ease—a stark contrast to Alfred, who was gripping them for dear life.

                Alfred's voice cut through the cold. “Hey.”

                Ivan started, not expecting Alfred to initiate a conversation. “Er, yes?”

                “Are you used to riding horses?”

                “Yes, I have been riding since I was a child. They were a mandatory activity—part of my princely duties, you could say—but I enjoyed them nonetheless.”

                “It is a pretty solitary past-time. I get why you’d like them.”

                “Mhm, and it is an excellent means of escape from the confines of the palace,” Ivan nodded, “After all, I cannot always relieve tension by terrorizing my servants.”

                Curious, Alfred asked, “What other hobbies do you have?”

                Ivan looked back at him from the corner of his eye. Then he looked forward again, tilting his head with a thoughtful hum. “Ah, no. I will not tell you,” he said rather cheerily.

                Alfred was taken aback. “What? Why?”

                “I tried to ask you earlier about your life, but you refused. So, I figure it is only fitting that I do so now,” Ivan said, sounding rather pleased. It was his own little act of retribution, Alfred realized.

                He sighed. “Look, about earlier—I only acted that way because my past is a touchy subject for me, and I don’t like talking about it. But I get that you were only trying to be nice, for whatever weird reason, so I’m sorry that I acted so rude.”

                Ivan remained silent even after Alfred finished speaking but hummed a response, indicating that he was, indeed, listening. Alfred could only see his back, though, so he was left hanging in suspense, wondering if his apology had been accepted. Alfred felt his face scrunch up in cringe, now feeling a bit embarrassed. He wondered if he had said anything wrong.

                Suddenly, Ivan whipped the reins and urged Kievan into a quick jog. Captain chased after them, spurred by the sudden shift, making his rider panic and nearly fall off the saddle. “W-Whoa! Hey! Where are you going!?”

                His speech was garbled due to how much he was bouncing. He was careful not to pull on the reins since it might hurt Captain, so he was left with nearly nothing to hold onto except for the horn of the saddle.

                Not at all used to riding a running horse, he was screaming the entire time, his glasses bouncing off his face repeatedly to the point he just held them in his hand. To a novice rider, it felt like being on those mechanical bulls in Southern bars that try to violently buck you off. Alfred was convinced that Captain had the same goal, because he was bouncing so much that he nearly fell off the saddle multiple times.

                Contrasting his chaotic journey, Ivan was serene and composed, his posture unwavering as they jogged through the snow. Hearing Alfred’s noises, he was unable to resist and glanced back. He was greeted with a comical sight of Alfred screaming, holding onto the saddle of dear life while clutching his glasses. He almost felt like laughing out loud but reduced it to a chuckle and turned back around.

                He continued the jog until they reached the edge of a dark, skeletal forest. He slowed Kievan down, and Captain followed suit, returning to a calm walk. Alfred panted, eternally glad that it was over. Pulling himself back properly on Captain’s saddle, he heaved a sigh of relief. He put on his glasses and adjusted them, surveying the area around him.

                The forest was so dense that it completely blocked out the sky, darkening the area. The only sound was the Northern winds whistling through the thick branches, adding to the eeriness. With gnarled branches reaching out like bony fingers, and twisted trees creating a labyrinthine maze, unpleasant feelings began to swell in Alfred’s chest. He was creeped out.

                “Hey, I know you’re upset that I was rude to you earlier,” he called out, “but you’re not going to kill me, are you? ‘Cause this is kinda creepy...”

                Ivan merely chuckled, looking back at Alfred with a smirk. “Oh, Fredka.” His violet eyes—which were reduced to slits—were bright in the darkness. “If I were trying to kill you, you would be dead by now.”

                Alfred was not comforted by his words. He gulped, sliding his hand under his uniform to check his holster just in case. His gun was still there. Relieved, he stayed silent for the rest of the journey. He kept his eyes locked on the Prince’s back, as looking around would only worsen his anxiousness.

                Ivan moved with serene grace; his and his steed’s dark silhouettes blended seamlessly with the haunting landscape. Their movements were deliberate, as if they were familiar with this sinister forest. Captain did not seem bothered either, but Alfred himself was. If there was anything he feared, it was ghosts, and this place was definitely ghostly.

                Alfred had half a mind to demand that they turn around or at least get an answer for where they were going, but he didn’t want to make a sound lest any potential ghosts hear and come swooping down on him. His chest thumped faster with heightening trepidation as they moved deeper into the ominous thicket.

                At last, they reached a clearing bathed in an otherworldly glow. Alfred's jaw dropped as he took in the sight before him.

                The clearing was ablaze with the vibrant glow of countless sunflowers, their golden petals radiating in the moonlight like miniature suns. Alfred marveled at the luminous violet flowers peeking out from the snow and the bright yellow fireflies flitting around them. Some of the fireflies circled Alfred, bathing him in a warm golden light as they danced around him, buzzing joyfully at being brought such a pretty-looking human.

                As they approached the field, the fireflies gathered to part the way through the flowers, leading the way for them.

                Delving into the luminescent flora, Alfred was further amazed. Lips parted in a gape but curled in a smile, he gently caressed the petals, marveling at their glow. Towering tall above his shoulders, the sunflowers made Alfred feel as if he were traversing the sea rather than a simple flower field. The horses carried them through the acre of blossoms, the flora brushing gently against his skin. When the Northern winds blew, the radiant petals rustled around them in a hush of comforting whispers.

                After a while, they emerged from the flowers, arriving at yet another clearing. A massive tree—evidently dead with its complete lack of foliage—stood proudly in the middle, surrounded by a pond. Unlike the outside of the field, this clearing was untouched by snow. The sunflowers were reflected in the crystal water, which, strangely, was rippling gently despite the absence of breeze at the moment.

                Ivan dismounted gracefully, patting his horse with silent praise. Alfred tried to do the same. He planted his foot in the stirrup and swung his other leg over, but he did so too hard. Losing balance, he slipped off. He could feel himself falling backward, the ground rushing towards him at an alarming rate. Falling, falling—

                —into the arms of Ivan. His strong arms encircled Alfred, cradling him bridal style. Startled, Alfred instinctively wrapped his arms around Ivan’s neck, inadvertently bringing their faces an inch apart.

                In that moment, the world slowed to a stop. He could feel Ivan's steady heartbeat beneath the layers of clothing, the only proof he wasn't a statue, as he was as still as death. The prince's eyes were usually hollow voids of the coldest violet, but right now, they filled with something surprised, something so tender that it took the Omega by surprise. Suddenly aware of their intimate position, Alfred’s cheeks flushed with color.

                He floundered in Ivan’s arms, forcing the other to drop him. Alfred landed on his feet and quickly shuffled away, putting distance between them. He turned away sharply, not wanting Ivan to see his expression, and awkwardly dusted himself off.

                He cleared his throat into his fist. “So, uh, what is this place?” he asked, wanting to redirect the mood before it got too awkward.

                Ivan cleared his throat as well, walking toward the edge of the pond. “It is a secret location that only I know. This is where I spend my leisure time, whenever I have some.”

                He stood there for a second before turning around with a telling grin. “Do you want to see something cool?”

                Alfred, always up for something cool, responded excitedly. “Of course!”

                Ivan bent down to unbuckle his boots then stripped off his socks, leaving his feet bare against the bluish grass. Becoming more intrigued, Alfred wondered what Ivan had in mind but kept his mouth shut, not wanting to spoil the suspense.

                Ivan rolled up his pants and approached the pool. To Alfred’s astonishment, the instant he stepped into the water, a radiant blue glow rippled from his foot, illuminating the pond in an ethereal hue.

                “Whoa!” Alfred’s mouth dropped in awe, his eyes snapping to the size of saucers. Finding delight in Alfred’s amazement, Ivan moved further into the water, each step eliciting more of the blue light. He turned to him with a smirk, holding out his hand. “Do you want to try?”

                Alfred frowned. "Stop that."

                Ivan smirked. "You do not want to try?"

                Alfred’s response was indignant. “I’ll try, but I won’t hold your hand.”

                Ivan shrugged, retracting his arm. “Suit yourself.”

                Heeding Ivan’s unspoken challenge, Alfred kicked off his boots and hiked up his pants. He stalked over and plunged his foot into the water without thinking. The shock of the frosty water made him jump back with a cry as if he had just been burned by sizzling fire. “Cold! It’s freezing cold!” he screeched, only to receive a burst of hearty laughter from Ivan.

                “It is just your feet, Fredka, it is not like you are going to bathe. Do not be cowardly.”

                This provoked Alfred, who was quick to defend himself. “I’m not cowardly!”

                With renewed vigor, he marched back to the water’s edge and gingerly dipped his toe into it. He was slowly sinking the rest of his foot, trying to get accustomed to the freezing temperature, when Ivan seized his hand and yanked him into the water.

                Alfred let out an ear-piercing shriek, both from shock and from the cold. He swung his fist, landing a hard punch on Ivan’s rock-solid arm. “DON’T DO THAT!” 

                Ivan shushed him, “Look down, Fredka.” Alfred followed Ivan’s direction, and his anger instantly dissolved into a gasp of awe. Beneath the icy water, a soft blue glow emanated from their feet, casting an enchanting light on their bodies.

                Mesmerized, Alfred didn't notice that his hand was still clasped in Ivan's grip. His other hand absentmindedly lifted up the hem of his cloak, preventing it from dipping into the water.

                With a careful and steady stride, Ivan led him further into the water, blue light shimmering with every step. Alfred, too enchanted with the ethereal radiance of the water to care, let himself be pulled along by Ivan, oblivious to the way the Prince was squeezing and rubbing a thumb over his hand.

                In the dim light, Ivan was examining their interlocked hands with intrigue. The stark contrast between their hands piqued Ivan’s interest; his hands were large and pale, with scars that spoke of tragic experiences, while Alfred’s—smaller and caramel-colored—portrayed an air of innocence. They weren't soft, though—no, they were coarse. A bit rough, but Ivan just found it even more charming. It was a testament to how hardworking Alfred truly was.

                More than anything, Ivan was awed at how warm the hand was. He could feel its comforting heat seep into his ice-cold veins, reaching his frozen heart. Feeling such a lovely hand against his own chilled skin stirred something deep within him, something deranged—the human desire for physical contact was truly fascinating.

                Ivan hummed. “We should get used to touching more, Fredka.”

                This unexpected statement snapped Alfred out of his daze. “What? Dude, let go—” he began to dislodge his arm, but his struggle caused him to slip on a bed of moss. “Whoa—!”

                Chuckling, Ivan swiftly pulled him upright by his bicep. “You really lack any sort of grace.”

                Alfred pouted. “Fine, I’ll hold your hand, but only because this pond is slippery.” To emphasize his point, Alfred roughly grabbed his hand and squeezed it dangerously tight. Ivan didn't mind—if anything, he found his attempt to intimidate him adorable.

                Though the pond was shallow, barely reaching half of their calves—or in Ivan's case, a bit above his ankle—the icy water was far from pleasant. Alfred also didn’t want to get wet, because that meant he’d have to ride back in damp clothes in the winter. Holding Ivan’s hand was a small price to pay to avoid that.

                Once they crossed the pond and reached the bluish grass, Alfred sighed with relief, reveling in the warmth of dry land. Ivan released his hand as they approached the massive tree, taking a seat at the root. Alfred plopped down next to him and began to massage his cold feet, trying to restore the lost warmth.

                While doing so, he eyed Ivan’s scarf. The older boy was wiping his feet dry with a rag he had brought with him.

                “Weird,” Alfred muttered.

                Ivan looked at him, “Hm? What is weird, Fredka?”

                Alfred indicated the clothing, “What’s the deal with your scarf? You seem to always be wearing it, even when you sleep. Is it important to you or something?”

                “...Yes.”

                “Why?”

                Ivan shook his head and turned to smile at him. Deflecting. “Ah, didn’t I tell you earlier? You rebuffed me when I prompted you to confide, so I will rebuff you this time.”

                Alfred huffed, “Fine. I won’t tell you my past, but I can answer other things. What do you want to know?”

                “Why are you afraid of horses?”

                Alfred bristled. “I told you I wasn’t scared! Just nervous—”

                “Then why were you nervous? I thought you were the fearless type.”

                “I am! I only have one fear, and that’s ghosts—Hey, don’t laugh! It’s serious! They’re scary, you know! Like, they can hit you, but you can’t hit them back since they’re, you know, ghosts! You can’t even defend yourself against their tyranny.”

                Ivan calmed down from his laughing. “Alright,” he said, still chuckling, “What about horses?”

                “I’m not scared of them. I live in the countryside where there are tons of horses! I’ve just never rode one or went near one. I did when I was younger, though. I had just gotten an apple for my brother, and I dropped it”—“Typical.”—“Shush! And I had to chase the apple as it rolled down the path. It stopped at the hooves of this horse. I didn’t think twice to run over and get it, but I think the horse got startled when I suddenly appeared in its vision ‘cause it kicked me right in the face.”

                Ivan cringed, “Ouch.”

                Alfred nodded vigorously. “Yes! Very ouch! My brother was crying and panicking like you wouldn’t believe, not knowing what to do, and it garnered a lot of attention. The villagers took pity on us and healed me, but the damage was done. Neither of us went near a horse again after that. So it’s natural for me to be nervous around one!”

                Ivan nodded, “Makes sense, I suppose. You said you have a brother?”

                A smile instantly replaced his expression. “Yep! His name is Matthew, we’re twins.”

                “Fraternal?”

                “Identical.”

                “Ah, is he as fat as you are?” he teased.

                Alfred was unamused, punching him in the arm again. “Not funny. And no, even though we’re identical twins, we do have differences. He’s a stick compared to me— a lot taller, too. Paler skin, curly hair, violet eyes like yours. We’re an attractive family,” Alfred grinned. “Now that I think about it, he’s like you, but without your jerk-bastard traits.”

                Ivan tilted his head. “He is like me? How so?”

                “You’re both quiet and avoid speaking. Mature and capable, with gentle and soft-spoken demeanors. Hardworking, puts their hundred percent effort into everything, but is dismissive of their own skills and thinks it's nothing. You both work really hard but never complain, and just do as you’re told. If I had to pinpoint one key difference, it’s that my brother wouldn't hurt a fly, while you're a different breed of scary."

                “Oh?” Ivan smiled coyly, covering his mouth with his scarf. “I did not know you thought this way of me. I am very flattered.”

                “It’s just an observation! I’m your bodyguard, so I have to know these things!”

                "Da, da,” Ivan nodded dismissively. "So, you are close with your brother?”

                Alfred nodded eagerly. “Mhm, we’re super close! Even though we’re twins, it feels like I raised him. He’s off on his own now, though. Studying in the Academy.”

                “You are saddened by this?”

                Alfred shrugged, “I guess. I mean, it’s always been us. It just feels weird to be alone. I'll get used to it eventually, though.”

                Ivan chuckled, bitterly this time. “I am afraid no amount of time can ease the pain of loneliness.”

                Alfred stared at him, then adjusted his seating so his body was facing Ivan, startling the Alpha. “Alright, I said stuff about me, now you go. What’s with your scarf?”

                Ivan hesitated, fidgeting with the tails of his scarf. A nervous habit. “It is very important to me because my sister gave it to me.”

                Alfred blinked, “You have a sister?”

                “Two. One older, one younger.”

                Oh, right. He had a dream about his sister a few weeks ago, Alfred recalled. “What are their names?”

                “My younger sister’s name is Natalya. She is four years younger than me, while Katyusha—my older sister—is four years my senior. She gave me this scarf during a winter storm since I had given my own scarf to Natalya. I tried to return it, but she said it was mine to keep.”

                Alfred smiled ruefully. “She sounds like a sweet person.”

                “Yes,” Ivan had lost any form of smile now. His eyes looked detached, staring far, far away. “She was.”

                "Was?" Alfred blinked. "Where, um— Where are they now?" 

                Ivan stayed silent. He did not react to Alfred's question, and the blonde feared he had struck a nerve. When the silence stretched into uncomfortable territory, Alfred opened his mouth to mumble an awkward apology, but Ivan spoke before he could:

                “Fredka, how much do you remember of your past?”

                Alfred frowned. “I told you I wouldn’t speak of it—”

                “Just answer this question. How far back does your memory go?”

                Alfred’s frown deepened in thought, “I guess like maybe...ten years ago? Why?”

                Ivan said nothing, merely staring at the water.

                “I see,” he said eventually. Then, he stood up. “It is getting late. Let us head back now.”

                Without room for argument, Ivan walked over to the horses, who were grazing not far off. Alfred frowned at his sudden change of subject and wondered why Ivan would ask such a thing. He wondered this as they exited the field of flowers.

                It was when they were strolling through the dark forest again that Alfred realized it had been a very delicate subject for Ivan too, and that it was reasonable for him to change the topic. It was the topic that he changed it to that was the confusing part— why would he ask Alfred about his memory? It made no sense at all.

                Ivan, on the other hand, was relieved that Alfred wasn’t prying. He had worried about it, since Alfred was annoyingly curious and always butted his nose into business that wasn’t his, but to his pleasant surprise, he was being silent.

                Initially, at least. Ivan had allowed himself to relax, thinking they’d have another pleasantly quiet walk—he had much enjoyed the one earlier—but he was unfortunately proven wrong.

                Once they left the forest, Alfred went right back to talking. “Oh man, it’s late! The sky’s all dark now! Yao’s gonna chew my head off for sure, probably has tons of work waiting for us—mostly me! I mean, sure, you’re the Prince and all, but I do almost everything, pretty much,” Alfred paused to rub his belly as it gurgled unhappily, “Ugh, and I’m starving too!”

                Ivan was on his last nerve, Alfred’s rambling grated his ears. With a sharp huff, he whipped around to face him, "Must you keep talking?"

                "Would you rather I stayed quiet?"

                "Very."

                "Too bad!" Alfred turned his head away sharply, "I won't." 

                Ivan let out a groan. Alfred rolled his eyes at the display. "If you didn't want to hear me talking, then maybe you shouldn't have made me come with you."

                The Prince mumbled something under his breath. Alfred cocked an eyebrow, suspicious that he might have cursed him out secretly. "What was that?" he asked, his tone accusatory as he leaned over to peer at his face.

                Ivan huffed. "I took you with me because I wanted to spend time with you outside of work," he explained, cheeks burning with shame. Alfred blinked, not expecting that at all. At his lack of response, Ivan turned to see him in a stunned state. 

                "Is it that surprising?" he asked defensively, "I thought we would get along better after last night."

                Alfred unfroze. "I guess. It's still surprising, though. So you want to spend time with me, huh?" he smirked, "Well, I am amazing company. I don't blame you."

                "I take it back."

                "What? You can't do that!"

                "Already did."

                "No! You didn't!"

                This conversation continued all the way back to the stables, but the arrival of snowfall quickly distracted Alfred into abandoning the argument and instead focused his efforts on running back into the palace, slipping on the snow and eliciting a few chuckles from Ivan. For once, his chest felt warm.

Chapter Text

                “I’m going to the village farther out today,” Sunflower announced one day, glancing over at Ivan, who had moved back to his spot before sunrise, “I need to get more food and new clothes for you. The village is at the bottom of the mountain, so the trip shouldn’t take more than a day. I wish I could take you, but you’re unfit for travel.”

                As Sunflower opened the door, allowing the brilliant sunlight into the cottage to shine on his golden hair, he looked back for a final smile. “You’ll be fine alone, won’t you, big guy?”

                Sunflower then bid goodbye, the cottage returning to darkness as he closed the door behind him. Ivan blinked.

                Big guy?

                Slowly, he stood up from his spot and approached the door, creaking it open to peek at Sunflower, who was happily skipping down the mountain. Gods, the Omega’s behavior was rather perplexing. He opened the door fully and plopped down on the threshold, deciding to wait. Soon, seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours, and Ivan soon found himself sitting in the orange light of dusk, wondering how much longer the Omega would be. Accepting that he wouldn’t return imminently, Ivan entered the cottage again, resolving to just sleep. Why was he waiting for him anyway?

                Instead of his corner, Ivan opened the drawers and began to pull out Sunflower's clothes, placing them in a pile on the floor. Once satisfied, he crawled on top and pulled the tattered clothes over him, nuzzling his nose into the fabric to inhale the scent that had been lulling him to sleep these past few weeks. Comforted, he fell into an easy slumber. Hours passed, the setting sun giving way to the moon as night began its shift. Ivan was still sound asleep in the pile until he heard a series of loud bangs and clunks.

                Alarmed, he bolted upright. He’s back!

                Ivan scrambled out of the bed and frantically tried to stuff the clothes back into the drawer when he heard unfamiliar voices, freezing his movements.

                “Are you sure this is the right place?”

                “I’m telling you, this is it! I can smell it,” the gruff voice punctuated this with an aggressive sniff, “the stench of royalty. The missing Prince is hiding in here.”

                “What’s the good of finding the missing Prince when we can’t even get an audience with His Majesty? How do you suggest we get to the Winter Palace? By flying a unicorn?” the other voice snapped.

                “Idiot, the Prince isn’t missing; he’s exiled,” the sound of shuffling clothes indicated that one of them had shoved the other, “The King kicked him out after the princesses’ death, remember? But he’s the Prince nonetheless, so he’s bound to have some valuables on him. Take anything that will fetch a price—an exiled heir will hardly be missed.”

                Ivan sat motionless. Dread crept over him as he stared at the door.

                Who...are they?

                The winter sun beamed brightly as it reflected off the crystalline snow that blanketed the royal landscape. Morning had just arrived, placing the Palace’s vast courtyard under bleak sunlight. Marching through the snow in a vision of vibrant cobalt, Alfred led a procession of robots to their station at the palace gates, his fur-lined cloak billowing behind him.

                The Gardemeks were a prominent part of the robust security system in Spades, crafted from polished brass and operated by gears and cogs with an engineering technique from over a hundred years ago. These Gardemeks were powered by the orb in the library, programmed to function as guards and soldiers, and bore a striking resemblance to their medieval counterparts dressed in glistening metallic armor.

                Despite Yao warning him not to, Alfred had named the robots and had grown to adore their quirkiness despite their steel hearts and electronic brains.

                Alfred’s eyes darted towards the tablet in his hand, whose glow was barely visible in the daylight. The tablet kept consistent track of the robots, an unerring tally of his army. He made a mental note: hundred and forty-six, hundred and forty-seven, hundred and forty-eight. The count had reached a hundred and forty-eight, all robots present and accounted for.

                Nearing their destination, Alfred suddenly noticed that Stan, the smallest of his guard-bots, had halted. He was flailing his arms, a clear indication of distress. Alfred approached him and found that the little bot had snow stuck in one of his metallic crevices. With gloved hands, Alfred gently cleaned the metallic soldier. “There we go, Stan,” he comforted, a warm smile on his lovely face.

                He led Stan back into his spot in the group and then resumed leading the hundred and forty-eight robotic guards. Arriving at their destination, he stopped the procession in front of the marble stairs, the bear statues on either side staring them down with stone-cold integrity.

                Alfred walked up a few steps and then turned around, elevating himself to obtain an adequate view of his unusual flock.

                Then came the restructuring. With a swipe on his tablet, Alfred began assigning them to their respective positions.

                “Alright, Alphas—or Omegas, I don’t know any of your genders—you know the drill. First up, Henry, Isaac, Lucas, James— you’re on Palace Protocol.” Alfred spoke out loud, the tablet translating his voice into defined commands. Four of the robots, responding in a synchronized, robotic hum, turned on their heels and marched down the main path toward the stone walls surrounding the Palace.

                “Next up, door sentinels. Theo, Michael, you’re in charge of the main doors.” With those words, two robots moved out of the flock. They marched past Alfred and flanked the regal doors of the Palace. They stood firm, their optical sensors glowing brightly against the cold winter’s day.

                “And two bots each for every door in the palace that leads to the outside.” A handful of them turned sharply on their heels and marched away in various directions.

                “And the rest of you in the garden. You’re on patrol duty.” His tablet whirred, sending commands to the Gardemeks. The remaining robots reshuffled themselves, marching uniformly toward their designated patrol area.

                Done with his task, Alfred released a hefty sigh of relief. With arms stretching skyward like a cat upon waking, he said to himself, “Ah, finally done. Time for a well-earned reward now: a cup of hot chocolate!”

                As his arms fell back to his sides, he frowned. There were two Gardemek still there. He tilted his head. "I thought I sent you off already."

                The Meka were unresponsive. Alfred huffed, taking his tablet out again. He swiped through the hologram until he found a new set of words in his to-do list. 

               Station two Meka in the armory.

               The armory, Alfred repeated in wonder. He felt a giddiness bubble up in his chest. In the Clockwork Guild, he had first worked in the armory as an assistant engineer before he got promoted to assassin. He developed most of their weaponry, which is why they looked clunky. But they were efficient! Everyone in the guild had refused to even touch his inventions because of their appearance until Handler ordered them to, and now they depended on them like it was their life. It was from then on that Alfred had developed an obsession with firearms—an obsession that a specialist should probably check.

               He grinned up from the tablet. "Well, what are you waiting for? Lead the way!"

               Alfred trailed behind the Gardemek with nervous excitement as they led the way through the halls. Admittedly, he was glad they were doing so. He never would have made it to the armory on his own. Actually, no, he would have, but it would take quite a while because of the defense mechanisms, designed to bewilder and disorient intruders to make it impossible for someone unfamiliar with their design to reach their destination. Someone like Alfred.

               The first mechanism was hallways that rotated at random intervals. As soon as Alfred and the Gardemek stepped onto the polished marble floor, the walls began to shift, making it seem as if the hallways were spiraling around them. The disorienting movement was enough to make anyone lose their sense of direction. The next mechanism was a maze of mirrors, with the reflections creating an illusion of multiple pathways, each one looking identical. The Gardemek, equipped with sensors to detect the true path, moved unerringly through the maze, while Alfred followed closely, trying to ignore the confusing reflections that surrounded him.

               Those mechanisms would have bewildered an ordinary person, but Alfred had simply been in awe. The inventor in him sparked to life, and he nearly lost sight of the Gardemek multiple times because he was too busy gawking at his surroundings. The Meka had to grab his hand and yank him out before he got left behind in the mirror maze. 

               Finally, they arrived at a pair of broad steel doors. Alfred raked his eyes over it, lapping up the design structure. He jolted when the Meka suddenly turned to him and, with mechanical noises, pointed its copper finger at his tablet. Alfred blinked down at the hologram, where a button had appeared. He cast a sheepish glance at the robot before pressing it. With a low, grinding noise, the steel doors began to wrench open, revealing an impressively vast room.

               Alfred's jaw fell slack. The two Gardemeks marched over to station themselves at the doors in silent, vigilant watch. But Alfred was already lost in his own world, his attention fully captivated by the sight before him. He glided past the Meka, his jaw nearly to the floor as he explored everything with an almost childlike awe. He walked up and down the aisles of advanced guns, then past displays of sharp swords, then oohed and aahed over the rows and rows of explosives.

               As he was making his second round around the room, he paused when something in the corner caught his eye. It was a gloomy and dark space, not illuminated by fluorescent lighting like the rest of the armory, with a dusty metal crate. Alfred strained his ears and sniffed at the air, trying to find a hint of living presence, but none, so he walked over there casually. With a strong grip, he pried it open. 

               His eyes sparkled. It was a box full of broken devices, abandoned and forgotten. Heart racing with excitement, he began to eagerly rummage through it, his mind already swirling with possibilities and ideas that he could make with these inventions. One man's trash was another man's treasure, after all.

               He picked up a particular device. It was a scanner—a broken one. Its function was to scan weapons and recreate their figures in a hologram, mapping out their interiors like a three-dimensional blueprint. Its surface was scratched, and its functions were barely operational, but Alfred saw potential. He turned it around in his hands when an idea sparked in his head.

               Ivan, Winter, and Yao are all in a meeting with the ministers, and it's going to last all day. And with everyone in that meeting, the staff have nothing to do, so they're holed up in their chambers too. That means no one is around. The palace is practically deserted, all except for me.

               It's the perfect time to investigate.

               He spent about an hour in the corner of that armory, tinkering with whatever he could. He tweaked functions, repaired damaged parts, and soon enough, he had refashioned two new inventions. One was the scanner device, now tweaked so that instead of just weapons, it could graph building interiors as well. The second was a circular brass platform, one he had designed to resemble the holographic platform in the library that was used to transport people throughout the aisles. He called it the Hovering Segway.

               Alfred boarded the segway, keeping a steady grip on the handlebars as he powered it on. It lifted smoothly off the ground, and Alfred grinned in delight. He leaned forward, and the segway responded instantly, propelling him down the aisles of weaponry and out of the armory. It was by the Wishing Star's will that he managed to make it past the defense mechanisms on his own. As he zipped through the palace, the scanner worked tirelessly, its blue glow capturing every nook and cranny, every marble-walled passage, every hall and room and window. The holographic screen on his tablet began to display a detailed three-dimensional map of the Winter Palace, its tall architecture coming to life in shimmering blue light. 

               Alfred’s initial focus on investigation gradually gave way to the sheer thrill of the ride. He couldn’t help but push the segway faster, weaving around corners and gliding down staircases. With the palace practically empty, Alfred had free rein to explore as he pleased. He started to playfully zoom through the hallways, pretending he was on a grand adventure. His laughter echoed as he imagined himself a daring explorer, soaring along the walls and flipping over furniture. The holographic map continued to expand, but Alfred’s attention was now split between the screen and the joy of his impromptu joyride.

               This is so fun! Alfred had never been able to play like this before. It was exhilarating. Briefly, he wondered if he had managed to give Matthew this same experience.

               "Oof!" Alfred choked out a grunt as the handlebars suddenly dug into his stomach, crushing the wind out of his lungs. As he had been speeding down a corridor, something had gone wrong, and now the segway was jolting violently. Alfred could hear a grinding noise beneath him. 

               "Oh, shit. Oh, no, no, no," Alfred muttered frantically, looking around wildly in a panic. The segway was beginning to malfunction, swerving erratically and losing altitude as it dived downwards. He gripped the handlebars tighter, biting his lip to refrain from screaming, lest anyone hear him and see what he had been up to. He tried to regain control, but it was no use. The segway bucked wildly, and with a final, violent lurch, it flung Alfred off.

               Alfred hit his back on the stone railing before tumbling onto the floor, rolling across the carpet. He caught himself just before he crashed into the wall. But he pulled his head up too late, and it made contact with the wall—which moved.

               Alfred perked up, whipping around to stare wide-eyed at the wall, which appeared perfectly normal. The hovering segway continued to spasm and sputter down the corridor, but Alfred's attention was now fully on the wall. Cautiously, he slowly got to his feet and crept towards the wall, approaching the spot where he had felt the movement.

               He raked his eyes over the blue marble. It seemed normal...no thin lines to indicate there was a hidden door of any sort. He tilted the painting. Nothing. Tried tugging on the laps. Still nothing. He huffed, tilting his head curiously. Then, hesitantly, he moved closer, reaching up to push his palm flat against the wall. 

               To his surprise, the marble gave way slightly with a soft click, revealing a hidden latch. He gasped. His heart sped up at the discovery, his mind racing with ideas and possibilities. He looked around wildly, cautiously, making sure no one was around before pushing the door further and stepping inside. The moment he was inside, the wall spun like a swivel door, shoving Alfred to the ground as it rotated back into place, blending seamlessly in with the rest of the wall.

                He tumbled onto the dusty ground, landing with a loud grunt, his tablet clattering to the ground. Alfred rubbed the back of his head with a groan, gathering it in his arms and swaying to his feet.

                The area was enveloped in a void so dark that not even the shadows dared to be present. His senses heightened in the unfamiliar surroundings, eyes squinting in a futile attempt to discern the pitch-black atmosphere. Cautiously, afraid something might suddenly jump out at him, Alfred pulled out a small flashlight from his pocket. A single tap activated a semi-decent light that pierced the darkness.

                The light rays exposed a daunting expanse: a corridor, barren and stark compared to the rest of the Palace’s grandeur. This corridor was devoid of embellishment, no luxuriant carpets underfoot, no polished sunflower vases, or any frames of tasteful artistry.

                The difference was staggering enough to surprise Alfred. He crept further down the corridor, his flashlight exposing every dusty particle floating in the air. He directed the light upward to investigate the ceiling—only to find it bare, save for the cobwebs that clung to the wooden planks. There were no dazzling galaxy murals or grand chandeliers like the halls outside.

                Alfred’s brows creased in suspicious puzzlement. What the hell is this?

                He turned to cast his flashlight’s beams onto the dusty wooden floor. The absence of any carpet made the dust visible under his flash—and the lack thereof. Alfred leaned down to examine the gaps in the dust more closely.

                They were footprints.

                Evidently not his, as they were much larger. With the possibility of another person in the area, Alfred’s prior feeling of victory was dashed and replaced with a sense of sharp alertness. His blood coiled with anticipation as he walked ahead, his steps echoing in his ears.

                Moving more cautiously now, Alfred tiptoed down the secret corridor. Inch by inch, he neared the hallway’s end. But to his puzzlement, there was no door, just a bare marble wall.

                Alfred’s brows creased as he pointed his flashlight along the wall, trying to find anything that could hint at an exit. Then, recalling how he had stumbled in here in the first place, he nudged the wall. With a creak that echoed through the corridor, it gave way.

                He pushed it further and peeked his head out to see a corridor shrouded in darkness and dust— but unlike the secret hallway, this one was decorated. Dusty carpet on the dusty floor, dirty tables with dead sunflower vases, and chandeliers that looked like they hadn’t been used in years.

                He felt a rush of adrenaline pulse through his veins as he cautiously stepped out, letting the secret door slide back into its camouflaged existence. With bated breath, he peered around the corner. The familiar sight that greeted him nearly made him gasp aloud.

                A long hallway was lined with towering statues of bears, each standing on their hind legs in a roaring stature. A thrilling realization dawned upon him.

                Oh my god, I just went through a secret passageway! I found it! he squealed internally. Finally, some proper progress in this gods-damned mission!

                Engulfed in this revelation, Alfred’s heart hammered rhythmically against his ribs, sending vibrations of victory through his veins. A silent holler of victory threatened to burst from him, but he gulped it down, swallowing his excitement, remembering the direness of his mission.

                So, instead of cheering, he just jumped up and down in giddiness. With a final pump of his excited fist, Alfred skipped down the corridor with renewed zeal, leaving the hall of bears alone.

                Alfred roamed for a while before the faint hum of machinery whirring caught his attention. Piqued, he trailed the sound. Upon turning a corner, he stopped dead in his tracks, rendered speechless by the sight. Down the hall, Alfred could spot a cluster of Gardemeks occupying the vicinity.

                Leaning down and bending his knees, Alfred crept along the wall and slunk into hiding behind a large, potted plant. He peeked behind the vase, eyes wide and mouth agape.

                Three sentinels stood tall and firm on either side of majestic, tall wooden doors while several pairs of Gardemeks marched around the perimeter like guard dogs, their colors of gold, silver, and navy blue barely visible in the window-less wing.

                These Gardemeks, unlike the ones he had led earlier that morning, had their weapons at the ready. Instead of mechanical limbs that mimicked human hands, they had shotguns and cannons hanging off their shoulder sockets.

                Suddenly, a pair of Meka marched past him. Alfred swiftly ducked behind the plant. He held his breath as they passed him, praying they wouldn't notice his pounding heart. Exhaling shakily, he peered past the vase at the looming wooden doors.

                Guarded by three sentinels on either side, the tall doors heavily impressed on Alfred what he had just discovered. The insanity that lay behind those doors, the deranged cruelty that threatened to sink the world into chaos.

                The King’s chambers.

                The doors opened with a click. Ivan, engrossed in the numerous documents strewn across his desk, didn’t bother to glance up as he knew who it was that had just entered. “Good evening, Fredka.”

                No response. No hint of a grunt. Just silence.

                Puzzled, Ivan turned around in his chair to face Alfred. His usual feisty bodyguard stood stiff and frozen, with a vacant, faraway look on his face. He moved mechanically to the lounge table in front of the fireplace and dropped the stack of documents there.

                It was clear that he was mentally preoccupied, which, for the usually ditzy Alfred, was an alarming change. Is he actually thinking about something? Ivan thought to himself. He had never seen him lost in such deep contemplation. In fact, Alfred had a hard enough time keeping up with the present. Yet here he was, caught in a thoughtful daze, Ivan’s greetings clearly falling on deaf ears.

                Alfred, in the meanwhile, was thinking far ahead from the present. His mind now resembled a frantic beehive, with all the bees buzzing around in chaos and hurting his brain.

                Well, there goes my plan, Alfred thought. Ruined by a bunch of imposing, mechanical sentries. This is probably the biggest roadblock in my mission yet! I can’t infiltrate the chamber without making a ruckus. I need to avoid anything that would rouse suspicion, and getting into a fight with a bunch of loud, mechanical robots whose capabilities I’m unaware of right outside my target’s room is not only suspicious but risky.

                “...ka..."

                So now, I’m stuck. I can’t infiltrate the chamber and kill the King there because of all the Gardemeks, so my only option now is to wait for him to leave the room. But would he ever? The only way he’d leave is to declare war, probably, but that’s not a guarantee, and neither is it a good option because by then, the war is ready. But what other choice do I have? Not to mention those footprints I found in the secret passageway; that confirms what I’ve been theorizing.

                “...edka...!”

                There is a secret passage, and someone does know about it. Judging from the amount of dust in the gaps, they haven’t visited in some time, but definitely recently. Probably in these past few weeks, meaning someone has been sneaking around the palace right under everyone’s nose. But who could it possibly be?

                “Fredka!” Ivan exclaimed, his voice echoing in the opulent room. Alfred jolted out of his reverie, finding himself face to face with Ivan, whose face was close.

                Uncomfortably close.

                “What are you doing!?” Alfred barked, his cheeks reddening quickly, jumping back to put distance between them.

                “I was calling you, but it seemed that you could not hear me,” Ivan retorted nonchalantly, standing straight and crossing his arms. "You were just standing there, like a robot."

                "No, I wasn't."

                "Yes, you were."

                Alfred shoved him, which surprised the Prince. Eyes narrowing in suspicion, his hand shot out to grab the Omega's wrist, restoring the lack of space between them that Alfred had caused. "Is something wrong?" he asked.

                "I just have stuff on my plate, and I don't need you and your big nose interfering," _Especially when things are going terribly, terribly wrong,_ "So just let me go already."

                Ivan almost scowled at his insults but kept his temper in check. He continued to probe. "Why don't you tell me?" he offered.

                Alfred frowned as if Ivan had said something ridiculous. "Dude, you're not my friend," he ripped his hand away, "I shouldn't have to tell you anything."

                The look on Ivan's face made Alfred instantly regret his words. His eyes had widened in shock and hurt, but before Alfred could speak, he plastered his fake smile again and turned away sharply. 

                "Ivan, wait—!" 

               The door was already closing.

               Did he go this way? Alfred panted, jogging out into the open courtyard of one of the smaller buildings of the palace. His footsteps slowed as he lifted his head and looked up at the night sky, clear and shimmering. The northern star—the Wishing Star—blinked back at him.

               In the courtyard, there were clusters of pine trees, their branches and needle-like leaves twisting gracefully toward the heavens. A gust of wind blew past, prompting him to quickly wrap his arms tightly around himself. He hadn't stopped to put on any layers before he had gone chasing for the prince.

               There was no cozy fire waiting for him inside his cottage with Matthew. No incredulous interjections to his tall tales, soft-spoken lectures, and no whining from hunger when Alfred came back late from work because Matthew didn't know how to cook. He wouldn't be falling asleep next to Matthew after coaxing the latter to sleep with warm milk and honey. 

               He looked at the stars and sighed.

               Fuck. I really miss my brother.

               The sound of swishing liquid perked up Alfred's ears, and he swung his gaze upward, his entire body going rigid as his hand shot to his thigh, where his gun was in its holster. 

               There was a figure perched on the tiled roof with a bottle of vodka beside him, the silvery embroidery of night-robes glinting under the moonlight. Upon recognizing him, Alfred relaxed. 

               "So this is where you ran off to," Alfred huffed. "How did you even get up there?"

               Ivan simply swirled his vodka around before taking another chug straight from the bottle. No verbal response. 

               Alfred sighed. "Listen, about earlier—"

                Ivan waved his hand, and a block of ice shot out of the ground, erupting right in front of Alfred and obstructing Alfred's view of him. The blonde merely stepped to the side to see him again. "Very nice, but Ivan, listen—"

                Ivan conjured another block of ice, obstructing his view yet again. Alfred huffed at the display, but he still wanted to apologize. He looked around, but it didn't seem like Ivan had used any sort of ladder. The distance between the roof and the ground was at least twice Ivan's height from head to toe, and that was saying something. If Ivan slipped and fell, he would have broken a few bones. Or maybe he wouldn't. Maybe his thick packs of muscle would shield his bones. Alfred hoped not.

               So, with no other choice left, Alfred looked around to make sure no one was there, then hitched up his uniform and lunged at the blocks of ice. He hissed from how cold they were, but with a snap of his feet, knives shot out from his soles, and he used those to support himself as he climbed up the ice, slipping a bit. 

               When he finally managed to clamber onto the tiled roof, he marched over to Ivan, stomping to a stop in front of him.
                               
"Okay, you can't use your magic up here without breaking the structure, so listen to me now," Alfred ordered, plopping down on the ground. "Look, about earlier, I was just going through something, that's why I said it. But it's no excuse, of course. I really didn't mean it."

                "Go on," Ivan smiled widely, enjoying this.

                "It was dumb, I know. I mean, it's not like you consider us friends either, but I like you better than before."

                "You are acting so shy, Fredka," Ivan giggled, "It is cute."

                "Dude—"

                "I would like to think we are friends," Ivan added.

                "Huh?"

                "Da."

                "But we fight all the time," Alfred pointed out.

                "Not really," Ivan shrugged.

                "What are you talking about? We do," the Omega argued.

                "We have disagreements," Ivan conceded, "but we do not fight. Especially compared to how we used to."

                Alfred considered it, and was horrified to realize that it was true. "...Oh. So, like, you would call us friends?"

                "Yes."

                Alfred gaped for a second, stunned and a bit awkward since he couldn't tell if he felt the same. You _could_ say it was friendship, which was a good thing for Alfred's mission, but he didn't feel like it was. What they had between them felt different—perhaps it's because he doesn't want to change their dynamic of rivalry. He was more surprised to know that Ivan had managed to label them as friends when the Prince had never experienced it. For someone who had been isolated with scarce human contact for ten years, he was certainly better than Alfred with emotions. Honestly, that said more about Alfred than it did about Ivan.

                Oh, well. What he felt wasn't important. What was important was that this was highly beneficial for his mission. “Well, I am pretty awesome," Alfred chuckled, flipping his hair back arrogantly.

                "You are an idiot with little redeeming qualities," Ivan raised an amused brow, "but I do not mind it too much after getting to know you."

                "Dude, you could have just agreed with me," Alfred pouted, finding the other's statement to have the opposite effect than what it was originally intended.

                "Where is the fun in that?" 

                "Ugh, I really hate you!" 

               Ivan chuckled. "How fortunate I have vodka then. They are good for washing away negative feelings like that. Want some?"

               Alfred took one sniff of the rim. The stinging fumes shot right up his nose and he erupted in coughs and sputters. "Ack— Fuck— No! I don't want any! We're not even allowed to drink that!"

               The young prince threw his head back and laughed. When he laughed, he felt less like a prince and more like any regular teenager. Ivan raised a brow, still smiling mirthfully. "I thought Alfred F. Jones had no regard for the rules."

               "And I thought the prince of Spades would be more compliant to propriety. Disregarding decorum and drinking on rooftops isn't very prince-like," Alfred clicked his tongue, wagging a finger at him. 

               Ivan merely let out a serene breath as he leaned back to lie down on the cold tiles of the roof. A sigh, almost. His following words were soft. "It is good to take a break from being a prince every now and then." 

               Alfred turned to him, but Ivan's eyes were shut lightly. The broad smile he had been wearing earlier was gone, and his expression returned to the calmness he was more accustomed to. Alfred pursed his lips, before hesitantly following his lead to lie down on the tiles next to him. He fidgeted with his gold and white cuffs for a bit before he asked: "Do you drink alone often?"

               "It is not like I have anyone else to drink with."

               "Ah." Alfred blinked. "...Right. Sorry."

               They continued in silence, just lying there, gazing up at the night sky. The stars seemed innumerable, like fireflies twinkling in the darkness. 

               Does Ivan lie here often, counting the stars?

               All by himself?

               Alfred opened his mouth to ask, but instead, these words came out: "Your Highness, do you ever feel lonely?"

               Ivan didn't respond for quite a while Alfred thought he didn't hear him. Until finally, he answered. "It's Ivan," he began, shooting Alfred a wry look. "And, yes. More often than I would like, really... But, it cannot be helped. Loneliness walks hand in hand with power. To be at the top is to be alone. That is natural."

               “That’s why I hope you can befriend him. I understand how insufferable he is, and I know it can feel like he is years beyond you, but trust me, he doesn’t know what he is doing either. He is still a child. A very lonely one. And what he needs more than anything is a friend.”

               Alfred pursed his lips in a half-hearted smile. "If it makes you feel any better, being at the bottom is just as lonely."

               "How ironic then, that we are lying here alone together," Ivan responded quietly.

               Alfred and Ivan continued in silence once more. Alfred took in a breath before saying, "It's alright. No matter how alone you are, the Wishing Star is always there. Comforting even the loneliest people at night."

               Ivan's eyes widened a fraction.

               "Vanya, do you see that star?" A soft, feminine voice resounded in the depths of his memory. "The star that shines brighter than no other. When you wish upon it with all of your heart, your wish will come true. If you believe in it and work hard, anything is possible."

               When he finally spoke, his voice came out cold. "I didn't know you believed in that star."

               "You don't?"

               "No. In my world, nothing is granted so easily. We must take what we need, endure what we must. Nothing and no one is there to help you but yourself. That's just how it works."

               Alfred shrugged. "Trust me, I believe in hard-work more too. I've struggled my whole life to survive, after all, and no one helped me either. I know it's silly; I also don't think it can actually grant wishes. But to have it there, believing that it's watching over you, somehow makes you feel better. As cliche as it sounds," he chuckled, "It's all about staying hopeful and believing in the good stuff, even when things get tough."

               Ivan's brows furrowed slightly in thought. "So it is more like a motivation rather than a magical entity."

               "Pretty much. Everyone knows only royals can have magic," he grinned, nudging Ivan with his elbow. "But for us normal folks, it's our only salvation."

               The prince stayed pensively quiet.

               Alfred chuckled. "Hard to wrap your head around, isn't it? I get it. You're a prince. You're in a different world from the rest of us. You don't understand having to scrape and scratch in tattered clothes, to the point that the mere idea of something magical helping you can feel like a saving grace. But," Alfred breathed in deeply as he stared up at the star, truly shining brighter than any other. "It's nice, isn't it? If you believe in it and work hard, anything is possible."

               Ivan turned to him with wide eyes. He stared. "What did you just say?"

               Alfred turned to him, raising a brow. Their breaths materialized into opaque mist, fogging up the air between them, but through the haze, Alfred could still see the vividness of Ivan's wide violet eyes. Shining with...something. 

               "Why? What did I say?" Shit, did he say something cringe? Man, he let his hopelessly sappy side get the best of him there.

               Ivan stared at him unblinkingly. Unnervingly. Alfred was beginning to get weirded out, averting his gaze every few seconds, trying to ignore the rising heat of his cheeks. "Uh....are you...okay?"

               Ivan suddenly sat up abruptly, tearing his gaze away from Alfred. "I forgot to tell you. I have some news to share."

               Alfred was startled at Ivan's sudden movement. He blinked, curious at the news but mostly confused on the abrupt change of topic. "Uh, what news?" 

               "Do you have your tablet with you?"

               Alfred frowned as he sat up, his hand going to his pocket—where his tablet was—protectively. "What do you want with my tablet?"

               Ivan gave him a dry look. "Trust me, I do not want to be touching it either. I do not use such technologies unless necessary, as it can be a mindless distraction. I much prefer reading."

                “Wow, you are superbly boring.”

                Ivan turned to smile a cold, shut-eye smile at him. “Just give me your tablet."
                
                Alfred huffed, but fished out his tablet anyway. He recognized that smile, and he didn't want to wobble back to his bedchamber in bruises and injuries. Ivan tapped at the screen. He tapped more, but the phone still didn't illuminate. With a huff, he shoved the phone at Alfred, pointing at it.

                Alfred burst into laughter. “You don’t know how to turn it on?” he reached over and long-pressed the buttons on its sides, keeping it pressed until the screen illuminated, and a holographic screen was spawned, bathing them both in blue light.

                “Oh.”

                Alfred smirked. “Not all-knowing after all, are you?”

                Ivan just glared at him as he pulled up a video onto the hologram. “This is Arthur Kirkland and Francis Bonnefoy,” he said. On the holographic screen, a celebration was happening, evident by the cheering, red confetti, and the two regally-dressed figures waving happily on a castle balcony.

                Alfred leaned closer, “Whoa, who are they?”

                “The Prince and Princess of the Hearts Kingdom,” Ivan explained. 
                
                Alfred squinted at the hologram. “...Which one of them is the Princess?”

                Ivan chuckled. “They are a strange couple, indeed. That one, with the flowers in his curls and the happy smile,” he pointed at Francis, whose royal garb was black and red, accentuated with many frills, jewels, and gold. A luxurious velvet cape was draped over his shoulders, and roses were braided into his beautiful hair. “is the Prince. The Alpha.”

                Alfred’s jaw went slack, “For real?”

                Ivan frowned, “For...real? What does that mean?”

                “Oh, I forgot you were royalty. It means Are you telling the truth.”

                “Ah, then, yes. I am telling the truth. He is more...delicate than other Alphas, but he is widely loved nonetheless—” Ivan stopped when he noticed Alfred’s expression. He was beaming brightly, sitting on the edge of his seat to lean close to the screen, where the royal couple were now walking down the red carpet towards their carriage. Francis was a beauty indeed, smiling and waving and occasionally holding hands with the people they passed by, offering genuine compliments with a sweet smile, and it seemed that his pleasant nature was effective on his people, as they shared their own smiles and compliments with their merry Prince.

                “Dude! I want to be like that!” he exclaimed suddenly.

                Ivan blinked, confused. “Er, well, he is royalty, and you are—”

                “No! Like, I want to make people feel happy like he is.”

                “You are a bodyguard, though, your job is quite different from his—”

                “No, I mean—” Alfred paused for a moment, shifting his seating position to face Ivan more, eyes averting in thought. “When I watch him, I feel happy and light, like he’s all the comfort in the world. I want to be able to do that, too!” he exclaimed brightly. All his life, Alfred had either weirded people out or taken their lives in cold blood. He didn’t want to just be Weird Alfred and Assassin Alfred, because neither was who he truly was, or who he wanted to be. He wanted to be considered a joy; happy, cheerful, exuberant Alfred, who tried his best to be friendly to everyone except Ivan. That’s who he wanted to be. 

                Ivan’s expression softened, and he smiled gently at him. “I am sure you will.”

                Alfred preened, his smile brightening at Ivan's words before returning his attention to the screen. “Hey, so if that guy is the Alpha, then is the other one the Omega?” 

                “Yes. That smaller one, with the atrocious eyebrows and the arrogant smirk,” he pointed at Arthur, whose hair looked wild and unbrushed, his royal garb much less ostentatious than his partner. He donned a royal suit decorated with Hearts insignia, a frilly tunic, and the same velvet cape. However, he lacked any accessories, looking plain next to his fabulously-dressed mate, “is the Princess.”

                Alfred raised a brow, “Do you have something against the Princess?” he asked, amused by his insults. Ivan grimaced, “We have...exchanged letters.”

                “Letters? But the mountains—”

                “The Prince and Princess use a dove to deliver their messages. Pierre is its name if I recall properly. Very resilient bird.”

                “Ah, so what of the letters?”

                “His letters are professional, but the underlying prejudice is quite obvious. He looks down on me, on Spades. He thinks we must be an inadequate Kingdom if we are being led by a mere sixteen-year-old Prince.”

                “What the hell, that’s so rude! Isn’t he an heir too? What a hypocrite.”

                “He is an heir, but he is older. Unlike us, he is a legal adult, five years our senior. The King and Queen, his parents, are deceased, so his eldest brother Scott Kirkland became the King. It is only temporary, however, because he does not have a wife. In Hearts, Omegas are held in higher regard, especially Queens. Queens can rule without a King, but Kings cannot rule without a Queen. Instead of finding a wife, the current King declared that his position would only be temporary until his only promised brother came of age. Out of the five Kirkland siblings, Princess Arthur is the only one with a mate, so he is chosen to become the next monarch. The Prince and Princess had their coming-of-age ceremony a few months back, and now that they are legal, they are to be simultaneously wed and crowned.”

                Alfred blinked. “Wed?” That's cool, he's never attended a wedding before!

                “Yes, they are getting married. This,” he indicated the hologram, where the video was still playing. The couple were inside a carriage, being pulled down a red carpet now. “is a live recording of their engagement announcement. Now, the reason I am showing you this is because we are invited to their engagement party in February.”

                Alfred perked up, sitting up straighter. “February?” As in, February fourteen?

                “Yes. The Valentine month is precious to Hearts, for obvious reasons.”

                “How are we going to attend? Isn’t it in their Kingdom?”

                “They are sending a plane to pick us up.”

                Alfred's brows shot up. “They have planes?”

                Ivan grimaced. His fists clenched. “Yes. Quite embarrassing, I admit. We do not have planes, yet we boast about being the center of technology.”

                “If they have planes, can’t they trade with us then? Just send a plane to pick up the resources and stuff.”

                “I have requested that already,” Ivan replied sharply, his tone becoming rough, but his anger was not directed at Alfred. “They _refused_, saying they do not want to trade with our Kingdom. They said they do not have sufficient information about the Kingdom due to how isolated we are, which they deem as suspicious, so they do not think it is worth it to waste their fuel and risk their workers’ lives on us.”

                Alfred pursed his lips in a troubled expression. “That’s...sad. How have we been surviving without trading for thousands of years?”

                “We are a massive, mountainous Kingdom with a small population. We have plentiful resources, with oil pooling on surfaces and ores peeking out of the mountains. It is all about using them wisely—however, we cannot continue this way for much longer, especially with—” Ivan paused. “Never mind. The point is, that is why I am not _fond_ of Kirkland. I pushed all my pride to the pit of my stomach just to ask him for help, and despite my valiant efforts to prove we are a useful ally, he denied it all, labeling it as lies, endangering our survival just because of his _bigotry—_”

                “Ivan.”

                He flinched when he felt a warm hand on his, almost jerking from the touch, and he looked down to see tanned hands prying his fists open—he had been clenching his fists so hard that his nails stabbed into his skin, drawing blood.

                “...Ah,” he said simply, “Sorry.”

                Alfred shook his head, “Don’t be." There was a moment of silence before the blonde spoke again, "So...If you really hate this Kirkland guy, then are you going to attend his engagement?”

                Ivan took a deep breath, composing himself. Ridding the mania in his eyes. “Yes, I will go. I have never seen them in person—this will be a good business opportunity. I can appeal to Francis, instead. He is a lot kinder and more sympathetic than his fiancé. I doubt he will have much power over the decision, since in Hearts, the position of King is merely for show, but he does have an influence over Kirkland, which will be helpful.”

                “Do you think you can do it?"
                
                Ivan frowned, “What is that supposed to mean?”

                Alfred threw his arms up in feigned surrender, “Hey, I’m just saying. You said he was more delicate than most, so you’re likely going to scare him off before you can even get the second syllable out.”

                Ivan crossed his arms. ”I will be fine. I have been through more stressful things than simply talking to pretentious fools."

                Alfred shrugged. "Whatever you say."

               "Be warned, though, Fredka. You will be coming with me there, but I know how easily trusting you are. You should not let your guard down around any of them. They may seem friendly, but their mouths spread harmless drink until it turns into poison."

               "Uh...huh?" Alfred said dumbly. 

               Ivan shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I mean to say that they are deceivingly vicious. Those who appear amicable are often the ones you should be most wary of."

               Alfred studied Ivan's side profile closely, his eyes tracing the outline of Ivan's face. "We must be about the same age, right?"

               "I was born a year before you."

               "You're only one year older!" Alfred exclaimed. "So why is it that you always speak as if you're a bumbling old man who's experienced all the hardships of life?"

               Ivan just chuckled, taking another swig of his vodka and finishing it in a series of gulps. "Be glad that you have not experienced enough to become like me, then."

               Alfred opened his mouth to respond but found he had nothing to say. For the first time in his life, he opted to stay silent. The two of them just sat there, quietly admiring the serenity of the night view of the garden, the Northern Lights shifting and flowing above them and bathing them in glows of blue, violet, and green. 

               A sharp breeze blew past and Alfred sneezed loudly.

               "You are cold?"

               "No. I'm burning up, actually," Alfred said sarcastically. 

               Ivan hummed as if Alfred hadn't said anything. "Nights in the north are always the coldest. We should head back down." 

               Alfred nodded, rubbing his nose with the back of his sleeve. Picking himself up off the tiles, he followed behind Ivan as he headed back toward the blocks of ice. But, he was a naturally clumsy person. With only the aurora borealis as his light source, Alfred couldn't see anything, and he slipped on a patch of ice on the tiles. He yelped as his feet swept out from under him, his entire body lurching sideways and threatening to send him hurtling off the rooftop.

               "Fredka!" 

               Ivan was in front of him in a flash, his thick arm catching Alfred around the waist. Still, it wasn't in time to pull him back onto the roof. Instead, the momentum swept both of them off the edge of the roof, and Alfred shut his eyes tightly to brace for the impact. 

               Which, to his surprise, never came. Instead, he could feel a pair of something strong thudding against his back and legs, and then they landed safely on the ground below. 

               Alfred's eyes flew open.

               What just happened? He blinked. Then he realized his arms were locked tightly around Ivan's neck, and his cheek was pressed tightly against his voluptuous chest. The realization jerked him upright, and he immediately began to flounder, shoving Ivan to jump out of his hold. He whirled around to hide his bright red cheeks, trying to alleviate some of the nervousness he was feeling by frantically dusting himself off.

               Seriously, this was the second time Ivan had saved him. Maybe he should start keeping a logbook to keep track of the debts he owed him now.

               Ivan cleared his throat. "Well, good night, Fredka."

               "Huh? Oh, right, good ni—" Alfred turned around, but somehow Ivan had already vanished, his shadow disappearing a little too quickly through the nearby archway. He blinked once, twice, then a small, amused smile curled his lips.

               Maybe he wasn't the only one embarrassed after all.

Chapter Text

                In the oppressive silence of the night, the cottage door creaked open, admitting the eerie glow of the moon. “Empty," an Alpha reported, his voice a low growl in the darkness.

                “Good, less trouble,” the other grunted, “Let’s just take whatever we can find and split.”

                “Is this really the house of the Prince?” the Alpha leaned down to pick up a tattered piece of white chiffon, “This is an Omega dress, and it’s not well-made.”

                “An Omega?” the other cocked a thick brow, “Ha! Maybe the little Prince has a taste for forbidden fruit."

                “The Prince is a toddler, dumbass.”

                “So? Gotta start them young,” he smirked. The Alpha rolled his eyes and kicked the clothes away. “Whatever, just bag everything. They’re worth for at least some price.”

                They searched the cottage, upturning the furniture as they went, but after a while, they still came up empty. “Damn it, there’s nothing here but clothes!” one of the Alphas yelled, “Were the rumors we heard wrong? Come to think of it, why would a Prince be living in a mountain shack?”

                “Yeah, I wasn’t expecting much from an exiled Prince, but this is ridiculous,” the other remarked as he examined the decaying cottage.

                “I would’ve beaten the cash out of him if I had to, but just my luck, no one’s here! Fuck!” the Alpha kicked the small dining table, crashing it into the wall and clattering the dishes on top of it. 

                THUD.

                The Alphas fell quiet, freezing in place.

                “Did you hear that?” one of them whispered tensely.

                “Yeah, what was it?”

                “I think it was coming from the cabinets.”

                “Do you think someone’s hiding in there? Maybe it’s the Omega—now that’s something valuable. We can sell it for a hefty price to some pervert.”

                Their harsh words echoed in the cupboard, where Ivan was hidden. The young Alpha was shaking, keeping his trembling hands pressed to his mouth. He hadn’t meant to make that sound, but the crash had made him flinch. Ivan's pulse quickened, fear tightening its grip around his chest as the eerie silence outside the cabinet prolonged. He wondered if they were gone. He waited for a few more seconds before concluding that they were. Good, this was his chance!                 

                Adrenaline drummed through his veins as he burst from the dark cupboard, intending to make a run for it. But before he could take a single step, a meaty hand seized the front of his tattered tunic, hoisting him up off the ground.

                "Well, well, what do we have here?" The Alpha's voice was like gravel, rough and menacing, as he loomed over Ivan with a predatory grin. The stench of sweat and filth filled the air as he leaned in close, his breath foul against Ivan's face.

                Panic seizing him, Ivan immediately began to struggle. He kicked and flailed and swiped at the hand that held him above the ground.

                “Hey, stop that!” the Alpha snapped. Ivan was quite heavy for his age, looking ten years old when he was supposed to be six, so the Alpha was struggling to hold him. “You’re not an Omega. You’d never fit into these tiny little dresses. So, who are you?” he questioned, sniffing his scent.

                A twisted grin stretched across his face as realization dawned upon him. “You smell like royalty.”

                “Hey! This kid is the Prince!” the Alpha called to his friend outside. The other stalked into the cottage, disbelieving, “What? This tattered little thing is the exile Prince?”

                “Sure is! The nose never lies!”

                The other sighed, “Well, what are you hoping to do with it? As I said, the bounty under his name isn’t worth much.”

                “But it’s better than these shitty clothes and the other impoverished stuff we bagged.”

                “Hm, you have a point. Alright, take him then. Seems we’re making the journey to the Palace after all.”

                Ivan's heart clenched in terror at the thought of being dragged back to the Palace. No, he couldn't bear to return to that place. Ivan wasn’t exiled—he was a runaway. He couldn't go back, he couldn't, he didn't want to face the dreaded fate that awaited him if his father found him. Please, please don't take him back!

                The Alpha laughed, sounding cruel and taunting to Ivan's ears, “Looks like coming here wasn’t a bust after all!”

                “N-No!" Ivan cried as he struggled against the Alpha's iron grip. “Let go of me!”

                “Stop struggling,” the Alpha grunted, “You should be grateful to us, you little brat. We're going to send you back home— Aren't we nice?“

                Ivan's struggle grew weaker and weaker until it had all but ceased. Now he simply dangled in silence.

                “Give up already? How weak. Where’s our thanks?” the Alpha began to shake him, forcing Ivan’s head upwards and revealing his lifeless expression. Tears that looked out of place, darkness forming under his barely-open eyes— as if he was giving up completely.

                "Hey," The Alpha's smile dropped into a vicious snarl, shaking Ivan more violently. “I don’t like that look of yours. That’s no way to address your elders.”

                “Enough of that!” the other yelled, “Let’s go already!”

                “Just a second. Disrespectful brats like him need to be put in their place. Last chance. Now. Drop that nasty gaze—”

                Suddenly, a sharp stone collided with the Alpha's skull, bursting blood and knocking him to the ground. As Ivan scrambled to his corner, he caught sight of the cottage entrance, where a small but brave form was casting a long shadow in the moon's light.

                Standing there was a furious Sunflower, in a pose that indicated that he had thrown the rock. "Let go of him!" he cried.

                “Meiguo, look,” Yao interrupted suddenly. For the last few hours, the two had been bustling with a steady hum of activity, poring over the reports just received from the Bratva in Yao's study. Usually, Alfred did them with Ivan, but currently:

                “His Highness is on the news.”

                Alfred scoffed wryly, not bothering to look up from his report. “What, did he kill someone?”

                Yao shot him a glare from above the holographic screen. “...No. He’s being interviewed about the train system's inauguration.”

                Alfred glanced up, interest piqued, and quickly rounded the table to stand over Yao, leaning his palms on the wooden surface to get a better view. There, Ivan sat beside a middle-aged Omega, microphone in hand.

                “It is such an honor to finally see you in person, Your Highness!" she began eagerly. "You have not made a public appearance in years, so this is a delightful surprise.”

                “The honor is all mine," Ivan smiled pleasantly—deceivingly, Alfred knew. That was his smile-for-the-public face. "I am quite happy to be back. It has been decided that I can no be longer confined within the Palace, especially with my coronation two years away, so I am making an effort to be more engaged.” 

                “And we appreciate your efforts! Steambird also covered the Siber Station’s grand opening, your most recent public event. Did you experience any apprehension, sire?”

                “Not at all. I was confident in my ability to conduct admirably.”

                Alfred flung his hand at the screen, palm side up, “See, he’s so full of himself!”

                “Quiet!”

                “News has also spread through the Kingdom regarding the inauguration's tumultuous proceedings,” the lady continued. “How do you perceive this turn of events, Your Highness?”

                “It is rather disappointing, considering that the construction of the railway system has been in progress for quite some time. To have such a significant occasion disrupted in such a dangerous manner was rather upsetting. Though, I am grateful that there have been no reports of deaths or injuries.”

                “That is well and all,” the Omega dismissed nonchalantly, “but I was, more or less, referring to the assassination attempt upon your person, sire.”

                Alfred leaned in closer with heightened interest.

                “Ah, that,” Ivan responded as if the life-endangering experience had simply slipped his mind. “It was unfortunate, I suppose. But they did not harm any of the civilians, so it is fine.”

                “Were you scared at all?”

                “No.”

                “Not even a little bit?”

                “No, not even a little bit.”

                The lady chuckled, “Impressive— Well, such composure is to be anticipated from our esteemed Prince of Spades. As steadfast and unwavering as the glaciers of the North,” she praised. Ivan just smiled. “Although, I can think of another reason why you might not have experienced any trepidation that day.”

                Ivan blinked. “Which is?”

                "Instead of your usual attendant, it appears that a different beauty had graced your carriage," she remarked, reaching for a remote and pressing a button, turning to face the large screen behind them. Ivan followed suit, his gaze fixed on the footage of the inauguration displayed before them. Amidst the raucous cheers and applause, the camera focused on a vibrant figure, all bright-eyed and sun-colored, as he smiled and waved with vivacious energy. The crowd seemed momentarily puzzled by his presence, but just as quickly became enamored with the new arrival, their expressions transitioning from confusion to enraptured admiration.

                Alfred felt a sense of relief wash over him to see that he hadn’t botched his appearance on an (apparently) live broadcast. Strangely, the footage invoked a sense of déjà vu within him, but he couldn’t quite pinpoint why. It just looked familiar to him. His attention shifted to Ivan, seeking his reaction instinctively. Yao, too, observed the Prince intently, analyzing his countenance.

                The young prince was watching with rapt attention, his eyes trained intently on the screen now showing the pair walking down the carpet, engaged in secretive conversation.

                Alfred frowned, “I look so small next to him.”

                “Imagine how I feel,” Yao grunted. “I look like a midget next to that bear of an Alpha.”

                “You already look like a midget even without him—”

                Yao pulled on Alfred's arm, causing him to topple sideways and hit his head on the table. “Ouch!” he yelped, cradling his forehead with both hands. Yao smirked, but before Alfred could retaliate, the lady's voice interjected.

                “Please look closely here, Your Highness,” she said. The footage now showed the ceremony, where Ivan was delivering his speech. She zoomed in on Alfred's face in the background, capturing his sudden shift in gaze and alarmed expression as his attention diverted toward the crowd.

                “Ooh! This is when I noticed the Rebellion in the crowd!” Alfred pointed excitedly at his pixelated self, who was squinting into the distance. Then, the Alfred on the screen appeared confused, turning to look up at the station. Alfred watched his pixelated eyes widen in shock before whirling around and tackling Ivan to the ground as the bullet grazed his ash-blonde hair and instead hit the carpet below the stage.

                “Did you see that, Yao? Did you see that?” he shook Yao eagerly, thrilled just by watching his footage, “That was such a hero move!”

                “I do admire your remarkable reflexes,” Yao hummed idly.

                “Right? Right?” Alfred became further excited at Yao’s response, “I’m so cool!”

                “Hush, I cannot hear them!” Yao pressed a finger to his lips to signal silence, pointing at the screen where Ivan and the lady had reappeared. “Based on the footage, I assume he is your bodyguard, Your Highness," she said, "He seems to be remarkably skilled at his job and dedicated to protecting you.”

                “Oh...” Ivan blinked, bringing himself out of his daze, “...I suppose. I had forgotten about that, actually.”

                Alfred rolled his eyes.

                “I shall thank him upon my return to the Palace,” Ivan added. Alfred's initial displeasure dissipated instantly—the thought of a thank-you from the prideful Ivan was rather satisfying.

                “It appears you share a close bond as well,” the lady continued, “as you seemed to be rather immersed in your conversation down the carpet. If you would be so kind, could you shed some light on this new companion of yours? Many are quite curious on who he is," she requested, returning the microphone to the Prince.

                Alfred leaned closer, praying that Ivan didn’t feel like being a jerk today. 

                Ivan stayed silent for a moment, his lips pressed into a tight line. Yao's sharp eyes discerned the faintest blush on his pale cheeks. “His name is Alfred Jones," he eventually revealed, "but I prefer to call him Fredka.”

                The lady nodded in acknowledgment. "A nickname," she commented with a small smirk, "Interesting." 

                Ivan hardly registered her comment. “He is...difficult to describe. Despite being so open and straightforward, he remains enigmatic to me. Bizarrely contradicting, sometimes he says things I cannot even begin to comprehend. It would take a genius to understand his thought process—I doubt even he himself understands it because he acts purely on impulse.”

                Alfred frowned.

               “Owing to his ineptitude at discerning social cues, he ignores my regal status and fails to see me as intimidating, allowing him to be as brutally honest and rude-mouthed as he likes. He is brash, excruciatingly talkative, lacking in tact, physically and verbally aggressive—” Ivan listed. Alfred's frown deepened, starting to feel a little hurt. This guy is really—

               “—and, he makes me feel normal.”

               A momentary silence followed. Ivan was appearing shy, averting his gaze coyly with his face flushed red. With his fluffy bangs falling over his forehead, he created a charming image. Even the news lady was momentarily stunned by the sight before she cleared her throat, “Well, it is remarkable to see how well you two complement each other! I'm sure you make a wonderful pair.”

               “I do not know about that,” Ivan responded coolly, straightening his back diplomatically, his bashfulness vanishing in the blink of an eye. “Our relationship is certainly improving. He still has a long way to go, however,” he smirked at the screen, making Alfred’s cheeks flush against his will.

               “I see. I wish you both the utmost success! You undoubtedly make a fine duo. Thank you immensely for gracing us with your presence this afternoon, Your Highness! We eagerly anticipate your future public engagements.”

               “Yes, thank you as well,” the two rose to their feet and exchanged handshakes, and then the live broadcast concluded. There was a moment of silence before—

               “I hate that guy!” Alfred threw his arms up, abandoning Yao to round the desk again.

               “Really?” Yao inquired incredulously, “Did you not see how his reaction when asked to describe you?”

               “I did. What of it?” Alfred asked, arching a brow as he plopped into his seat, genuinely confused by his remark. “He ninety-nine percent insulted me, with a mere one percent of praise that hardly even qualifies as such.”

               Yao gave him an exasperated look, "Is that all you understood from it? Do you have no social awareness? Or are you just an idiot?”

               Alfred pouted, “How else should I have understood it?”

               Yao let out a frustrated sigh, rolling his eyes. “Forget it. It's a lost cause trying to explain it to you.”

               Alfred pouted further as he watched Yao return to rifling through the reports. He was confused about what he meant, and the fact that Yao dropped it made him even more curious. Also, why were people insulting him today? He didn't get it. 

               Ivan sighed as he got into a carriage, the coachman shutting the door behind him, silencing the cheers and the clicking of cameras. His sigh was in relief—though he was working hard to prevent another Palace lockdown, he couldn't help but feel like shutting himself in his chambers for another few weeks after today. Too much socializing for his taste, and the paparazzi were incorrigible. He closed his eyes and allowed his posture to slack, slumping in the luxurious cushion. It would feel so nice to rest for once. That day he and Alfred had visited his sunflower field had been the first break he had had in years, and he would give anything for another one.

               But he couldn't. He had responsibilities on hold that needed to be taken care of. Piles of paperwork awaited him, documents to be signed, conferences to attend, reports to review and write, lessons to study, instruments to be practiced.

               Ivan opened his eyes, and he suddenly felt weary. 

               Was this to be his fate in the years that lay ahead, until his final breath escaped him? Ivan had an inkling that he would barely make it past five years of reign before offing himself. He couldn't imagine having more work than he did right now. Though, to be fair, he was shouldering all of the work on his own. When he becomes King he will have a Queen to split it with—that is, if they were competent. But even though Ivan only ventured out of the Palace for work events, it was abundantly clear that no Omega in this Kingdom was capable enough for the role. If anything, he'd end up doing his wife's work anyway.

               He sighed, more deeply this time, and decided not to think about it. He looked outside the window again, where the citizens were still trailing behind the carriage in awe.

               Usually, by this time, Alfred would start chatting his ears off again with his complaints about how obsessive the paparazzi are and how their cameras are ‘blinding his ass’. But Winter had forbidden Alfred from going, saying Ivan should go alone this time.

               He didn’t know why, but he had felt bad. His chest ached in a way that it hadn’t for so long. He had felt disappointed and upset at not being accompanied and had questioned Winter about it. It was only when Winter's tone became stern that Ivan begrudgingly conceded.

               With his thoughts currently on Alfred, his mind naturally wandered to recall the interview earlier. His cheeks flushed, and a gloved hand reached up to clutch at his chest, where his heart was racing painfully.

               What is going on with me, he wondered, pressing his lips together. My heart has never acted this way before. Usually, I barely feel its presence, but nowadays, it has been acting so strange. I need to stop feeling this way, I already have far too much to worry about. Adding emotions to the mix will only stress me out further.

               He took long, deep breaths, pressing his palm against his chest as if trying to stop it from rising at such an energetic pace. The breaths were cold and sobering, and eventually, he managed to return to his reticent state. At this point, the carriage had ventured out of Siber and into the towns. Ivan watched the passing scenery silently, watching as the children played and laughed on the sidewalks, pointing at candy stores and tugging at their parent’s sleeves, couples holding hands and conversing animatedly with each other, people walking about to and fro with bags of laundry, baskets of groceries, bouquets of flowers, or the leashes of their pets. They were so utterly, painfully normal.

               Ivan wondered what it was like, to live in such cozy simplicity. He watched these ordinary people and their ordinary lives and found that they were quite remarkable, in their own way. To be able to live without rules and etiquette, without the burden of a thousand generations on your shoulders, to be able to just...exist, and be yourself. That was amazing to him. He wanted to be like that.

               But a Prince cannot be normal. A Prince must be exceptional—they must be unreachable, unattainable, a miracle since birth. They must have a thousand accomplishments before reaching adolescence; they must always be stern but soft, scary but approachable, hardworking but relaxed—they have to be flawless specimens but expect to be treated humbly like they were no more than a servant.

               Princes have to be perfect. All the time, without fail.

               That’s why Ivan could never be like any of them. That’s why Ivan did not have any friends. He lived in an enormous palace where the small amount of staff avoided him like the plague, where the only people who talked to him were the strict and professional Winter and Yao, who treated him like he were nothing more than the person they worked for. They piled work on him as if he weren’t just a sixteen-year-old boy who had no idea what he was doing. 

               Perhaps that’s why he felt so disrupted by Alfred. From the moment they met, Alfred treated him like he did everyone else: normal. From when he yelled at him for dragging his arm, to when he wiped his tears and touched his hands. It was as if the title of Your Highness felt like nothing on his tongue. It didn't carry any significance to Alfred, because to him, Ivan was just Ivan.

               Just Ivan, he repeated. Not the perfect prince, not the insane heir; just...Ivan.

               He felt a fluttering sensation blossom in his stomach, reaching his heart and his face, making them rapid and flustered. Ivan touched his face, and through his gloves, he could feel an alarming warmth emanating from his normally cold cheeks. Ah, it is happening again. I really should ask Yao...I do not think this is normal.

               When Ivan looked up again, something caught his eye. His eyes widened, “Stop— Stop the carriage! At once!” he called out. The coachman halted the horses and turned around, alarmed, “Is there something wrong, sire?”

               “No, not at all. I just wish to purchase something here,” Ivan answered, opening the carriage door himself.

               “S-Sire, I’ll do that—”

               “Nonsense. I can open a door myself. Just wait here.” Leaving behind a stuttering coachman, Ivan entered a shop with two golden arches poised above its entrance.

               Alfred rocked on the balls of his feet as he stood outside the Palace doors, accompanied by Yao.

               “Are you incapable of staying still, Meiguo?” Yao asked, “Do not take it the wrong way, but I just never see you idle. You are always doing something.”

               “Yeah, I just get bored easily. I’m super flighty when I don’t have anything to entertain me.”

               “I can tell,” Yao remarked, almost amusedly, “I told you to stand still with your hands folded in front of you, and you have not. What you have done, is walk around in circles, inspect the bone structure of your hands, count the wrinkles on your fingers, ask me why our fingertips turn white when applied with pressure, play rock-paper-scissors with the Meka, and bounce on the balls of your feet.”

               “Wow, you remember all that?”

               “Not all of us have the memory of a goldfish.”

               Alfred was about to rebuke when Theo and Michael suddenly whirred to life, marching past them with heavy, mechanical thuds down the marble steps and toward the carriage that had just arrived. Theo bent down to open the door, and Ivan emerged. Alfred beamed and bounded the steps, ignoring Yao’s calls of “Be careful!”

               “Ivan!” he greeted brightly, "How was the city?"

               Ivan smiled softly at him. "It was good. Did you stand out here to receive me? It is cold. You do not do well in the cold."

               "I'm fine—and besides, I wanted to ask about Siber! How was it? Were there any events? Are the buildings still the same? What was it like inside that fancy Steambird building?”

               "Meiguo, give him some space," Yao scolded as the younger pair reached the top of the wide steps. "He's had a long journey."

               Ivan shook his head, “No, no, it is alright.” Actually, he had quite missed Alfred’s chattiness. 

               "Sorry, I just miss the city. Even though we got into a deadly situation, it was still really cool!" 

               Ivan chuckled. "Well, we will be having more public events from now on, so I am sure you will be seeing more of Siber." 

               "You mean it?" Alfred gasped, "That's awesome! When's the next one?" 

               "Do not be too excited," Yao reminded amusedly. "It is not decided yet. Though I admire your enthusiasm—I myself am eager to get out of the Palace more, after nine years of being cooped up."

               "Whoa, whoa, what?" Alfred held up his hands, gaping. "You've been here nine years? Wait, so how old are you?" 

               "That is a rude thing to ask—"

               "He is twenty-four," Ivan answered for him. The Omega turned to him with a glare, but Ivan's attention was on Alfred, whose jaw dropped. "No way! But you look like you're our age! I just thought you were really mature!"

               "I do pride myself on having retained my teenaged beauty," he smirked, elegantly tucking his dark-brown strands behind an ear.

               "Ohh, so that's why you're so famous with the citizens! It's because you've been in the Palace for a long time! I was wondering why, given how little information there is about this place."

               Yao blinked, "I am famous with the citizens?"

                Alfred nodded eagerly, "Yeah! They're always saying how beautiful you are and how much of a good attendant you are."

                Ivan chuckled. "Is that so? How curious. Well, Yao was quite good at his job."

                Alfred felt a pang in his chest. Yao was indeed an amazing Omega. He was a great cook, an amazing swordsman, a skilled medic, and a whole other set of infinite skills that he wielded excellently. No doubt that he had been an amazing attendant for Ivan. The thought of Ivan enjoying Yao's company more got to him.

               "Yeah, Yao is pretty great! He's amazing at everything and is all serious and mature and hardworking. Wa-y better than me!" Alfred laughed nervously, practically yelling.

               Yao blinked at his behavior. "Oh, well—"

               "You are doing just as well as him," Ivan interrupted. "In fact, I would say you are doing better. You finish more work in a few hours than Yao does in a day, and you are more skilled in battle. You are even more intelligent than he is, academic-wise."

               Both Omegas stared at him. Yao wasn't offended at all, more so surprised and curious at Ivan's behavior. First the interview, and now this? Strange...

               His eyes flicked between the two of them as they stared at one another—they were both so painfully obvious. Ivan, though he seemed nonchalant, seemed to be holding his breath. Alfred, on the other hand, looked stunned, his doe eyes brighter than usual. 

               Alfred eventually snapped out of it, pushing Ivan, who barely budged. "Don't be weird! It's strange when you compliment me."

               Ivan shrugged, "It is true."

               Alfred shoved him again. Ivan bent down to grip his head, pushing down with a shut-eye smile, "Fredka~ Is that how you treat someone who compliments you? I will never do so again."

               "It's how I treat a weirdo trying to infiltrate my brain!" Alfred gritted with squeezed eyes, trying to pry Ivan's hand off.

               The Alpha hummed, "There is not much to infiltrate, though."

                Ivan switched to gripping Alfred's wrists instead. Alfred struggled to escape his hold while pushing him back at the same time. "What do you mean? I've got plenty! You just said I was smart earlier!"

               "Ah, but you told me not to compliment you, so I take it back."

               "You can't take it back, you already said it!" 

               "I believe that is how taking back works."

               "Well— That's— No, it's not!" 

               Ivan cocked an eyebrow, "And how exactly does it not work that way?" 

               "Because I said so."

               "...What a creative comeback."

               Alfred smirked triumphantly, taking Ivan's clear sarcasm as a compliment, "All the time!" 

                Ivan released his hands, hiking his scarf up with a chuckle, "You're very stupid." His cheeks were a little rosy—from the wrestling or from the rise of good feeling, it was hard to tell. He missed Alfred's playfulness and endearing stupidity—actually, the Omega in general made him so happy. He was annoying at times, but it was moments like these that made him forget all about it. 

               Standing to the side, Yao watched them with interest. At first, he was worried as it looked like another argument was about to spark, but relaxed when he realized they were just playing around. He observed Ivan in particular, taking note of his soft smile and flushed cheeks. The way he looked at Alfred was so adoring that it almost tugged at his heartstrings. And to think, it was only two months ago when Ivan's face would twist with disgusted contempt at just the mention of Alfred's name.

               "Oh, by the way!" Alfred suddenly remembered, and his lips stretched into a cheeky grin. "Don't you have someone to thank?"

               “Hm?”

               Alfred’s smile formed into a pout. “On the broadcast!” he huffed.

               If you were socially inept and lacked proper eyesight—like Alfred—you would have missed Ivan's momentary shock. Unfortunately, the expression was gone in a blink before Yao could analyze it.

               “Ah, I have already thanked General Winter on the way here,” Ivan smirked.

               “Don’t play dumb! You know what I’m talking about!” Alfred snapped. He did not appreciate this weirdo trying to avoid thanking him. He had to do it properly!

               “Nonsense, I do not know what you are talking about,” Ivan continued, walking past them towards the doors. Theo and Michael had positioned themselves back in their spots earlier and opened the doors for them now.

               Alfred gaped at the other’s back, pissed and confused. But instead of taking the bait and getting angry, he went a different route. He sighed exaggeratedly. “Must have all been for show, then—as if a corrupted tyrant would actually be thankful for someone.”

               Ivan turned to him with a cold shut-eye smile. “Fredka, I am not a tyrant. If you want me to thank you so much, come see me in my library.”

               “Why can’t you do it now?” 

               “Not a proper time and place,” Ivan answered.

               “You’re weird,” Alfred rolled his eyes.

               “I see the pot is calling the kettle black."

               Alfred shoved him again.

               The Omega walked through the corridors, pulling his cloak tight around his shoulders. It seemed like the never-ending winter of the Palace was becoming colder and colder every day, where even the chill outside was seeping into the interior—but they were approaching the Ber months now, so it was to be expected. He just counted his lucky stars that no snow storms had happened during his stay—though, Yao said they had plenty of them before his arrival. But it seemed that the North had found a sense of peace since then.

               Alfred followed a familiar path until he reached a wooden door, not bothering to knock as he entered. “Hey, I’m here!” he announced, and Ivan turned from where he was standing next to a tall window.

               "Da, you are.”

               “So~” Alfred grinned childishly, “Where’s my thank you?”

               Ivan smiled and moved closer. And when he did not seem to stop moving closer, Alfred briefly panicked. In subconscious defense, he raised his hands as Ivan pulled him into a tight hug, the Omega’s arms folding uncomfortably between their tightly pressed bodies. Alfred had gasped quietly when Ivan’s large arms encircled him, inhaling a lungful of fragrant vanilla and masculine cologne. All these factors dusted Alfred’s cheeks with red, and he thanked the Gods that they were in private.

               Then, he felt Ivan bring his lips close to his ear, his cold breath tickling his skin, whispering a husky, “Thank you.”

               Alfred’s face blossomed into a deep red, reaching the tips of his ears. Gods, did he really have to say it in his ear like that? The way he said it made it seem so...sexual. He blushed even deeper.

               “D-Dude! Get off!” he hissed, trying to untangle himself.

               Ivan chuckled and released him. “You see why I did not want to do it in front of Yao?”

               “Uh, yeah! But you could have just, like, bought me something or done something for me.”

               “Oh, yes, that reminds me, I got something for you,” he reached into the folds of his coat and took out a brown paper bag, with a familiar letter M on it.

               Alfred gasped, beaming the brightest smile Ivan had ever seen on him. “A burger!” he squealed, snatching the bag from Ivan’s hold. He bounced on his feet excitedly as he opened the box. “You even remembered my order! Impressive.”

               Ivan’s cheeks went slightly pink. “Ah, it is not that impressive. I simply got the biggest drink and the biggest burger, then requested that they double the toppings since I remember that your order last time was very...tall.”

               Alfred turned to smile at him. “This is so great! You have no idea how much I’ve missed this! This is way better than your freaky hug.”

               “Wow~ and here I thought you enjoyed my hug since your ears had turned so red,” Ivan teased.

               “Shut up! It’s just because of how you did it! I’m not used to physical touch in that way.”

               “Then I will do it more.”

               “Please don’t.”

               “Huhu, kidding~”

               Alfred punched him on the arm lightly, “I thought tyrants were supposed to be good at lying.”

               “Only when we want to lie.”

               “So you admit you’re a tyrant!” Alfred jabbed his index finger at him triumphantly.

               Ivan, with his own index finger, pushed Alfred’s hand down. “No, I just got tired of telling you I was not. We are not a corrupt council. Do you not pay attention in the meetings?”

               Alfred ripped his hand away to point at him again, “That’s what you want us to believe!"

               Ivan sighed, and turned around to sit at a desk, “You truly are hopeless.”

               “No, really! I know it’s true! I’ve heard of some things!” Alfred insisted. He then began to talk Ivan’s ear off about conspiracy theories as they sat at a table in the library, with only each other and the food for company. Ivan stayed silent throughout his rant, pretending to be engrossed in a book, but was secretly listening. He would glance at Alfred every so often and would note that he was identical to a child in a candy store. He was so animated and bright-eyed when talking about something he was passionate about—a little too animated, as he almost hit Ivan in the face several times with his elaborate hand gestures.

               Briefly, Ivan wondered about his village life. Did he have any friends aside from his brother? Alfred was kind and goodhearted—he always had a smile for everyone and never hesitated to help someone in trouble. He was bright and warm and cute. Surely, he must have.

               And yet, the blonde continued to talk and talk and talk, as if he had been forced to be mute his entire life and was letting it all out now.

               “Ivan!” Alfred snapped his fingers in front of his face, startling him, “Are you listening to me?”

               Ivan blinked. “Ah, yes. Sorry, I got lost in thought. Please, continue.”

               Alfred furrowed his brows a bit as he stared at Ivan. “What is it, Fredka?” he questioned, puzzled by his sudden scrutiny.

               Alfred looked away, pressing his lips together in a flat line before he spoke. “...If you want to talk about something else, we can. I know you’re not interested in what I’m saying.”

               Ivan stared. “What gave you that idea? It is strange for you to give up something for my sake.”

               Alfred bristled. “What’s that supposed to mean—”

               “Do not worry,” Ivan interrupted, “about your garrulous tendencies. No matter what you are talking about, I will listen. That is how our dynamic works, does it not?”

               He felt his heart flutter—again, he noted mentally—when he saw Alfred’s eyes sparkle in a moment of brief surprise, then sharply turn away with a pout on his lovely lips.

               Oh, he was so cute. Ivan’s hands twitched at his sides, aching to at least squeeze his round cheeks. 

               “But why? You hated my chattiness not more than a month ago,” Alfred accused, “You always told me to shut up, why do you enjoy it now?”

               “We are friends now, remember?" 

               Alfred blinked, "Oh, yeah. Right." It still felt awkward.

               After a beat of silence, Ivan asked, "What is your life back home like?" 

               Alfred turned to him with suspicion. "Why are you asking?"

               Ivan tilted his head, “Is it strange to ask my friend about his life? You know most about me.”

               Alfred was taken aback. “Dude, I hardly know anything about you at all. I only know your schedules. I don’t even know your hobbies.”

               “Because I do not have any. Work takes most of my time.”

               “How is that possible when I do like half of your work?” Alfred cocked an eyebrow, “You must have at least some free time. It’s not healthy to keep working— you’re going to burn out before you even become king. Having hobbies is important.”

               “I read.”

               “That’s not the same,” Alfred argued, “It’s still using your mind. You need a hobby that’s a mindless activity, where your brain can finally take a breather.”

               Ivan leaned to rest his elbow on the table, his chin on his palm. He smiled nonchalantly, his bangs falling over his forehead. “Choose a hobby for me then. Whatever you decide, I will do it.”

               The Omega's brows lifted in pleasant surprise. “Really? Hm, let’s see then,” he looked away in thought, “Have you tried knitting? It’s a mindless hobby, and you can make scarves and sweaters and stuff.”

               “Is that so? It does sound interesting.”

               “Yeah!” Alfred nodded, pleased to have thought of something good at first try. "Are you, uh, actually gonna do it?"

               "Why wouldn't I? It sounds like a good hobby."

               "I don't know," Alfred shrugged. "I didn't think you'd actually accept my suggestion."

               “Does this have to do with the people in your home village?" 

               Alfred winced. Ivan was always most perceptive when it was the least convenient. "Yeah. I mean, it's not really a big deal—certainly not compared to your life. And I love my village," he added, a touch defensively, "But the people there aren't the best. It's just a constant cycle of mundanity, day after day. From dawn till dusk, everyone follows the same routine. It's like being trapped in a time loop. It gets boring, that's all."

              "You do not seem boring, though."

               Alfred couldn't help the grin that formed as he turned to him. "Right? I'm pretty awesome, to have stayed true to myself for so long without letting them wear me down. But that's also a downside, I guess," he shrugged, looking down at his swinging legs. "I was ostracized by the others. They'd scrutinize me in the streets, whispering to each other and watching my every move. I hate the feeling of being watched more than anything, I feel like I'm being controlled. I can't do what I want freely, and it makes me feel trapped.”

               Ivan softened. "Having constant eyes and ears on you is certainly exhausting." The way he talked, he sounded 

               "Tell me about it," Alfred sighed, "Especially when you're responsible for the life of someone else. You can't even stand up for yourself for fear of endangering the life you've been entrusted with. I tried to smile, to be friendly, but my emotions always got the best of me. That village is a sea of black and white—monotone and lifeless. So when there's a pop of color amongst them, they watch it like it's a clown show. I wanted more than anything for them to stop, but I didn't want to betray myself either."

               "Betray yourself?"

               Alfred nodded. "For them to stop, I'd have to stoop down to their level. I'd have to extinguish my own flame so that I'd be as dull and colorless as the rest of them. But that's not me. I refuse to compromise who I am just to fit in, even if it means enduring ridicule. I value my freedom to be myself above all else. That's why even at work—where people hated me for being myself, for going the extra mile instead of just the work I was assigned—I ignored them and continued to do my best. But sometimes, even that's difficult to do.

               "You know how I'm always restless, never able to stay still?" he asked after a pause, "It's because I've always been this way, even since I was a child. I can't bear the thought of being idle, of feeling useless. If I can't be useful, then what's the point of my existence? That's why..." Alfred pursed his lips, "That's why I don't want to go back to Krasny. With my brother gone, there's nothing left for me there. I can't imagine spending my days sitting at home, waiting for someone who'll never return. The isolation, the emptiness...It's suffocating. What I fear most is that unfulfilling loneliness will get to my head, and in my desperation to be useful again, I'll end up being the wife of some degenerate there. Probably pump out some babies or something, just to fill the void."

              The Prince stayed quiet, staring at the table, tense. He was so stiff he resembled a statue. His silence only made Alfred feel worse. Gods, he just kept talking and talking, didn't he? He should just be quiet now. 

              How ironic that the two of them were sitting here. One suppressing his humanity to prove himself to others, and the other enduring ridicule if it meant he could be himself. 

              "Do you regret it?" Ivan asked quietly. "Choosing yourself? Even if it means people will think less of you?"

              "No. I don't," Alfred answered with certainty. "I mean, if I hadn't, then I wouldn't have been chosen to work here," he turned to grin at Ivan. "And what would you do without me, right?"

               Ivan stared for a moment. Then he sighed, smiling softly. "Yes, that's right."

               Alfred chuckled, but his tension didn't ease away. He rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh. "Sorry, by the way. I didn't mean to dump all that on you," he attempted a smile, "It's just the first time I've been able to talk about this, so my word vomit is worse than usual..."

               Ivan shook his head. “It is not something to be sorry for. I know how you feel,” he offered as a bridge of understanding, “I have been excluded my whole life as well, and to not have anyone to speak to about it—Well, it is just as painful as being shunned. Isolation,” Ivan spoke lowly, the strain in his tone whispering of hardship, “is the most devastating form of torture.”

               Alfred stared. "Wait, you're actually confiding in me?" 

               Ivan blinked. "...Yes?" 

               "So you speak from experience? Do you know why you were shunned? Is that why you act weird sometimes?" Alfred asked, bright-eyed and eager at the opportunity to know Ivan's past. Ivan, however, was not eager. He was taken aback, not expecting Alfred to turn the conversation on him. He had been certain that the Omega would explode about his own experiences, but instead, Ivan, like a fool, had opened the gates to his own problems. It unnerved him, it made his chest tighten, and he didn't like it. He hardened his shell once more.

               "I am not sure, Fredka. I do not act weird," he said coldly.

               "Uh, yeah, you do. You act weird all the time. You have these crazy mood swings where you're happy at first, angry the next then you're all sad and mopey for whatever reason. I don't know if you're constantly in your Alpha Heat or what, but it's super draining to keep up with."

               Ivan stared at him like he had grown another head, "...What? Alpha Heat? There is no such thing..." 

               "Like, the crazy mood swings and the emotional rollercoasters! Sometimes I think we can actually get along, then the next, you prove once again that you are, in fact, crazy."

               Ivan scowled at the mention of his mental state, "What does that have to do with an Omega's Heat?" 

               "Dude, like, the drama and the raging hormones! Like that!" 

               "I do not have that, Fredka," Ivan glared. Alfred gave a frustrated sigh, "I know, but you act like it, and it makes my head hurt. I can never predict how you're going to react to what I say, so I can't even watch my tongue properly. If you have problems, don't act cold and pissed off. It's wrong to take your anger out on someone who's completely uninvolved. If you're upset, just tell...someone, about it." Alfred coughed awkwardly, looking away. He should have been more confident in what he was saying, as it was beneficial for his mission, but it was a bit embarrassing to offer himself like this.

               "Who should I tell?" he asked, fishing for Alfred to offer himself up. The blonde glared at him, "I've been trying to act cool about it, but you always push me away and act like a jerk. Like that time you got sick after the Bratva meeting. When I offer, you get mad."

               Ivan tilted his head, "Are you really that curious?"

               Yes. Painfully. "No, not really. Just trying to keep you from killing me."

               Ivan chuckled, raising a hand to pat him on the head, "I am sorry, Fredka. I will try, please be patient with me." 

               Alfred huffed, turning his face away sharply with a fold of his arms, "I'm super patient, but I'm running low." Suddenly, he felt the hand on his head travel downwards to cup his cheek, turning his head to face Ivan again.

               The Prince was incredibly close, smiling softly as he always did, "Just a little more," he promised huskily. It almost made Alfred shiver. He hooded his eyes, as Ivan's scent of vanilla and snow was so comforting it almost made him feel sleepy. "I don't know..." he murmured. When Ivan's thumb began to rub, he quickly pulled away, clearing his throat as he stood up. Unbeknownst to him, Ivan tensed at his reaction, hurt flickering in his gaze.

               "What kind of books do you have in here?" Alfred changed the topic, looking up at the shelves. He kept his face turned away, not wanting Ivan to see the red on his cheeks before Alfred could dispel them. "Mostly non-fiction," Ivan answered, rising from his seat too. Alfred heaved an exaggerated sigh, "You're so boring."

              Ivan's eye twitched, "Says the one that does not read." 

              "I do read!" he instantly bristled, "I just like fictional stories. You know, superheroes, comic books, fairytales."

              "Hm, we do not have comic books, but we do have fairytales," Ivan browsed the bookshelf as well, tracing the titles with his finger, "The Gossamer Frostling, The Eldheart Stag, Frostwitch Morgana—" 

              Alfred wrinkled his nose, "What's Frostwitch Morgana? Sounds weird."

              "I suppose anything not dreadfully anglicized is weird to someone uneducated like yourself."

              "Shut up! What's the story about, anyway?"

              "Morgana is an old witch known for eating children. She lives deep in the Everfrost Woods, where winter never ends. They say she was once a powerful sorceress who got too greedy and tried to control the winter spirits. But the spirits cursed her, turning her into a ghostly creature bound to the woods. In the tale, a young child runs away from home from her abusive parents to run away into the Woods, hoping the winter spirits will take pity on her. But instead, she meets Morgana. The child pleads and pleads, but at the end, all that is left of the girl are her bones..."

              "What the hell— That's horrible! How on earth is that a fairytale?" 

             Ivan shrugged, "It is used to scare children who are naughty. You could certainly use a trip to Baba Yaga as well, you know," he teased.

             Alfred huffed, "I'm not a child, so she wouldn't eat me." 

             "Baba Yaga eats every annoying little child she comes across—and you are small and annoying, so she would definitely eat you."

             "That's not true— Also, I'm not annoying!" 

             "False, incorrect, untrue."

             Alfred bristled, jaw flexing as if he wanted to argue but couldn't. Ivan sighed. "I am only kidding, Fredka," he assured softly, resting his hand on Alfred's neck. The Omega shivered and squirmed away from the touch. "That tickles."

               "Really?" Ivan wondered and reached over to touch it again. Alfred pressed his cheek to his shoulder to keep Ivan's wandering fingers away, but Ivan reached around to the exposed side and pressed there. Alfred involuntarily released a short, loud giggle before reddening in shame, "No, stop!" 

               Ivan stared. Then, his lips stretched into an unnervingly wide smile. His hands dove for Alfred's neck, tickling it almost aggressively. Alfred fell into howls of involuntary laughter, mixed with several protests that were quickly drowned out by even more laughter. Quickly, Alfred spun around and ran through the library, zigzagging through the furniture to get away from his assailant. He hardly rounded the third chair before Ivan managed to yank Alfred's arm, pulling him back to tickle at his neck again. Alfred struggled out of his hold and ran off again.

               "Ivan, stop!" he whined, which only made Ivan want to do it more.

               Before Alfred could dodge another piece of furniture, Ivan wrapped his arm around his waist and held him against their previous table to make sure he couldn't run away. Once Alfred's back was on the table, he began to tickle him everywhere: his neck, his stomach, his sides—everywhere. Alfred burst into loud peals of laughter as he tried to push Ivan's hands off, "Dude, no!" he wheezed through his laughter, "That tickles! Stop! I'm going to kick you so hard!" 

               Ivan, on the other hand, was definitely not going to let go. He was enjoying this far too much. He stood between Alfred's legs as the Omega wriggled and squirmed, and it made him grin like mad. He leaned lower just to see that face—all scrunched up in joy with the bleak sunlight shining upon it—up close, to hear him laughing and laughing...Oh, it's been so long since he's heard such happy sounds, he wanted to—

               Suddenly, the door clicked open. Ivan lurched backward and Alfred quickly sat up, jerking their heads toward the entrance. Yao stood there, stunned.

               The three of them froze, staring at each other speechless. The first to move was Alfred. He scrambled off the table, and Ivan let him as he stepped away, clearing his throat awkwardly.

               “Y-Yao! Uh, what are you doing here?” he asked, more loudly than necessary, brushing his fringe out of the way. A nervous habit.

               Yao unfroze at Alfred’s inquiry, “Well, I was going to come to fetch you because Winter requested your presence in his office, but it seems that I have interrupted something...”

               “No, you didn’t interrupt anything at all!” Alfred waved his hands sporadically, a nervous smile on his face as he turned to Ivan, “Yeah? Nothing was happening, right?”

               Ivan nodded.

               “Yeah, see?” Alfred laughed anxiously, then quickly gathered the food back into the paper bag, “Anyway, you said Winter wanted to see me, right? We better get going then! Uh," he turned to face Ivan, hesitantly bowed his head, and then scurried out of the room. Yao eyed Ivan suspiciously before slowly closing the door to follow Alfred, leaving Ivan alone in the room. 

               Ivan let out a sharp sigh, palming his face and pushing a hand through his hair as he collapsed back into his seat. As he retracted his hand, he stared at it thoughtfully, noticing that his fingers felt a warm, tingling sensation he'd never felt before. 

                "Alfred," Winter's voice broke through the silence of the office, "Are you quite alright?"

                Alfred, who had been restlessly shifting in his seat, flinched at the address. His response came with an awkward, nervous laugh, unnecessarily loud, "Oh, uh, yeah! I'm great! More than great, actually!"

                "Really? You seem distracted. Did something happen before this?"

                "W-What? Of course not! Nothing happened at all!" Alfred's words rushed out in a flustered manner, and his visible discomfort only heightened Winter's suspicion.

                They were in Winter's office, where he had asked Yao to fetch Alfred because he had an important matter to discuss with the young bodyguard. To his surprise, Alfred had entered with a flustered appearance. Winter knew that Alfred wore every emotion on his face, so he did not believe his claim one bit. Well, never mind that. They had more important matters to discuss.

                “Well, if nothing truly happened, then I implore you to pay attention because this is important.”

                Alfred straightened, ridding his face of its earlier flush as he adopted a more serious demeanor, “Yes, of course, I’m sorry.”

                Winter interlaced his fingers, leaning them on the table, and began to explain the reason for their meeting. "You remember that I said we would catch the Rebellion?"

                "Yes," Alfred affirmed, his response quick and sharp. "Why? Did you find something on them?"

                "The Rebel we captured hasn't revealed everything about their organization. He claims not to know anything because he is only a new recruit tasked with carrying out orders. He insists that he isn't privy to the leader's plans. However, we did manage to extract some useful information. Have you ever wondered why we've never heard of the Rebellion despite their reign of terror in the province?"

                Alfred considered Winter's question. "Yeah...I experienced their tyranny myself when I was younger, but I never heard anything about them afterward. I thought they were gone. Since Ivan hadn't gone outside in years, I assumed they stopped the terrorizing until he was allowed outside again."

                Winter raised an eyebrow. “Ivan?”

                “Oh— Uh, His Highness told me to call him that. We’re on a first-name basis now,” Alfred informed. Winter eyed him again in the same suspicious manner that Yao did. Alfred wondered why the two of them were doing so. Was it really that strange to call people by their names here?

                “...Alright. Anyway,” he picked up where he left off, “That’s not the case. The Rebel we captured says that in the time Prince Ivan was confined, they were also ransacking towns to gather resources."

                Alfred frowned, puzzled by their motives. "What would they need the resources for?"

                "He disclosed that their superior is constructing something, or at least assisting someone with it. They would periodically deliver these resources, but the identity of the buyer remains unknown, with only the leader aware of who he is. Now, my request for you is to uncover the identity of this buyer. If we can ascertain who it is, it might make dismantling their organization easier. It will also trigger a larger investigation, which would grant me the authority to use more advanced technology. The Rebel also revealed that they will be executing a shipment during the forthcoming Lantern Festival, exploiting the festivities as a diversionary tactic. They will conduct the delivery at the end of the Festival when they release the lanterns, so you will not have too much of a difficult time finding them."

                "Uh, what's the Lantern Festival?" Alfred inquired.

                "It's called the Lantern Festival because people from all over Spades release lanterns into the night sky, but the main celebration takes place in Jiangmen Pavilion. It is very lively, filled with food and game stalls, and offers the opportunity to create lanterns and wear traditional clothing."

                Alfred's face lit up with enthusiasm. "That sounds like fun!"

                “Don’t get too excited,” Winter reminded, “Remember, you are to work during this Festival."

                Alfred nodded, determined and focused. "Yes, of course, sir! But, um, what about Ivan?"

                "What about him?"

                "Since we're going out, won't he need protection? The Rebels might target him as well."

                "Yes, which is why I'll be accompanying you," Winter responded.

                Alfred's eyes widened, "You're coming too? That's great! I didn't get to see you in action last time because I, you know, passed out."

                Winter seemed mildly amused. "I doubt you'll see me in action even during the Festival. My presence there is solely to ensure His Highness's safety in case something does occur. Although I highly doubt it will. The Rebels may not be the brightest, but they aren't foolish enough to cause a disturbance in a well-guarded Festival while discreetly smuggling resources."

                Alfred agreed, “Yeah, that makes sense. I’ll do my best, General.”

                “I know you will. You have to. Not just for the sake of the innocent people or the notion of justice, but for yourself. Perhaps doing all this will finally bring you some closure,” Winter hoped, empathy softening his cold tone.

                Alfred felt hollow as he nodded. “I hope so, too.”

                Alfred sighed as he left Winter’s office, climbing the stairs now. Will doing all of this actually give me closure? he wondered. Is it even right to be doing it for the closure at all? There are people out there suffering, experiencing the same as I did, all because of those criminals, while I’m here enjoying life in this grand Palace. I shouldn’t be doing it for myself.

                He slowed down when he reached the landing, turning his head to look at the opposing staircase, where the top was enshrouded in ominous darkness. The King’s wing. A metaphor for Alfred’s foreboding, life-threatening mission that he had completely forgotten on more than one occasion.

                If I were to finish my mission, I’d have to leave. I’d never see anyone here again. Not Raivis, not Winter, not Yao. And not Ivan.

                He blushed at Ivan’s name, recalling what had transpired earlier; he hadn’t felt embarrassed in the moment since he was too preoccupied with being tickled, but when Yao caught them, he suddenly realized how suggestive their position had been. Alfred was lying on his back on a table while Ivan stood between his legs, his hands on his waist. It made his cheeks flush an incredibly deep red.

                Ivan really is too strange for words. What kind of person holds someone against a table like that just to tickle them? We could’ve just stayed standing up. Oh, well—he’s new to this whole friendship thing anyway, so I guess it’s normal that he wouldn’t act...er, according to social norms.

                Alfred felt his heart lift at the word friendship. Sure, he was a very sociable being, but he never had any friends because everyone thought him to be weird.

                Everyone in this Palace is weird, too, though, Alfred smiled to himself. I guess that’s why I feel more at home here than in my actual hometown.

                Horrified, Alfred shook his head vigorously, slapping his cheeks. No, no, no, Al! You can’t be thinking this way! You can’t get attached to this place! Emotions are for the weak! The weak! You can’t—

                Alfred cut himself off with an Oof! when he got hit with a faceful of finely pressed cotton as he was turning to leave the stairs. He yelped as he stumbled backward, his feet scrambling to take proper footing but failing. Before he could feel the adrenaline of falling to severe injury, he felt a strong arm wrap around his waist and pull him close, pressing their bodies together. Startled, Alfred instinctively wrapped his arms around the shoulders of this mystery person.

                “My, my, Fredka,” Ivan crooned above him, “You truly lack any spatial awareness.”

                Alfred’s eyes went wide as he felt himself being spun around and placed back down, his feet reacquainting with the solid marble floor. “Is there a reason you were so preoccupied that you did not see me round the corner?” Ivan questioned, “Your senses are usually sharp.”

                Registering their closeness and the fact that Ivan had still not let go of him, Alfred quickly pushed his hands off and took two steps back, restoring space between them. Ivan didn't fight it and let himself be pushed away.

                “I was just thinking of something.”

                “Ah. That is new,” Ivan chuckled.

                Alfred rolled his eyes. “Ha, ha. Very original, Ivan. You should write a book.”

                “I will make sure to thank you in the author's note.”

                Alfred pushed him, which made Ivan chuckle. “What were you thinking about?” he inquired as they made their way through the halls together. “General Winter told me we were holding the Lantern Festival again, and said I had to help prepare it,” he lied.

                Ivan blinked, “We are holding it again? It has been so long.”

                “You attended it before?”

                Ivan shook his head. “We held them annually until ten years ago," he explained tensely, "but I was never allowed outside the Palace, so I could not attend.”

                "...Oh." Alfred immediately regretted asking that question. He cursed his mouth for working faster than his brain. Now that he thought about it, it was obvious that Ivan had never attended as he had been shut in the Palace his whole life.

                Before a prickly silence could settle, Alfred elbowed him playfully, putting on his best smile, “I’m glad, then. That means I'll be the first one to show you around!”

                Ivan was briefly surprised, and even more surprised when Alfred slipped his arm in his, locking limbs, “Come on, let’s go to Yao. Since it takes place in Jiangmen, I’m sure no one knows more about it than he does.”

Chapter Text

                “Eh?” the other Alpha cocked an eyebrow at the defiant little child glaring at him, "You're just a kid. Where the fuck are your parents?"

                "None of your business!" Sunflower yelled again, his voice shrill compared to the burly adults. "Now let go of my friend!"

                "Your friend?" the Alpha snorted in disbelief, "Do you have any idea who this raggedy little thing you're sheltering is?"

                Sunflower glared harder. "No, and I don't care! Get out of my house! Or..." he hesitated, trying to think of something, "Or I'll call the police!"

                This seemed to snap something in the Alpha. In the blink of an eye, he had grabbed Sunflower by the neck, swinging a brutal punch to his round face. Ivan jolted from the sound, watching with horror as the small Omega was attacked.

                “Fucking kid,” the Alpha on the ground swayed to his feet, blood dripping from his face, “Stand back, Nick. He’s mine.”

                The clash of bodies and the resounding thuds filled the air as Sunflower was ruthlessly thrown to the ground by the imposing figure of the other Alpha, who was apparently named Nick. Ivan could only watch helplessly as the two Alphas ganged up on his rescuer, landing blow after blow with relentless force. The scene before him was all too familiar, a haunting flashback of his father and older sister in a similar scenario. Ivan’s heart hammered in his chest at the sight of another merciless beating, as it elicited the same agonizing feeling of powerlessness as it did back then.

                “You!” Sunflower's desperate cry snapped Ivan out of his fear-induced daze, making him flinch. Sunshine lay curled up on the floor, arms trembling as he tried to shield himself from the relentless assault. With every kick and punch inflicting wounds upon his fragile frame, he mustered the strength to yell amidst the cacophony of strikes: “Don’t worry about me! Just make a run for it! Get as far away as you can!”

                Ivan shook his head, first timidly, then with increasing desperation. His hands pressed against his ears, trying to block out the torturous sounds that pierced his mind. Falling to his knees, he pressed his forehead against the cold ground, desperate to detach himself from the brutal reality unfolding before him. I hate this. Why do bad things keep happening to me? Why is it always me?

                As another kick landed on Sunflower's stomach, he screamed again, “HURRY!”

                I am so tired. Why can’t the world leave me alone? I thought I found refuge here, but the cruelty of humans has found me once again. I’m so sick of this. I wish everyone could just... His hands released their grip on his ears, pushing him upward instead, a surge of determination fueling his trembling body. “...Disappear,” he muttered ominously, “Die.”

                In an instant, sharp spikes of ice erupted from the ground, impaling the two Alphas with a bone-chilling finality. Sunflower's horrified gaze bore witness to the gruesome spectacle as the frozen spikes dripped with crimson blood. The ice then vaporized into thick smoke, and the bodies of the Alphas disintegrated, leaving no trace of their presence other than their now-damp clothes.

                “What in the world...” Sunflower's voice trailed off in bewilderment. He turned to face Ivan, mouth agape, “What did you just—”

                Before Sunflower could finish his sentence, he caught sight of Ivan’s wide-eyed tears, brimming with fear and uncertainty. Ivan’s tense posture revealed his anticipation, waiting with bated breath for Sunflower's reaction. The weight of the revelation hung heavy in the air. Sunflower had seen his magic, the rare gift possessed only by royalty. Surely, Sunflower was aware of the implications. What would he do? Would he cast Ivan aside? Would he surrender him to the guards, forcing him back to the confines of the Palace?

                The Omega continued to stare. Then, a bright, comforting smile graced his face. “Hey,” he said, extending his hand, “Come on. Everything’s okay now.”

                It was as if a dam had burst, releasing all his emotions. Ivan’s face contorted in shock, tears streaming down his cheeks like a heavy rainfall. He lunged forward, catching Sunflower around the waist with a sobbing wail, digging his face into the other’s chest as he cried.

                “I’m so sorry I couldn’t make it back sooner,” Sunflower's tone twisted in sympathy as he patted the Alpha’s head, “I didn’t mean for all of this to happen.”

                Ivan looked up, his face flushed and eyes reddened from all the tears. His eyes were shimmering with emotion; it was an unusual sight for Sunflower, who was used to their cold lifelessness. “Are— Are you okay?” Ivan managed to choke out, “Y-You are not hurt?”

                “Don’t worry, I’m fine,” Sunflower laughed, “I’m used to beatings. But it’s okay! I’m super strong, and I’ll heal in no time. Let’s promise each other to put tonight behind us, okay?” he said, petting Ivan’s head, “This was merely a bad dream.”

                Ivan’s tears began to pour heavily again as he managed to hiccup out: “Okay...I promise...!”

                Sunflower burst out laughing, “Hahaha! Your tears don’t stop, do they?” Sunflower reached up to wipe his tears away, and Ivan felt the strings of his heart twist almost painfully, making him hitch his breath.

                “What a crybaby you are,” The Omega said with a smile, devoid of insult, “Turns out you’re human after all, too, huh?”

A FEW DAYS LATER

                “We do not have all day, you know! Make haste!” Yao exclaimed, his hands on his hips. He stood at the wide bottom step of the marble stairs, waiting for Winter, Alfred, and Ivan to descend completely. He was in a gorgeous blue and white silk hanfu, his hair cascading down his shoulders in delicate strands rather than in their usual ribbon, with a small bun that was held up with a violet flower pin. He looked ethereal, like the perfect doll that Alfred had perceived him to be when they first met—yet once again, his surly expression hindered the effect.

                “Remind me again why you are coming with us?” Winter raised a brow at him when they reached the bottom step. He was in a hanfu like Yao’s, but it lacked the intricate details and flowy fabrics, made of cotton rather than silk. It was dark blue and black, complementing Yao’s outfit.

                “Because it’s the Lantern Festival. I am the Jack, so you cannot stop me.”

                Winter sighed, “Fine. You two, behave, okay?” he turned to Alfred and Ivan, “If we hear your arguments from our carriage, we are stopping. Understand?”

                The two nodded in affirmation.

                “Good, now make haste. We must be there before evening.” He gently took Yao’s arm—having to bend down considerably to do so—and aided him into their carriage, lifting the Omega’s hanfu so that it did not get dirtied by the snow or stuck in the ladder.

                Ivan turned to Alfred and offered his own arm, mimicking Winter’s gesture. The blonde gave him an amused look. “Shouldn’t I be doing that?” Not just because it was his job, but because Ivan was in much bigger garments than he was. He wore a light blue and white hanfu with a large, fluffy cloak. It was more luxurious and ostentatious than Alfred’s humble outfit.

                “Ah, but we are journeying for a Festival, not a royal event,” Ivan reminded. “Today, you are just Fredka, and I am just Ivan, not a Prince and his bodyguard. I would like to treat you as such.”

                Alfred smiled, amused and slightly touched by his sentiment. “Makes sense, I guess,” he slipped his arm in Ivan’s, “Lead the way then!”

                Meanwhile, Yao and Winter watched them from their window, observing as they smiled and locked arms, helping each other into their carriage. “Did I miss something,” Winter wondered aloud, “Or do they seem friendlier than before?”

                Yao narrowed his eyes as he watched Alfred trip on the stairs, nearly stumbling backward if it weren’t for Ivan catching his shoulders to steady him, a look of exasperated fondness on his face. “I’m not sure friendly is the word I would use,” he muttered.

                “What do you mean?”

                Yao simply shot him a knowing smirk. “Ah, you haven’t gotten the newest software update, so I think you’re a little too robotic to understand the intricacies of human emotion just yet. Come back when your mechanical heart has developed strings.”

                When Winter glared, Yao gave him a condescending pat on the knee before facing the window again, watching the skeletal grove pass them by.

                “Whoa, the architecture here is way different,” Alfred whistled as he stepped out of the carriage. The surroundings were incredibly contrasting to the streamlined architecture of Spades. It looked like it belonged to the Diamond Kingdom instead.

                Jiangmen Pavilion was a city enclosed by towering, crimson walls adorned with sloping, upturned roofs topped with intricate yellow tiles. The entrance into the city featured a grand, ornate golden frame through which a horde of people—all attired in traditional garments—was bustling. As the group of royals passed through, the citizens surprisingly unfazed by their presence, their gazes fixed on the main building. It was a remarkable feat of architecture—a grand three-story edifice, each level crowned with the iconic curved rooftops. With dusk approaching, the entire city was bathed in a warm, luminous glow, its festive ambiance enhanced by the numerous lanterns, ribbons, and vibrant stalls that adorned the surroundings, accentuated with the merry clamor of the people.

                “Yao had this Pavilion made when he was first elected Jack,” Ivan suddenly whispered in his ear, startling Alfred, “Said he was homesick, apparently.”

                Alfred slapped a hand to his ear. “Don’t just whisper into my ear like that! Give me a little warning next time! Your breath is so cold. Also, what do you mean by homesick?”

                “He is from Diamonds,” Ivan clarified, “How he managed to travel all the way here is unknown. Yao is quite secretive, even more than I am.”

                “Damn,” Alfred breathed, “Why did I not notice he looks Diamonese?”

                “Because you lack any sort of awareness.”

                “Nuh-uh!”

                “What a mature response.”

                “As always,” Alfred smirked. Ivan shook his head fondly, finding it impressive how he managed to glaze over the fact that Yao had done the impossible: conquering the mountains of Spades. Additionally, he had only been fourteen years old when he did so, probably even younger considering how ragged he had looked when he first arrived at the Palace.

                They continued walking for a while until Winter abandoned Yao's side to pull Alfred to the side. “Do you remember what we discussed last week?”

                “Oh, um, yeah! The Rebellion is executing a shipment tonight.”

                “Yes. I need you to go find them.”

                Alfred blinked, “Now? But Ivan—”

                “I warned you that you would be working during the Festival, didn’t I?” Winter interrupted.

                Alfred wilted, “Well, yeah, but this Festival is important to him, I don’t want to ditch.”

                “Then best be quick about it, hm? Go,” Winter nudged him towards the gate, “I’ll make up an excuse for you.”

                Alfred cast a glance at Ivan, who stood alone in the middle of the crowd, waiting for them. He wanted to rebuke for his sake, but he had work to do. “Okay,” he said finally, “I’ll be back quickly.”

                He sprinted out of the pavilion, running as fast as his legs could carry him. He tried to ignore the merry sounds and warm light glowing above the crimson walls of the pavilion as he scurried through the night. Jiangmen was in a town near the villages, not unlike Krasny, and everyone was inside the pavilion, so Alfred didn’t encounter anyone. No wonder the Rebellion chose tonight to do the shipment. He tried to recall the unpleasant smell of the Rebels a few weeks ago, but to no avail. He jogged around for a bit, tempted to almost give up until he finally caught a whiff of the familiar gunpowder scent. Perking up at the smell, he quickly followed the scent like a dog on a trail. Eventually, he stumbled upon a tiny, abandoned village. It had only three houses, all of which were stripped bare of its foundations, leaving its interior vulnerable to the outside elements. And, fortunately, the Rebellion as well.

                Alfred quickly ducked behind a boulder as he watched them from afar. They had a large, wooden crate with them, and they seemed to be waiting. Alfred squinted, willing his glasses to fulfill their job and clear his vision, and noted three Rebels, no leader in sight. How are they supposed to do the shipment here if none of them know who the buyer is?

                Stealthily, Alfred climbed onto the boulder and onto the hill behind the houses, keeping himself low as he watched them from above.

                “How much longer do we have to wait here?”

                “How the fuck am I supposed to know? Be patient.”

                “Who is this buyer anyway? We’ve been doing this for him for ten years, and he hasn’t given a clue as to who he might be,” the third Rebel asked.

                “I don’t know, and I don’t care—all that matters is that he gives us adequate funding and militia-grade weapons in exchange for these ore and metals.”

                “He must be really rich. He gives us half a million dollars in exchange for these scraps. Do you think it’s a greedy corporate CEO?”

                “Oh, please. Do you think they don’t have the means to do this themselves? They have workers to do all that, they don’t need a partnership with a shady organization. This guy is someone who is filthy rich but can’t go out to collect anything himself. Probably a shut-in, or something.”

                A shut-in? That sounds awfully familiar...

                “Can we stop talking now? We’re going to be here for hours, so I’m going to rest my eyes. Don’t even think about disturbing me,” he threatened as he leaned back in his hammock, slipping his bandit scarf over his eyes. The other two shrugged, and the group fell into silence.

                Alfred screeched to a halt at the golden gate, pausing to catch his breath and smooth out his hair. He had to make it look like he had just been from the toilet instead of an abandoned village a mile away. He continued to walk and found Winter, Ivan, and Yao reading a bulletin board. He made eye contact with Winter and quickly jogged over to him.

                “That was fast. Less than fifteen minutes,” the General whispered. Alfred smirked, albeit tiredly, “Could’ve been back and forth in less than ten minutes. I just had to stay for a bit to hear their conversation.”

                “What did you discover?”

                Alfred began to relay everything that he heard. Winter nodded along, brows creased in thought. “I see...Good job, Alfred.”

                “Thank you, sir.”

                “Ah, Fredka,” Ivan whirled around, surprised at his presence. Alfred and Winter immediately straightened up, hoping he hadn't heard them. “I did not know you were back already. What are you two whispering about?”

                “About how clean the toilets are,” Winter answered robotically. Peering from behind Ivan's arm, Yao narrowed his eyes at them, and the blonde began to sweat at his glare.

                “A-Anyway, Yao, what do people usually do in these festivals?” Alfred quickly inquired before Yao could scrutinize them further. The elder instantly brightened, “I’m glad you asked! There are many charms to a Lantern Festival— Let’s start over there.”

                Alfred sighed in relief at having successfully distracted Yao. The group continued to walk through the Pavilion peacefully, ogling at the beautiful lantern displays. They hung above them like a canopy, casting a warm glow over the crowd. They were crafted in various shapes and sizes, depicting animals, mythical creatures, or cultural symbols. Alfred’s personal favorites were the bear and eagle lanterns, and he would point to all of them eagerly, exclaiming that they were all “super cool!”

                “You like eagles? I thought you would like lions instead,” Ivan mused when they stopped to admire the animal displays. Yao and Winter were a few feet away, admiring the panda lanterns. “Proud, majestic, and think of themselves as the best even though they are not.”

                “Flattered to know that you think I’m majestic,” Alfred smirked, and Ivan rolled his eyes amusedly. “Lions are a close second,” he admitted, “but I like eagles more.”

                “Why?”

                Alfred grinned, pressing a finger to his lips, “Secret~“

                Ivan felt his cheeks warm at the mischievous expression. “Turning the tables, now, are we?”

                “Well, if you won’t say anything to me, then I won’t say anything to you. Should be fair, right?” 

                “What do you want to know about me?” Ivan tilted his head, “You seem to be quite interested in my past.”

                Alfred tensed for a moment. “Is it bad to be interested in my friend?”

                "Oh? I am glad to know you accept our friendship now."

                Alfred sighed in relief. Good, I dodged that bullet. The topic of friendship always distracts Ivan, which is weird, considering he's not good at making friends.

                “Say, Winter,” Yao suddenly spoke loudly so that they could hear him, “I think there are some interesting operas being played in the music hall. We should go see it.”

                “Hm? Oh, alright.”

                Yao then turned to the other two. “I don’t think you will find it very interesting, so you are free to roam around by yourselves.”

                Winter blinked, “Wha—”

                “Come now,” he whirled around, grabbing the Ace’s sleeve, “Let us make haste before all the seats in the opera house are filled. Make sure to hold onto each other!” he called out as he dragged the puzzled General away, “To, you know, make sure you don’t get lost!”

                Alfred and Ivan watched open-mouthed as the two adults walked off, leaving them alone together. Ivan didn’t know whether to thank Yao or dislocate his jaw—he was usually the confident type, but celebrations like this were a different story. Ivan didn't want to embarrass himself in front of Alfred.

                “What do we do now?” he wondered aloud, “I am not familiar with social events.”

                Alfred beamed, jabbing a thumb at himself, “Good thing you’re with me, then! I’m an expert at having fun! You’re going to have the best night if it’s the last thing I do!” He quickly grabbed Ivan’s wrist and pulled him toward the heart of Jiangmen. They roamed for a moment, and Alfred's face brightened when he caught sight of the bustling stalls, “Whoa! There’s so much to do! Yao really went all out in planning everything!”

                Practically buzzing with energy, Alfred dragged the Prince around, taking him from stall to stall. Ivan watched with interest as Alfred lingered on every booth, bright-eyed as he watched the games.

                “Look, they have those traditional carnival games! We should try them—we could even win prizes!”

                “Eh, I am not interested in playing. I will just watch you.”

                “Okay.”

                “Really, Fredka, I do not— Wait, did you just say okay?”

                “Yeah,” Alfred shrugged, “I mean, it’s clear that you won’t be able to handle it.”

                Ivan was taken aback, his tone offended, “What is that supposed to mean?”

                Alfred threw his arms up in mock innocence, “Hey, I’m just saying. You may be good with your fists, but you can’t handle weapons or any sort of object. Like, pfft, ring toss? You’d suck at it.”

                “Just because I do not want to does not mean I cannot,” Ivan snapped.

                “Sure, whatever you say.”

                “I am being serious.”

                “No, no, I believe you. It’s alright, Ivan,” Alfred patted his shoulder condescendingly. Ivan bristled, straightening his posture like a defensive cat, “Where is this ring toss you speak of?”

                Alfred smirked and led Ivan to the stall. Not at all to his surprise, the Prince was amazing at the game and tossed every ring into every pole with ease. “That was easy,” Ivan huffed, “You clearly exaggerate the difficulty of the game.”

                “There are more, though. Basketball Shootout, Whack-a-Mole, Ball and Bucket Throw, Duck Pond,” Alfred listed them off his fingers, “There are tons. But if it’s too much for you,” he drawled mockingly, “it’s alright.”

                “Nonsense,” Ivan clipped, “Show me to the games.”

                And Alfred indeed showed him to the games. Ivan’s height was a big advantage during the Basketball Shootout, and he merely had to lean over and drop the ball into the basket instead of throwing it, much to Alfred’s annoyance. In Whack-A-Mole, Alfred was riling him up with his goading comments that Ivan’s whacking became aggressive, and he ended up breaking the machine and frightening the other players. Laughing nervously, Alfred dug into Ivan’s pocket and threw the stall-keeper some paper bills before scurrying away. In Ball and Bucket Throw, Ivan kept poking Alfred’s side, tickling the blonde and making him accidentally toss the ball into the air and waste his turn. 

                After every three stalls, Alfred would make up an excuse and run back to the abandoned village. He’d watch them, and since they were still taking a nap, Alfred would leave after a few seconds and run back to Ivan. The Prince would eye him, watching him catch his breath and wipe his sweat with suspicion, but otherwise kept quiet and acted ignorant.

                Alfred was growing exhausted, but thankfully, there were plenty of victuals to restore his energy.

                Every so often, they would stop by the food stalls to quench their thirst and sate their hunger. Alfred insisted that since he was the Prince, he should pay for their food. Ivan did not disagree and readily complied to pay for Alfred’s tangyuan, jiaozi, youtiao, mooncakes, and sweet rice cakes. Even though he did not purchase any for himself and refused when Alfred offered to share, he appeared perfectly content.

                It seemed the buzzing atmosphere really affected Alfred because he was more energetic than usual, bouncing from here to there on the ficklest whim, chatting with anyone he made eye contact with and easily involving himself in the crowds. At one point, Ivan even lost sight of him as Alfred managed to wander off on his own.

                A tap on his shoulder quelled a moment of panic. Alfred stood behind him, holding two tall drinks of boba. The look on Ivan’s face must’ve been disturbing because it made Alfred frown in worry, “Are you okay?”

                “Do not wander off without me,” Ivan scolded, “You could have gotten lost. What if someone kidnapped you?”

                Alfred scoffed a laugh as he handed him his drink. “Dude, relax. I really doubt anyone is dumb enough to pull something like that off in the middle of the Festival.”

                “You never know. You are entirely too trusting of strangers, Fredka. You would help the Grim Reaper if asked. If someone were to ask you to follow them, I am a hundred percent certain that you would.”

                Alfred pouted. “I’m not that naive. Anyway, I can handle myself, so don’t worry about it—”

                The blonde's words were cut off as he lurched forward, crashing into Ivan. The prince was startled, catching his shoulders to steady him and pulling back to reveal one of the drinks spilled between them, the cup crushed and the contents of it falling to the floor.

                “Oh, shit, I’m sorry!” Alfred freaked out, trying in vain to dry Ivan’s expensive outfit with his sleeve. Ivan looked over his shoulder to see a rowdy group of Alphas shoving each other in horseplay and felt an intense spike of temper.

                One of them paused, looking back to say a rather flippant, “My bad.”

                Alfred started to apologize as Ivan reacted. His long reach snatched the offender by his collar, snapping threads as he wrenched him in closer. “You should watch where you are going, fool,” Ivan seethed, glaring coldly at the frightened Alpha, “You owe my friend another drink.”

                “Ivan!” Alfred whispered harshly, slapping a hand onto his wrist. “Stop! What are you doing?”

                Ivan looked down at Alfred’s shocked face before shoving the Alpha off, continuing to eye him coldly as he scurried away into the crowd. A few people stopped to stare at the commotion as Alfred, gripping his wrist with commendable strength, pulled him away.

                He dragged Ivan to a small corner in the area where no one would notice them. Ivan's back met the wall with a thud as Alfred pushed him against it, his tone harsh, “Dude, what’d you do that for?”

                “I thought it was obvious,” Ivan answered as he spun his finger, a smoky blue vapor swirling around the crushed cup, seeming to rewind time as it restored and filled itself with a new drink.

                “That’s so cool— Wait, no! That’s not the point,” he shook his head, “What you did back there wasn't right. And I thought you said that you didn’t want your existence to be wiped from the records. You said it yourself, one slip-up in public and you’ll be declared mentally unfit for society. What were you thinking, grabbing the guy like that?”

                Ivan pursed his lips, brows creasing at the reminder. “I do not know either, my body moved instinctively. I just felt angry.”

                He sighed, “Just, be more cautious next time. We don't want you locked away in the Palace again."

                "Da, I understand. I will be careful not to do it again.”

                “Yeah, okay,” Alfred nodded awkwardly, unused to Ivan being so compliant, “Um, so, what do we do now?”

                “Well, there are still many games we have not done yet.”

                Alfred grinned, “You’re on!”

                True to their word, they continued to visit several more game stalls, the earlier incident vanishing from their minds. When they played High Striker, Ivan was banned from doing the game because the stall-keeper said he looked too strong and would likely break the machine. Alfred made a sly comment about the Whack-A-Mole incident, earning himself a slap to the head from Ivan. The stall-keeper soon learned that his banishment of Ivan was in vain because Alfred was just as strong. Upon dropping the mallet, the bell shot upwards at the speed of light, launching out of the machine and flying off somewhere unknown. The machine crackled and sizzled until it broke down. Alfred laughed nervously again, throwing more dollar bills at the stunned stall-keeper and running away.

                “Man, we keep breaking everything,” Alfred whined.

                “They should invest in sturdier machines,” Ivan agreed.

                “Hm, or maybe we’re just too strong.”

                “Yes, perhaps.”

                “Well, we’ve done all the games. What do we do now?” Alfred asked, kicking a pebble.

                “Well, there is something else I had in mind," Ivan suggested.

                “Remind me what we’re doing up here, again?”

                They were on the rooftop of the main edifice they saw earlier. Many others were leisurely passing time there as well—it was a popular spot since they could see the entire pavilion from up there, laying witness to the vibrant lanterns and warm atmosphere from below.

                “I told you, we are getting our lanterns.”

                “I don’t see the lanterns.”

                “Because we are going to write down our wishes first.”

                “Wishes?”

                “Mhm. We write down what we wish for and put them in a red envelope. We hang that red envelope in the lantern we use so that the fire will burn it, and the essence of our wish will reach the stars.”

                “Oh? Like the Wishing Star?

                Ivan hummed. "Almost. Spadians certainly love wishes," he chuckled as they made their way to the table stationed in the center of the roof. After getting envelopes, they poised their pens at one of the smaller tables. Ivan was quick to write, managing to fill the entire envelope, while Alfred only managed one wish before his mind went blank. They hung their wishes on their lanterns and, as they examined each other’s envelopes, frowned.

                “I think you wrote too little.”

                “And you wrote too much.”

                “What did you write?” Ivan leaned down to inspect Alfred’s envelope, taking it in his hand. There was only one sentence on the red paper: I want to do well in my work so that my brother can thrive in the Academy and succeed in life. Ivan faced him again with a disappointed look.

                “What?”

                “You only wrote one wish, and it is not even for yourself.”

                “Of course it is. Can’t you read?” he pointed at the letter 'I' at the beginning of the sentence, “See, I talk about myself here.”

                “You talk about doing well in your job for your brother’s sake. Is there nothing you want for yourself?”

                “Nah, not really.”

                “Surely someone as prideful as yourself has his own desires,” he plucked Alfred’s envelope off of the lantern and pushed it into his arms. “Add more. It is impossible that there is nothing you want for yourself.”

                Alfred pouted at the envelope in his hands as Ivan stood still, crossing his arms expectantly. Silently, Alfred complied and began to write down some more, slipping it back into its envelope and then tying it to the lantern. Once done, he stepped back to stand beside Ivan again. “What did you add?”

                “What you said. Something that I truly want for myself.”

                Ivan resisted the urge to shoot him an obvious look. “...Which is?”

                “My freedom,” Alfred answered, keeping his sober gaze on their red envelopes. “I’ve spent my entire life running around, trying to survive, to the point that I've neglected myself completely. I gave up my childhood to raise my brother, and even now, my life isn't my own. I want to be able to do what I want and when I want. I want to stop caring about what anyone else thinks of me, so I can be free to just be myself, and be loved that way. A life of fulfillment that I hold the reins of, no one else.”

                He stared at the envelope, at the scrawling letters of his handwriting, where his one true desire was written. His gaze flickered upwards when he felt a cold hand encircle his wrist. He turned to see that Ivan’s expression was somber, and even guilty.

                “I am sorry," he murmured.

                "Why? It's not your fault."

                "I am the prince. My duty is to ensure the safety and happiness of my people, and I cannot help but feel I failed you."

                Alfred smiled. "I'm touched you think that way, but really, it's not your fault. Don't blame yourself for what others have done."

                Ivan hesitated for a moment, his fingers fiddling with his scarf. "Do you still feel that way in the Palace?” he asked after a beat of silence. "With us?” With me?

                Alfred surprised him with an immediate, “No.”

                “No?”

                “No," Alfred repeated with utmost certainty, "In fact, the palace is the one place I feel truly free, where I'm accepted as I am. It makes me feel normal.” And it makes the prospect of returning to the village feel like a punishment rather than a release.

                Ivan sighed in relief, “I am glad to hear so.” Risking a bit, he raised his hand from Alfred’s wrist to brush his bangs away from his forehead, “I would not forgive myself if you were unhappy with us.”

                Alfred tensed at the gesture, feeling his cheeks heat up. He shoved Ivan, turning away indignantly, grumbling. “You are so weird.”

                Ivan was not offended, as he could see the red on his cheeks as clear as day. It felt rewarding. “So you have told me,” he retorted with a smile.

                Alfred smirked, “Ah, so His Highness can finally take a joke. I’m glad.”

                “Yes, my software has been upgraded, and my central processing unit has received the Funny Update.”

                Alfred frowned. “It’s not funny when you play along with the robot jokes.”

                “I know. That is why I do it.”

                Alfred shoved him again, making him laugh. Alfred huffed at the reaction. “What did you write anyway?” he skimmed Ivan’s envelope with narrowed eyes: his wishes were that he wanted to improve his skills to be a better heir and many other well-wishes for the Kingdom’s sake.

                “Hey, none of these are even for yourself,” he pointed out.

                “Of course, they are. Half of them are my wishes to improve—”

                “Yeah, for the sake of your people, not yourself. Is there nothing you want for yourself?”

                “No.”

                Alfred narrowed his eyes at him, “You’re really such a hypocrite—you scold me for not writing a wish for myself, but you don’t write one for yourself either. To not want anything more implies you already have a perfect life, but your life is anything but. Come on,” Alfred plucked his envelope out of the lantern and placed it on the table again, “Write more.”

                Ivan hesitated before approaching the table and beginning to write. Alfred tried to peer around his shoulder, but Ivan was so broad that it was futile. Slowly, Ivan stood up again, staring at his paper. Alfred tried to peer again, standing on his tiptoes, and saw that Ivan had written only one word under his previous wishes: Closure.

                The Omega blinked, “Closure?”

                “Yes. My sisters,” he hung the envelope on his lantern, “They died.”

                Alfred froze, eyes widening in shock. There was a moment of stunned silence before he murmured, “Oh...Ivan, I’m so sorry—”

                “Do not apologize. You have nothing to apologize for, and I do not need your pity.”

                “I’m not pitying you! It’s just...sad. I’m allowed to feel sympathy for you, aren’t I?”

                Ivan eyed him for a moment but stayed quiet. Alfred pursed his lips at his silence, “Um, how did they die? If you don’t mind answering, that is...”

                Ivan inhaled sharply, straightening his posture. He kept his gaze fixed on the lantern. “I do mind. I do not want to talk about it, it is an unpleasant memory.”

                “Oh, okay. Um, sorry...” Alfred inwardly cringed at his own words. The prolonged silence was prickly, and Alfred was berating himself. Gods, he was terrible at comforting others. What could he say? He didn't want to talk for fear of accidentally touching a nerve, but to not speak was even worse than not talking at all. 

                Ivan sighed, finally facing Alfred. His expression looked soft but slightly ashamed, “I am sorry, Fredka. I did not mean to act so cold, it is just very personal.”

                “Yeah, no, I understand,” Alfred assured quickly, waving his hands, "Talking about it must be really difficult.”

                Ivan nodded, “That is why I want closure. I do not want to be chained by the past anymore. I keep having nightmares about them and their death. I just want it to end so I can move on, but for some reason, I cannot. So, I make this wish.”

                “That’s a great use for a wish,” Alfred smiled.

                Ivan nodded, turning to smile placidly at their lanterns. “I hope both of our wishes come true.”

                A moment later, the two of them were standing side by side at the railing in comfortable silence, gazing at the world below. They observed the enchanting lanterns and the inviting ambiance, even catching sight of trees in the distance, their leaves rustling in the chilly autumn breeze that caused Alfred to shiver.

                “Dude, why is it so cold up here?”

                “This is cold for you? How cute.”

                “Well,” Alfred scoffed, “Some of us didn’t grow up bear-sledding in a frozen tundra and carving ice with our bare hands, okay?”

                “It is only the start of autumn, the temperature has hardly dipped into the negatives. You have too much good weather back in Krasny.”

                "When you put it like that, I might just want to go back for the weather," Alfred joked. Unbeknownst to him, Ivan tensed at his words. A moment later, he was taken aback as a heavy cloak fell upon him.

                "What the—"

                "You are cold, are you not?" Ivan leaned down, their eyes meeting. He draped his long cloak over Alfred's shoulders, and Alfred's cheeks grew warm. He swiftly turned away, not wanting Ivan to see his expression. Bright eyes still widened in mild shock, he focused on the scenery below. A comfortable silence enveloped them. They stood close, their arms pressed against each other, warmed by both the cloak and their proximity. It was comforting, and Alfred felt himself relaxing to the point of drowsiness; the warmth of the moment made it tempting to rest his head on Ivan's arm and take a quick nap. However, the spectacle unfolding on the ground below snapped him back to attention. The landscape was becoming brighter, and everyone stood still, lanterns in hand. One by one, the flames on each lantern flickered to life, creating a mesmerizing sea of light that gradually advanced through the Pavilion.

                "Fredka, do you know the story behind Spades’ Lantern Festival?" Ivan suddenly asked.

                Alfred blinked, "There's a story behind it? I had no idea."

                “Yes. It is said that once upon a time, there once lived an Alpha and an Omega. Snowstorms swept through their village relentlessly, leaving hearts heavy and faces masked in gloom. And yet, despite that, warmth still flickered within the hearts of an Alpha and an Omega. As time passed in a blur of white, love blossomed between them. Then, on the eve of the last day of summer, the Alpha sought out the Omega and knelt before her, a rice paper lantern cradled in his hands. With a voice as soft as a winter breeze, he spoke, “This fiery lantern shall signify our love, a love that burns as passionately as the brightest star. As it ascends into the sky, it will keep us warm throughout the treacherous winter to come.” The Omega's eyes filled with happy tears as she nodded, her heart full of joy. Together, they released the lantern into the night sky. The rest of the villagers, who had watched this heartwarming display, were deeply moved, and in their hearts, the frost began to thaw. Since that night, a tradition was born. Every year, on the day before September, the villagers gathered to release lanterns into the sky," Ivan turned his gaze up to the stars, twinkling far above them. "They believed that the blazing flame of their deepest wishes, like the Omega and Alpha's enduring love, could lessen the winter's cold grip.”

                “Wow,” Alfred whistled, momentarily stunned by the tale Ivan had spun. He elbowed him playfully, “You cheeky little romantic, I didn’t know you could wax poetic like that. You’ve been keeping secrets from me, huh?”

                Ivan chuckled, “You have no idea.”

                “That story sounds like it’s straight out of a fairy tale,” Alfred continued, not stopping to reconsider Ivan’s odd response, “You’re into that kind of thing?”

                Ivan, his eyes reflecting the soft luminescence of the lanterns, replied with a shrug. “My older sister used to read me fairy tales every night. She always dreamed of finding true love and being a beautiful bride. My younger sister thought it was gross, and favored more graphic folklore, such as Frostwitch Morgana. I've grown accustomed to both genres over the years. I still read them from time to time."

                "Your older sister sounds like a sweetheart compared to the younger one."

                Ivan's chuckle held a touch of nostalgia. "Indeed, she was the sweetest. Natalya, on the other hand, had a different kind of attitude. She was quite spirited and, in her own way, rebellious, much like you. I believe you two would get along eventually. She would not like you at first, but she never likes anyone, so that is nothing unusual..."

                He stopped, realizing what he had revealed, and his stomach tightened. He cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sorry, I do not know why I started talking about that. Please disregard what I said."

                “Why are you apologizing?”

                He turned to face the other. Alfred was frowning, but it was out of concern rather than irritation.

                “I..."

                Alfred sighed, a softness in his eyes. “You know, I really appreciate it when you open up to me. When you share more of yourself. You don’t do it often enough, and you look so human when you do.”

                Ivan turned away in an effort to hide his remorseful scowl. “A prince is not meant to be human.”

                “Ah, but you’re forgetting something. Today, I’m just Alfred,” he gestured to himself, then placed his hand over Ivan’s heart, provoking the other to look at him again, “and you’re just Ivan. Not a prince and his bodyguard.”

                Ivan's eyes widened, and suddenly, an unrestrained, pure laugh erupted from his lips. Alfred blushed at the unexpected reaction, now feeling quite embarrassed. “Hey! What’s so funny?”

                Ivan wiped the tears from his eyes, “Sorry, I am sorry, it is just— Hahaha, you are truly a strange creature, Fredka.”

                “I’m not—”

                “You are absolutely right,” Ivan admitted, his smile softening into something deeply sincere. “I have played my role for so long that I have forgotten where it ends and I begin. Perhaps I just needed someone to remind me of my humanity. Make sure I was alright.”

                Alfred just smiled warmly, his heartstrings tugging at the indication, and soon an intimate silence befell them as they stared at each other. The flames of the surrounding lanterns had flickered to life, and the lanterns on the ground below had been released, flying into the sky and creating a beautiful scene of floating lights, the golden warmth bathing the pavilion in a content glow, but neither youths noticed.

               The silence was almost deafening—suffocating, even, yet neither of them could find the will to move and break the spell. Gradually, the silence gave way to a new kind of sound. It wasn't the sound of verbal communication or cheers or bustle; it was the steady rhythm of two hearts beating in unison, growing stronger as the moment lingered.

               The heartbeat grew louder, overwhelming their senses, filling their ears. Ivan inched closer, and Alfred found himself rooted in place, unable to move. Ivan's gaze was so intense that it held him captive. He couldn't look away, couldn't protest, hardly even understood what was happening. Their proximity, the drumming in their ears, the scents that filled their noses, the rush of emotions—it all blurred into one overwhelming sensation.

               Ivan felt a sense of satisfaction as he recognized Alfred's racing heartbeat intertwined with his own. He didn't know what he was doing; his body was moving on its own, but he didn't want it to stop. Alfred's eyes grew even wider, his hands going slack and releasing his lantern, letting it float into the sky, concealing them from prying eyes as their lips were so close to brushing—

                Alfred froze when Ivan pressed their foreheads together, smiling softly against his lips as he whispered, “Thank you.”

                As Ivan pulled away, Alfred stood there, stunned. It took a moment, but a deep blush finally spread across his face, warming his cheeks and extending to the tips of his ears. "Wha..."

                Ivan blinked, repeating, "Wha?"

                "Alfred!"

                Startled, they both nearly jumped out of their skin at the sudden shout. Winter and Yao stood a few feet away, waving at them. Alfred quickly cleared his throat and scurried over to them, eager to escape the situation before it turned awkward. "Y-Yes? Um, where have you two been?"

                "None of your concern," Yao responded, though the cart of panda plushies he was pulling indicated that he had spent a considerable amount of time on the games, "Have you two had a good time?" he asked Ivan as the Prince approached them.

                "Yes, we had a lot of fun," Ivan replied casually, as if they hadn't been on the verge of kissing a few seconds ago. He and Yao began to chat, while Winter pulled Alfred to the side. "You have to go, right now."

                Alfred floundered. "What—now?"

                "Yes, now. The Rebellion, remember?"

                "Oh, shit! You're right! I'll go now. Um, try to come up with a different excuse than the bathroom one," he hurriedly requested before rushing off, subconsciously aware of the golden eyes watching his exit.

                Alfred bolted down the empty village streets, stealthily navigating the eerie silence of the abandoned village. He ascended the hill once more, returning to his concealed vantage point. Keeping himself low, he observed from above.

                “How much longer?” One of them whined, his voice carrying a sense of unease.

                “It should be any second now— Whoa!”

                The three Rebels recoiled in fear as an ominous, smoky blue vapor began to unfurl on the grass before them. It swirled and coiled, growing in size until it transformed into a menacing, whirling tornado.

                “Do you possess what I require?” A voice emerged from the vapor, hoarse and deep, echoing with an unsettling presence. Alfred’s jaw dropped, and he leaned in even closer, his widened eyes nearly bulging from their sockets.

                “Y-Yes, the metals and ore you requested,” a Rebel spoke up hesitantly, gesturing toward a nearby crate.

                “Very good,” the voice commended, its tone laced with an underlying threat. “Bear in mind, we demand at least fifteen more of these crates before the King’s forthcoming declaration.”

                Alfred emitted a small gasp, his curiosity piqued.

                “D-Declaration, sir?”

                “Yes,” the voice continued ominously. “The King is orchestrating a war against the Hearts Kingdom. He intends to make the announcement to the public a few days prior to the commencement of his plan. We must be fully prepared by then. Convey this message to your superior.”

                “Of course, sir. We shall.”

                The smoky tornado offered no further words, only growing in size with an almost aggressive intensity, causing the Rebels to cry out and the abandoned houses to groan under its menacing presence. Alfred quickly shielded his eyes, clutching a nearby rock to prevent himself from being swept away. After a tense moment, the tornado suddenly dissipated, leaving behind lingering traces of its icy smoke.

                “Hey! Our crate has been replaced!” One of the Rebels exclaimed. Instead of the simple wooden box they had been using, they now found themselves with two imposing crates constructed of steel. “What? Quick! Open them!” An agitated Rebel snatched a crowbar and forcefully pried the crates open. Their breaths caught as they laid eyes on the contents: one crate held meticulously stacked currency, while the other contained formidable, military-grade weaponry, glinting in the moonlight.

                “Holy shit,” Alfred breathed.

                “Who said that?” the Rebel exclaimed, whirling around sharply. Alfred gasped and ducked lower, clapping a hand to his mouth. His instincts had betrayed him, and now the Rebels had discovered him.

                “Shit, is there someone there?” Alfred heard the cocking of guns and the unsheathing of knives. He knew that hiding any longer was futile. Slipping his hand to his thigh, he felt for his gun, relieved to find it still there.

                Welp, can’t stay hidden now. In a swift motion, Alfred sprang from his concealment, launching into the air like a coiled spring and crashing through the weathered roof with a thunderous punch. The Rebels cried out in alarm as debris rained down around them.

                “Hey, I remember you! You’re that blonde bitch from Siber!” the burliest one pointed at him angrily. “More than half of our organization was wiped out because of you!”

                Alfred dusted off his coat, unperturbed by his accusations. “Nice to see I made an impression,” he waved the comment off dismissively. “Now, if you value your lives, you’ll explain everything going on here to me.”

                “We don’t have to explain ourselves to you,” they snarled defiantly.

                Alfred sighed, “Fine, suit yourself. Let’s do this, then,” With a fluid motion, he pulled out his weaponry from his holsters. The cold steel gleamed menacingly in the dim light.

                The area turned into a battleground. The Rebels were no amateurs and attacked with a ferocity born of desperation. Alfred moved swiftly, evading bullets with acrobatic grace and parrying knife strikes with unmatched skill.

                But the odds were against Alfred, as he couldn’t prolong this fight. He needed to end this quickly. Alfred grabbed a nearby rope and twisted it around them as he darted around, and with a firm tug, the Rebels slammed into each other as the rope encircling their waist wrenched them together.

                “Ugh, great. It’s three against one, and we still lost,” one of them groaned. Alfred stepped forward, “Do you guys still not want to explain yourselves? It will really speed things along when we return to the Palace, so we don’t have to put you in a torture chamber.”

                Color drained from their faces, “Torture chamber?”

                Alfred cocked his head, mocking innocence, “Oh, you didn’t know? We captured one of your buddies. He’s been holed up in the torture chamber for weeks now—in fact, he was the one who revealed your rendezvous with your mysterious buyer today.”

                Alfred was lying, of course. There was no torture chamber in the Palace, and even if there was, the Rebel was certainly not being held inside it. They would’ve gotten information out of him much sooner if they had.

                “O-Okay, listen, we really don’t know anything,” they insisted, rattled at the prospect of torture, “We’re not privy to any of the plans. That’s why we were the ones sent here so that in case we got discovered we wouldn’t have any information to disclose.”

                Alfred frowned, considering. “You have a point,” he slowly admitted, “But that’s irrelevant. You discovered my hiding spot, so either way, you’re still coming with me. It would be foolish to let you go since you now know that the Palace is aware of your trade dealings.”

                “No, no,” the smallest one pleaded, shaking his head fervently, “I don’t want to be tortured!”

                Alfred felt a pang but dismissed it. He wouldn’t let himself be swayed with guilt. “Should’ve thought of that before you joined the Rebellion, then.”

                Alfred let out a sigh of relief as he emerged from the dungeons. He had just finished placating the newly captured Rebels—not an easy feat, as they had put up quite a fight. It was a good thing he had Henry, Lucas, and Isaac—three of the Palace Meka—to force them into their cells. There was a lot of yelling once all four of the captives had been reunited, and Alfred had to do a lot of threatening to get them to calm down.

                Ah, I’ve been running around the entire day. It would feel so nice to just lie down in bed and sleep for the next three years, but I have a job to do. Not a moment of rest is allowed.

                Turning a corner in the hallway, he nearly jumped out of his skin when Yao appeared, almost materializing out of thin air from how sudden it was. “Hello, Meiguo.”

                “Y-Yao!” he shrieked, a hand flying to his chest, “Oh my God, you startled me!”

                “Where did you run off to earlier?” Yao inquired, disregarding Alfred’s startled state. His voice, though calm, held an unusual intensity. Blinking, Alfred replied, “Oh, that. Uh, Winter told me to work during the Festival, so I ran off to capture the Rebels I found.”

                Yao nodded, almost as if he already knew that. “That’s good. Congratulations on another well-done job.”

                “Er, thank you...” Okay, now Alfred was very confused and suspicious. His heart was hammering. Yao was being weird.

                “You know, you are quite skilled at what you do, Meiguo. Almost…too skilled. As if you’ve been doing it your whole life.”

                “I do have prior experience.”

                “Oh, yes. Your alarming number of jobs, I am well aware. It’s quite strange, really. You claim to be poor, yet can afford several careers that require years of undergrad at the Academy. It’s almost as if those careers were set up or funded by an...external party.”

                Alfred’s eyes widened briefly, his heart threatening to jump out of his chest at the spot-on accusation, but he quickly composed himself. Don’t show it, Jones. Tilting his head charmingly, he blinked his doe eyes. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you mean, Yao. I’m just a hard worker.”

                Yao narrowed his eyes, unswayed by Alfred’s display. “Of that, I have no doubt. What you work hard at exactly is my concern.”

                “My job, of course. Protecting Ivan. Is something wrong?” Alfred asked innocently, frowning in a show of worry. “You’re acting a bit weird.”

                Yao’s gaze sharpened, and Alfred, despite his usual bravado, felt a twinge of intimidation. Yao, despite his delicate appearance, could be frighteningly scary at times, and Alfred didn’t relish having to lie to his second closest friend in this palace more than he had to. But he had to keep this secret.

                The silence between the two was thick. Neither dared to break eye contact or let their bodies sway despite their muscles quickly becoming sore from holding their tense posture. Eventually, Yao’s voice pierced through the quiet with a sharp exhale, “Yes, perhaps I am being a little...uncharitable. It is not like you have any malicious intentions,” he broke the eye contact to shrug, the statement spoken with absolute certainty. “I am just worried for you.”

                Alfred blinked, a bit of his true self peeking through the mask, “Worried?”

                Yao stepped forward gracefully and slowly, gently, took Alfred’s cheek in his delicate hand, “You look tired,” he explained softly, “I recognize that turmoil swirling underneath those summer skies. I see it in His Highness as well. Constantly concealing yourself behind a mask is tiring, yes?”

                Alfred gulped, his resolve faltering under Yao’s gentle touch, “I...I don’t know what you mean...”

                “It’s sad, isn’t it,” Yao began to rub his thumb across Alfred’s cheekbone. A motherly gesture. “Having to suffer your whole life under a facade with the heavy burden of duty on your shoulders.”

                He gently nudged Alfred’s face up, compelling him to meet his eyes. “If you have something you want to tell us, you can. We will not hate you for it. We will not blame you for it. We can understand. It is not healthy to keep the storm to yourself. One day, it will all become too much for even you to handle,” Yao’s expression twisted in pain, “And I would hate to see your flame extinguished.”

                Alfred stared, his chest tightening at Yao’s heartfelt words. He could feel tears beginning to prick his eyes, but he held them in as Yao stepped back. The elder’s face was twisted in such motherly worry that Alfred almost felt like giving in.

                “I understand if you do not want to tell me. It may not be your secret to tell, or perhaps you are forbidden to,” Yao reasoned, “But please know that no matter what, the Winter Palace will never turn its back on you.”

                Alfred trudged to Winter’s office in a daze, the encounter with Yao swirling through his mind. It had been so sudden, so out of nowhere. Alfred wondered why Yao had suddenly become suspicious of him—had he done something to illicit that? He was sure he had been careful. Yao barely even saw him the entire night, as he and Winter had gone off on their own.

                I need to be more careful. If Yao could be suspicious, then Ivan definitely will. Who knows, he might actually be already. He’s so good at hiding his emotions. If he suspected me, I wouldn’t know. I have to be more cautious.

                Alfred recalled the maternity in Yao’s touches, how motherly it had been, and he felt his chest begin to twist again. Motherly love. So that’s what it feels like, huh? He pursed his lips. Has Mattie ever seen me that way? I tried my best to raise him, but I’m not gentle or wise like Yao. What if he was secretly annoyed that I was acting like a parent even though we’re the same age? He’s good at hiding his emotions too...

                Alfred shook his head, trying to stop his heart from sinking at such a terrible thought. No, no, I can’t think that. It can’t be true. Mattie’s not like that. It’s not like he would know the difference, anyway. Mom never loved us, not even in her final moments.

                He shook his head again. Agh, stop it! I keep having such negative thoughts! I need to be positive while I’m here!

                Restoring his focus, he stalked to Winter’s office with confident steps. Moments later, he eventually reached the familiar wooden door. He knocked first, then entered. “General Winter,” Alfred stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. Winter rose to his feet sharply, “The Rebels?”

                “They’re being held in the dungeons alongside the first one we captured, all in separate cells.”

                Winter looked relieved, “Good. And what did you find out?”

                Alfred began narrating the events he had witnessed, and the longer he talked, the more disturbing Winter looked. By the time Alfred was finished describing the exchange, Winter looked ready to rip the organs out of someone. Alfred hoped that someone wasn’t him.

                “The buyer emerged with blue smoke?” Winter reiterated slowly, his voice sending chills through the room. It was a controlled intensity that hinted at the storm brewing beneath.

                “Yeah, I think it was magic,” Alfred confirmed.

                Winter pursed his lips, pacing the room with palpable stress. “Alfred, listen to me,” he whirled around to face the Omega, his tone aggravated, “Do not tell His Highness about any of this.”

                “Huh? Oh, okay,” Alfred mumbled. I wasn’t going to anyway.

                “The young sire still has much to focus on without adding this to his plate. Once the situation has been under control, then I will be the one to inform him.”

                “Um, is this about the war?” Alfred asked, his eyes following as Winter returned to his aggravated pacing.

                “What? No, I already knew about that.”

                Alfred’s jaw dropped, taken aback by this statement. “You knew about it?” he gasped.

                “I’m the General, of course, I did. Alongside your personality, your secret job is why I had chosen you for this position.”

                “M-My secret job?” Alfred squeaked, “I don’t know what you mean—”

                Winter held up a hand to stop him, “There’s no need for you to scramble for an excuse. I know you’re an assassin.”

                Alfred gaped. "You knew this entire time? Why not tell me?"

                "I assumed your Handler told you. Turns out he kept it from you too."

                "He kept a lot of details about this job secret," Alfred huffed, "He didn't even tell me I'd be working for Ivan. Granted, if he did tell me, then I probably wouldn't have taken the job— or maybe I would have, since it's a life-threatening mission and even I'm not that immature to refuse just because of that. But I don't get why he wouldn't just tell me that you knew because that would have made so much of this a lot easier, I guess he was just being cautious—"

                "That's enough."

                Alfred's mouth clamped shut, then curled into a sheepish smile, "Sorry."

                 Winter sighed. "Continuing on, I also assume your Handler told you that a secret source from the Palace had found out about the journal entries?’

                Alfred gaped up at him, still bowing, “That was you?”

                “Yes. While I was not the one who found it, I was the one to submit it to your organization and request for their finest assassin. The person who found it is not aware of your origins and thinks I had hired you for extra manpower due to the threat of war. It is better that he does not know, for several reasons. As of now, only I know of your true identity.”

                Alfred blinked, straightening up, “So, who found it?”

                “Ah,” Winter retracted his hand to fold his arms, “That is a secret.”

                Alfred pouted. Knowing he couldn’t sway Winter, he moved the conversation forward. “So if you know about the war, then what are you so agitated about?”

                Winter sighed, “You are really so contradictory. I can never tell if you are sharp or dull. Is it not obvious? Did Yao not tell you?”

                The Omega frowned, “Tell me what?”

                “Only royals possess magic. Yao, Sire, and I possess magic, but all three of us stayed together while you were with the Rebels. Meaning...?” he stared at Alfred expectantly. The blonde just stared.

                Winter huffed, “Only four people in the Kingdom possess magic. Three of us were all together while you were with the Rebels, meaning the fourth person is the buyer. Do you understand who the fourth royal is now?”

                Alfred frowned in puzzlement, the gears of his brain turning. After a while, it clicked, and his face contorted in absolute horror.

                “The King?”

Chapter Text

                Alfred soon took the Alpha to the river to bathe. He hung their clothes on a nearby branch and helped the Alpha clean the dried blood out of his matted hair. Once they were done, they dressed in the fresh clothes Alfred had brought. 

               "Come here," Alfred said. He was sitting atop a rock with a towel in his hand. The Alpha quickly walked over, and Alfred began to rub his head with the towel. "We need to dry your hair now."

              As Alfred worked, he asked the Alpha, "So, are you ready to tell me your name? I can't call you Alpha or Big Guy forever, can I?" he laughed.

              The Alpha hesitated before speaking, as if he didn't want to say it, his mouth opening and closing like an indecisive fish. Eventually, he spoke, but Alfred couldn't hear it, as if the dream wouldn't allow him to hear the name. Nonetheless, he could see his child-self beam brightly. "That's a great name! Sounds strong."

               Nonetheless, he could see his child-self beam brightly, "That's a great name! Sounds strong."

               The Alpha blushed faintly, adjusting the scarf around his neck. "Is it? I don't hear it much."

               "Why? Isn't it your own name?"

               The Alpha tensed, averting his gaze. "Everyone...calls me something else."

               "Do you like what they call you?"

               "No." The answer was fast. 

               Alfred beamed, "I'll make sure to call you by your name, then!"

               The Alpha's eyes widened. He buried his face further into his scarf, his cheeks flushing.

               "Oh! I almost forgot," Alfred jumped off the rock, reaching for the Alpha's clothes. "I have to check on your wounds."

               Panic flashed in the other's eyes and he quickly stepped away, hugging himself as if trying to hide his body. He looked away in a suspicious manner. "They're...They're not healed yet..." he muttered.

               "Huh? But when I saw you in the water, they looked a lot better. Did I miss something?"

               "I-It's not healed yet," the Alpha muttered, still looking away, "I don't want to..."

               "What? You don't want to what?" Alfred blinked, "What's wrong?"

               The Alpha faced him again, but his expression was nervously downcast. He pulled his clothes tighter around him. "I-If I'm all better, do I...have to leave? Then— Then I'm not healed yet..."

               "Who said you had to?" 

               The Alpha blinked up at him in surprise. Alfred cocked his head, genuinely confused. "You're welcome to stay as long as you like, you know."

               The other gaped in disbelief. "Rea— Really?" 

                "Of course!" Alfred beamed, "We're friends, right? Friends stick together."

                Ivan's tense shoulders relaxed, his lips curling in a faint smile.

                "Friends," he echoed softly.

                Another morning was indicated by the bleak light pouring through the windows. The North has been looking livelier in recent times, granting its inhabitants weak sunlight instead of grey skies. One could wonder if this was due to the Prince’s recently happy mood, as if the chains bounding his cold heart had loosened. It was strange to the servants—they had noticed that whenever the Prince was feeling negative emotions, a snowstorm would rage outside, and when the Prince was feeling positive emotions, the clouds would be merciful and part for the sun. Thankful for the small amount of vitamin D, the servants took care not to anger him—which meant steering clear of his bodyguard.

                Ivan rose from underneath his blankets, yawning as he did so. Groggily, he groped around his bedside table for his phone to message Alfred but was startled when his fingers instead made contact with a soft, powder-dusted object. Puzzled, Ivan rubbed his eyes and squinted at the table. When his vision cleared, he saw a plate of powdered blini and a cup of sun tea, but no Alfred.

                Instead, there was a note with these words on it:

                Here’s your breakfast. Make sure to eat.

                He frowned, confused and concerned. Why did he not wake me up? Is he upset about something? He shook his head. No, I am jumping to conclusions. He might just be busy.

                Deciding not to dwell on it, Ivan got up from his bed and moved to the shower. He will probably see him sometime today, so it was best not to concern himself too much.

                Two days.

                It had been two days, and still, no sign of him. For the last forty-eight hours, the landscape in the conference room's tall windows was no longer of bright, colorful winter but rather a grey and gloomy snowfall, much to everyone's dismay. Ivan knew that Alfred wasn't missing because he still received his breakfast, lunch, and dinner along with notes, but it was still suspicious. He had tried to threaten information out of Raivis, but even the young Alpha had no idea where the blonde was.

                Where is he? Is he actually avoiding me? Ivan's lips pursed tightly in an uncharacteristic frown. What have I done wrong? I haven't been able to speak to him at all since he ran off in the edifice. Is he upset that I almost kissed him?

                He let out a long sigh, earning confused glances from the surrounding ministers, including Winter, who sat near the front. The General narrowed his eyes as he watched him. Ivan wasn’t any less focused on the conference, but he was acting differently. Did something occur between him and Alfred?

                Ah, what is he thinking? It was none of his business. Wrenching his eyes away from the dejected Prince, he turned his attention to the screen. The meeting soon ended, and a clatter of chairs and fatigue filled the room as ministers exited. When Winter walked past Ivan, he felt his sleeve tugged on, pulling him back. “General.”

                Winter turned. “Er, yes?”

                Ivan rose from his seat. “Have you seen Fredka? I think he is avoiding me.”

                “Avoiding you?” the general frowned, facing him fully, “That does not seem like him.” He’s probably just brooding over the discoveries two nights ago.

                “But he is doing it. I have not done anything wrong, have I?”

                The old Alpha sighed. “Do not worry about him. He is Alfred, he is always fine. He is probably just busy with work, as you should be as well. You have been so distracted lately, and it is not good. I saw you two on the edifice, you know.”

                Ivan tensed. “...Ah.”

                “And I am sure that everyone else saw, as well. Yao is amused by your emotions, even talking to me about it on the carriage ride home. But while he has a reason to be happy, let us not forget the title you hold. Nearly kissing him in public—I expected you to have more awareness than that.”

                “I am sorry. It will not happen again—”

                “I hope not,” Winter cut in sharply. Ivan winced. “You do not have time to be moping about emotions and romance, especially not with the situation regarding your father. Have you even made any progress?”

                Ivan straightened. “I have. I discovered a room in the West Wing, but I couldn’t investigate further due to the time limit.”

                “A room?” Winter repeated. He averted his gaze to mutter under his breath, “That is probably where he’s...”

                Ivan arched an eyebrow, “Where he is what, General?”

                Winter faced him with a sharp sigh. “Nothing. Leave that part to me. Just focus on your work. Remember, you are a prince. The threads you hold are the only thing keeping us from tipping into a devastating war. If you let your grip relax for even a little, those threads will slip, and you will be held responsible for the agony that will follow. Don’t let such unnecessary emotions cloud your judgment, am I understood?”

                Ivan’s expression fell downcast. “Yes. I understand, General.”

                Alfred heaved out a sigh, wiping his sweaty forehead with the back of his sleeve. He had been working in the armory for two days straight, trying to engineer anything that could be useful against the Rebels, and to no avail. He had also checked the militia-grade weaponry in the crate that the Rebels had gotten from—apparently—the King. There was nothing off about them, no smudge or crack or scratch to indicate how exactly the King had gotten his hands on them. He never left his chamber, so how could he have? Did he teleport them into his chamber? That was a possibility...

               Ugh! Alfred threw his hands up. Zero progress, zero! All I keep hitting are roadblocks. It’s just one obstacle after another, I swear. So, a monarch is in partnership with an anti-monarchy organization? Does that mean the Rebel leader was lying when he said he wanted to present Ivan’s head to the public to show off their power? What’s the point, then? Do they even have any idea what would happen to them after this? Do they seriously think the Rebellion will win? The Rebel leader’s more naive than I thought if he believes that whatever the King promised him will be fulfilled—but to be fair, what could they gain at all? Sure, they receive money—but they ransack so many villages, that alone should provide them enough funds. And if they get millions of dollars from the King, why are their headquarters so poor? The Clockwork Guild’s Krasny base—not even the headquarters—was far more advanced. And what would the King need resources for? Winter said he might be building something. But what could it be? A weapon of mass destruction?

                No, not even ten years is enough to create a weapon that is strong enough to cross the mountains, travel all the way to the Hearts Kingdom, and still deliver a powerful blow. Not with our resources, at least. How is the King hoping to create something that destructive out of metal scraps? He’ll need something really strong to power that weapon. The only thing close to that I can think of is the orb in the library—if I recall correctly, it’s really important. It powers literally everything. If it were gone, the Kingdom would come to a halt. As a technological Suit, we rely on machinery. To have it taken away from us is like depriving us of our basic needs. It’s a truly powerful object—I wonder if it’s really safe for it to stay inside the library completely unprotected. Well, not completely. Eduard said the orb possessed an enchantment that made it impossible for it to be touched, and only a rumored mineral at the summit of the highest Everest could withstand it. So far, no one has ever been able to conquer the mountains, so it's safe.

                Wait, no, there was one person, Alfred reminded himself. He had glazed over it during the Festival, but Ivan had mentioned something to him.

                “He is from Diamonds. How he managed to travel all the way here is unknown.”

                Right. Yao was the only person who had ever crossed the mountains. How he had done so was a mystery, and his Diamonese origins were a well-kept secret from the public.

                I wonder if Yao encountered the mineral while he was at the summit, Alfred mused. Then he yawned, inhaling the stench of fuel and metal, but he was near immune to it after hours of being in this armory. He hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours and was constantly on his feet the entire time—how could he possibly rest, with the revelations that hit him on the night of the Festival? He stayed awake, trying to make sense of it all, but to no avail. He wanted to sleep, but he had an investigation to solve.

                He shook his head. I have to stay alert. I can’t let my mind rest, or I’ll feel sleepy. Okay, I’ll try to organize my thoughts. The King is planning a war. Apparently, someone in the Palace discovered his journal entries, and Winter sent those entries to Headquarters. A mysterious cloaked person is sneaking around the Palace, identity still unknown. The ministers and servants have already been dismissed as suspects, leaving only the King, but why would the King be sneaking into his own wing? The King’s chamber is guarded by advanced Meka, making it impossible to infiltrate without exposing myself. I thought I hit a roadblock there, but the discoveries two days ago hit me like a blessing and curse. Blessing in that the King is leaving his chambers to declare war to the public, giving me time to assassinate him. The curse is that he’s apparently in a partnership with the Rebellion, and has been for ten years. All for scraps of metal and ore, but what he’s building is unknown. At least now we know where all the money he’s been pocketing is going. But how am I going to fix all of this? For the assassination, I think it’s simple enough. I just have to figure out his plans, make the preparations to cease them as he goes outside to declare war, and then while he’s there, I can assassinate him. The problem is figuring out his plan. It’s tied to the Rebellion, but the ones we have in captivity don’t know anything. Ugh, so now what? What should I do?

                He sighed as his heart began to sink. Then, sharply, he shook his head and clenched his fist with a look of sparkling determination. No! I have to be positive! They chose me because they had complete confidence that I could do this, and they weren’t wrong. I can do it! I’ve been a hard worker my whole life, and I've never failed a job! This is just an obstacle in my path to success! I have millions of people depending on me, I can’t let them down!

                Re-energized, he jumped to his feet. Maybe I just need to take a walk outside, get something to eat. Being in here for too long might be getting to me. With that, he marched out of the armory, stumbling through the defense mechanisms and out into the more opulent hallways. As he walked, his eyes strayed to the tall windows of stone framing, where the forest was visible in the distance, standing ominously in the distance with its dark shadows and sharp branches. Strangely, it reminded him of Ivan. Menacing and mysterious, but when you brave through the darkness, you will realize that he is intimidating to protect the light still shining within. While Ivan’s light was not as vibrant as the glowing field of sunflowers, it was a light nonetheless. Bleak, but solid. It never wavered and stayed in a constant state of tranquility, fiercely protected by the ominous state that surrounded it. While the forest’s light was the sunflowers, Ivan’s light was his sisters. He kept their memory, their legacy, safely tucked away. It was something that Alfred admired about him; he was a hard worker like himself, not the spoiled silver-spoon that he had initially perceived him as. He carried out his duties as prince seriously, never complaining or expecting praise. 

                Ivan was truly the perfect heir. An obedient apprentice to Winter, a diligent worker who never failed or slacked, the ideal pillar for a Kingdom.

                But that’s not always good, Alfred reminded himself. Ivan is a human, not a robot. To experience all he has, to work as hard as he does, and never show that it bothered him; it must be torture. Alfred felt a sense of sadness wash over him as he realized that, not unlike himself, Ivan would have to endure it forever. In fact, it would only be worsened when he becomes King.

                If he ever does, Alfred sighed, if my mission succeeds. Why am I even thinking about that guy? I have more important things to ponder over, like my mission.

MEANWHILE

                He crept through the dark, dusty hallway, his black cloak flowing behind him like a shadow. His every step was deliberate, silent. At an intersection, he paused, wary of the mechanical guardians stationed at the end of the hall, their watchful sensors piercing the darkness. As the Meka pairs patrolled past, he darted into the safety of the other corridor, landing on the tips of his toes. The last thing he wanted was to alert the advanced Meka of his presence.

                Without another glance, he pressed forward into the desolate depths of the West Wing. Crossing another intersection, he froze when a tiny pinprick of blue light caught his eye. With caution etched into every line of his serious face, he advanced, his senses alert for any hidden traps. He slowed when he reached the door—the same door he stumbled upon two months ago, a day after Alfred had arrived in the Palace.

                Ivan pulled back his black hood, leaning down to further examine the door lock. It was the same lock as his training room, which meant that it required his father’s physical features to allow entry. He saw in the plans of his father’s journal that he intended to leave his chamber to announce the war, but it was unwise to only take action by that time. He had to create a solution before February.

                Winter was right, he was getting distracted. Alfred evidently did not share his feelings, so it was useless. Ivan’s stomach knotted at this reminder, further worsened at remembering that Alfred was possibly avoiding him. Had he been too forward two nights ago when he almost kissed him?

                Ivan shook his head vigorously, dispelling the thought before his heart could sink further. He was literally in front of a mysterious door in the west wing, but he was still thinking about Alfred. He needed to get a grip.

                Ivan flinched when the maniacal laugh of his father shattered through the oppressive silence. The haunting echoes ricocheted off the walls, rattling the shadows as they dredged up long-buried memories of anguish and despair. Pressing his hands to his ears in a futile attempt to drown out the ear-piercing cackles, he could feel the atmosphere push down on him, becoming suffocating as the tendrils of the shadows clawed at the edges of his sanity. With dread coiling in his gut, Ivan dared to open his eyes, only to find himself paralyzed by the sight of an advancing shadow. It loomed larger with each passing moment, its grotesque form a harbinger of unspeakable terror. Panic surged through Ivan's veins, his frantic breaths echoing in the claustrophobic confines of the corridor. No, no, no, go away, go away, NO—

                His inner turbulence shattered when a robotic foot stepped forward with a mechanical thud, the rest of its steel body following as it marched past the intersection. Relief flooded through Ivan as the laughter ceased, replaced by the cold, metallic clank of the Meka patrolling the wing.

              With trembling hands, Ivan sank to his knees, the weight of his terror suffocating him as he gasped for breath. He pressed his hand to his chest, as if trying to forcefully calm his racing heart.

              Rising to his feet, Ivan cast one last glance over his shoulder, his resolve steeling as he vowed to leave this accursed place behind. With each step, the shadows seemed to retreat, but their whispered promises of torment lingered in the back of his mind.

              He needed to leave. Now. 

              Alfred drummed his fingers against the kitchen counter, standing next to the burnished copper body of the deep fryer, held up by ornate claw feet. He pulled on the brass lever on the side to adjust the temperature. Through the glass-domed lid, he could see the oil beginning to bubble. He placed the tray of beignet dough on top of the domed lid, and with a few presses of a button, the lid opened up and mechanical claws shot out to catch the basket, carefully sliding the beignets into the hot oil. The fryer hissed, releasing a small puff of steam from its pressure valves. As the beignets turned golden brown, Alfred turned the brass crank of the manual oil filtration system. With a satisfied smile, he watched the beignets fry to perfection. 

             With another crank of the lever, the domed lid retracted and he pulled out the beignets, arranging them on a plate. He powdered them with sugar and drizzled them with honey, nearly salivating. Gods, he missed food. He hadn't eaten in forty-eight hours, and his stomach was grumbling. 

              That reminds him, he hadn't been able to see Ivan lately. He had asked Yao to take over for him in the meantime so he could focus on the Rebellion, but he was kind of starting to miss that bastard. He left the kitchen, closing it with a click as he took a big bite out of his pastry. Maybe he should find him now, offer him some beignets. The guy probably needed a snack. 

              Alfred was passing by a hallway when Ivan's scent, strong and unusually pungent, shot right up his nose. He stumbled back, wrinkling his nose, but whipped around just in time to see Ivan stomping off somewhere, his scarf swishing angrily behind him. Concerned, Alfred jogged after him.

              "Ivan!" 

              Ivan didn't seem to hear him, still stalking angrily down the corridor. Alfred frowned and sped up. "Ivan," he called out again, placing a hand on Ivan's shoulder.

              He jumped out of his skin with a small shriek when sharp ice burst through the ground between him and Ivan, who had whipped around with wide eyes. But not with anger—fear. 

              Upon recognizing Alfred, Ivan blinked back to his senses, the mania vanishing from his eyes. With a quick wave of his hand, the ice disappeared back underground with a hiss of icy mist. Now, the two of them were standing there in silence.

              Alfred shuffled his feet, his grip on the basket of beignets fidgeting. "Um, are you okay?"

              Ivan just stared at him unblinkingly, eyeing his concerned expression, before he straightened to his full height, casting a shadow that seemed to swallow Alfred whole. “Come with me,” he ordered, his tone brooking no argument as he turned away without a second glance. Alfred swallowed uncertainly.

              The silence was more suffocating than any silence they had shared prior. The distinct change was Alfred actually feeling nervous, concerned that he might have harmed Ivan’s feelings in some way. He was too scared to ask, for fear of worsening the situation. Instead, he swallowed his words and quietly followed as Ivan led the way through the halls. After a while, it became clear to Alfred where they were headed. The path was familiar to him, as he had taken this route many times before to arrive at Ivan’s private library.

              Still aware of his job as a bodyguard, Alfred quickened his steps to walk past him and open the door. Ivan did not falter or pause, not even sparing a glance at him as he entered the room. Alfred sighed and closed the door behind him.

              “Um,” he began, braving through the awkward quiet, “So, what do you need help with?”

              Ivan merely pointed at the bookshelf. Alfred blinked, “Oh, you want me to get a book? Okay...” Confused, because Ivan was more than capable of getting one himself, he approached the wall of books and scanned the titles. Which one did Ivan point to? He had pointed at one of the higher shelves—Alfred could barely reach those, but he’ll try. He tried to search for one that looked the least interesting because Ivan liked boring reads, standing on his tiptoes and stretching his arm, almost there—

              “Fredka.”

              Alfred gasped, startled, and instinctively stepped back. But when he did so, his back collided with a strong torso, his cheeks going warm when the back of his head made contact with a voluptuous chest. “W-What is it?” he turned around to face Ivan, confused about his proximity. But before he could ask, Ivan swooped down, bringing his face closer. Alfred panicked for a brief moment, thinking Ivan was going to repeat what he did at the Festival. Then, he felt large arms crush him into a tight embrace, and a head place itself on his shoulder. It was surprisingly comforting, to have such warmth and weight envelope him—but that wasn’t the point right now.

              “Ah, Ivan?” Alfred stammered, unused to such physical touch. Ivan squeezed him tighter, burying his face into his neck.

              “Let me stay like this...” he murmured, “please.” 

              Alfred was thoroughly confused, but understanding. “Okay,” he responded, then asked the following as gently as he could, “Did something happen?”

              Ivan stayed silent. Instead, he slowly slid them down the bookshelf and onto the floor. Alfred found himself wedged between the towering shelves and Ivan, the Alpha's larger frame kneeling between his legs. Sensing Ivan's need for solace rather than words, Alfred resolved to stay as they were, his hand rubbing circles on Ivan's back in a soothing gesture.

              What happened? he asked himself, I don’t see him for two days, and he ends up like this? I need to keep a better watch on him...

              They remained in this position for a while. Ivan was completely motionless—the only indication that he was alive was the soft rise of his chest. After what felt like an hour, Alfred began to wonder if he was alright now. He opened his mouth to ask, but the words died in his throat.

              “Sestra...” Ivan murmured into his neck, “Sestra...”

              “Ivan?” Alfred frowned in concern, attempting to pull away to see his face, but Ivan’s grip was strong even while asleep. He could feel Ivan’s chest begin to rise rapidly until he was breathing alarmingly quickly. “No...Father...” he whimpered, “do not...do not take her away...”

              Ivan’s breath continued to quicken until even his hands were swiping and clenching at Alfred’s uniform in distress. Alfred’s concern heightened, and he tried to push Ivan off, slapping his back, “Ivan! Ivan, wake up! It’s not real,” he tried to say. He managed to pry Ivan’s arms off of him and placed his head on his lap instead. Alfred looked over him, gently slapping his cheeks, “Ivan, wake up!"

              The maniacal laughter screeched throughout the Palace, seeping into every room, ringing in the ears of the Palace inhabitants. Every so often, a whip would crack, followed by spine-chilling screams of agony that were drowned out by even louder cackles. Sometimes, those sounds would cease, replaced by hysterical shouting and cries for mercy, only for the sounds to return again. The sounds were so loud that they echoed even in the gardens and the dungeons, where, currently, the heirs of the Kingdom were hiding.

              Ivan had been thrown into the cell by his father three days ago, starved of any light or victuals until his sisters found him, with kind smiles and their arms laden with food that they must have stolen. The cooks’ fear of the King was higher than their pity for the children, so they refused to give them food. The servants as well, had refused to reveal where Ivan had been thrown into, even after Natalya had thrown a tantrum. They found him eventually, and now they were all cuddled together for warmth in the freezing cell as a powerful winter storm raged outside and the screeches of their parents reverberated in the dungeons. Katyusha held her siblings tightly, so tightly that she trembled, but she didn’t dare let go of them.

              After a while, the screams had stopped, and the siblings had relaxed enough to eat the now-cold food. Bellies full, they managed to fall asleep together. Even though they were on the floor of an ice-cold dungeon, Ivan felt peaceful as he slept between his two sisters, who huddled him for warmth. The peace was soon broken when the dungeon door slammed open, jolting them awake. Their blood turned cold.

               The shadowed figure loomed in the doorway, wild-eyed and disheveled, his breath coming in ragged gasps. 

               His eyes, wide and bloodshot, darted around the room like a mad animal. A twisted smile stretched across his face, and his hair stood out in all directions as if he’d been tearing at it. The madness in his eyes was bright in the darkness, the kind that spoke of a mind long lost to chaos.

               Panic surged through the children. With dreaded gasps, they scrambled for the corner, but Katyusha was a moment too slow. With a sudden, jerky motion, he managed to yank her by the hair, his grip merciless.

              “No! Let me go!” she screamed, thrashing against his hold, but his strength was too much.

              “You weren’t supposed to be here!” he roared, his voice a guttural snarl as he dragged her towards the door, his eyes wide and breathing heavily, coming out in puffs of mist in the freezing dungeon.

              Suddenly, the scene momentarily blurred with black.

              “Ivan...Ivan...Wake up...”

              “Sestra!” Natalya’s scream cleared the blur, returning to the scene of the dungeon. She instinctively reached out, but Ivan held her back, plastered to the wall in silent petrification as he watched Katyusha shriek and cry, her fingers scraping against the floor in a futile attempt to anchor herself. 

“Only your brother is supposed to be in the dungeons!” the king screamed, shaking Katyusha violently by the hair as he dragged her across the floor, ignoring her cries. Ivan stuck himself to the wall, gasping for air as his chest felt squeezing tight, his arms squeezed around his struggling younger sister who was screaming at their father to stop.

              The scene blurred again, and the same voice spoke up, each word becoming clearer and louder: “It’s not real...Wake up...Ivan...!”

              “If you’re that desperate to be in here, then you can be punished like your brother!” The King yanked Katyusha by the hair, her body crashing and scraping against the steps as her cries reached a piercing volume. 

              “Give her back!” Natalya cried, her voice raw with desperation. “Stop it! Stop it!”

              “Shut up!” The King snapped.

              As his younger sister continued to cry, the vision began to blur, more powerfully this time, until he was trapped in a black abyss. Ivan was puzzled and lost until he heard the same voice as earlier.

              “Ivan...wake up!” the voice called, loud and clear now, “Follow my voice!” 

              Ivan swam through the darkness, trying to reach the surface where, beyond the ripples, a blurry figure was taking shape.

              “Ivan!”

              The darkness blossomed into white, and as Ivan woke up with a gasping jolt, he was momentarily blinded by the light pouring through the library’s tall window. When his vision cleared, he was met with Alfred’s face above him, golden bangs falling over his forehead, and blue eyes shimmering with worry as the bright light glowed behind him.

              Ivan, groggy and disoriented, wondered if he was dead. “Ivan, are you okay?” Alfred asked, heavily concerned. To his confusion, instead of responding, Ivan slowly raised his hand to press the back of his fingers to Alfred’s cheek.

              “Ah. You are real.”

              Alfred huffed. “Of course, I’m real. What you were dreaming about is what’s not real,” he remarked as Ivan rose from his lap to sit on the floor. “What was it about, anyway?”

                Ivan shifted uncomfortably, avoiding Alfred's probing gaze. Silence hung between them, heavy with unspoken words. As he waited for a response that would never come, Alfred began to feel frustrated with himself. He sighed, provoking Ivan to look at him again. “I know,” Alfred spoke quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation, “You don’t want to talk about it.” The admission weighed heavily on his chest. He had tried so hard to earn Ivan's trust, to be someone he could confide in, but it seemed he had failed. Again. That seemed to be a trend in his life, he noticed.

                Not wanting to know the answer, he rubbed his neck with a frustrated sigh, “Forget it. You seem fine, now, so I’ll go—”

                He moved to stand, only for Ivan to pounce at him, his back hitting the bookshelf with a loud thud. “Ow!”

                Once again, he could feel Ivan's large arms wrap around his middle with a strong squeeze, nuzzling his face against Alfred's neck. This made the blonde squirm due to his ticklish nature. Alfred started to protest. "What are you—”

              "Why are you in such a hurry to leave?" Ivan's voice was muffled against Alfred's neck, confused and hurt. "I have not seen you in two days, but you seem eager to get away from me again. Are you avoiding me?"

                “Huh?" Alfred blinked, “What—” He began to struggle under his hold, attempting to pull away to look Ivan in the eyes, but the Alpha’s grip was firm.

                “It has been lonely. You drop off my food and then disappear."

                A mix of confusion and sympathy contorted Alfred's face, “Oh, Ivan, I didn’t—”

                “Have I done something to upset you?” Ivan murmured, “Is it because we almost kissed?”

                Shocked, Alfred's struggle intensified as he tried to pull away. "What?"

                Alfred pushed him away, enough to see his face, and his chest squeezed as he gazed upon Ivan's teary face. Gone was the cold anger and eerie apathy, replaced by a raw vulnerability that made Alfred's heart ache. Ivan looked as if he could cry at any moment.

                "Ivan, it's not that. I would never avoid you," he reassured, "You were right, I've been busy with work. Actually, I was making this," Alfred pulled out something from his pockets and began to peel off Ivan's gloves. With a sharp prick that made Ivan hiss, he inserted something into his wrists. Then, he pressed on the patch of skin that he had inserted it in, and suddenly, millions of tiny nanites began to spread across all over Ivan's hands and arms, materializing into mechanical gauntlets as they went, shifting mechanically. Ivan blinked, staring in awe at the spectacle that just happened.

                "Cool, right? It's nano-tech. And these are what I call conductor gauntlets," Alfred explained. "These gauntlets channel your ice powers away from your hands and into the gauntlets themselves. The outer layer disperses the cold energy evenly, preventing any buildup of cold on your hands. This keeps them at a normal temperature while allowing you to use your magic freely. It can also sense when you use your magic, so you can keep them like this," he pressed something on the gauntlets, and they began to shrink back, disappearing under those patches of Ivan's skin, "And when you use your magic, it'll activate automatically."

                Alfred may have gotten distracted while he was inside that armory. 

                "You...made these for me?"

                "Yep! It's pretty cool, huh?" Alfred grinned, "This way, your hands won't turn purple when you use your magic. You can use it as much as you want without any drawbacks."

                Ivan slowly tore his gaze away from his deceivingly normal-looking hands to stare at Alfred. Alfred's smile faltered a little. "Uh, why? You don't look it?"

                "No!" Ivan blurted sharply, startling Alfred. He cleared his throat and amended, his voice so reverently soft, "No, no. I...I love it. Thank you, Fredka."

                Alfred's smile grew happily. Ivan's features softened, the tension in his frame easing as he leaned back to sit on his haunches. "So, you are not avoiding me?"

                “No, of course not.”

                “And you are not upset about the almost kiss?”

                “Well, it’s not like it actually happened, so there’s nothing to be upset about.”

                Ivan stared. “So, if we did kiss,” he whispered, inching closer, making Alfred lean away until the back of his head hit the bookshelf. “You would be upset?”

                Alfred swallowed hard, his heart quickening as Ivan's proximity made him shiver. "I...I'm not sure," he stammered, his mind clouded by the sudden intimacy.

                "Why don't we discover the answer together?" Ivan whispered softly, closing the gap even further. In that moment, the world faded away, leaving only the two of them, Alfred squirming underneath him, his shaky breaths filling his ears as he was intoxicated by his buttery sweet scent. Ivan leaned down, tracing his nose down Alfred's features. Slowly, painfully slowly. His hand reached up to grasp Alfred's chin, gently rubbing his thumb against his jaw, making Alfred shudder. Ivan leaned closer and closer, so near that Alfred had no choice but to stay still as Ivan slowly tilted his chin up, moving in so close that his eyes fluttered shut as Ivan—

               —pressed a kiss to his cheek. 

                Alfred's eyes shot open, stunned as Ivan pulled back to look at him.

                "Sorry," he said, amusement twinkling in his eyes, "If you were expecting more."

                Alfred's face burst into embarrassed flames. "I wasn't!" he yelled loudly.

                "Is that so?" Ivan chuckled as he untangled himself from Alfred, rising to his feet. "You seemed quite into it. You even closed your eyes."

                Alfred shot to his feet with an angry stomp, "That's because you did! And I felt really dizzy!"

                Ivan arched a brow, smirking. "Oh? Did I affect you that much?"

                "What—" Alfred spluttered, "N-No! Not at all! I just...Ugh, whatever! I'm leaving!" He stomped past Ivan with an exaggerated march, throwing the door open and slamming it behind him, his flush deepening in embarrassment as Ivan began to laugh behind him.

                Once the door had closed, the thud resounding through the vast library, Ivan's laughter faded, softening into something more genuine. He reached up to press his hand to his lips, squeezing his own face as a deep blush blossomed on his bashful cheeks.

                I really am becoming distracted.

HOURS LATER

                Alfred ripped the toilet paper into shreds as he sat in his bathroom. That Ivan made him so mad! He was so vague and confusing! Why can't he ever just be straightforward instead of being so mysterious all the time? Three months was not enough for Alfred to understand him at all. Why would he lean in like that only to cop out at the last second? Did he think it amusing to play with Alfred's feelings?

               No, Alfred ripped another toilet paper piece, there are no feelings. There's nothing to play with because Alfred doesn't feel anything. What would he even feel?

               He remembered how fast his heart had quickened, how overwhelmed and dizzy he became, and suddenly felt a swirl of shame and embarrassment spike in his chest. Was he really that desperate? A bit of attention from Ivan and he was acting this way—He didn't even like Ivan that way, so why was he feeling like this? Perhaps it's his hormones. Wait, why was he blaming himself? It was Ivan's fault for giving him such attention, only to not follow through with it! What kind of psychopath even does that? Alfred ripped another paper.

               He decided to chalk it up to just being deprived of attention. No one had ever been that close to him. Granted, he didn't let any Alpha within five feet of him, but that just made this situation even more weird. Why did he not freak out? Why had he allowed Ivan to do that? He even closed his eyes! It must be Ivan's weird magical powers messing with his brain. Yeah, that's it! 

               Pleased to have decided on a plausible explanation, Alfred decided to finally take the bath he had been meaning to take. After being refreshed with a scalding hot shower, Alfred exited his tower and began to wander around the Palace, looking for something to do. He had nothing else on his schedule for today, so he could very well just rest, but he was infamously incapable of it. His gaze began to roam, taking in the luxurious surroundings—the navy marble, the intricate furniture, the dazzling chandeliers—and he realized that they no longer looked unfamiliar to him. He didn't feel out of place, like a guest or a  In fact, he felt right at home. 

                Alfred shook his head. Fuck, what am I thinking? This isn't home. Home is Krasny. Not the Palace.  I can’t spend the rest of my life here. Matthew needs me. I have duties back home.

                What duty? His conscience asked him. You mean waiting like a sitting duck for your brother to come home? Mattie doesn’t need you anymore. He’s left the nest. You’re free, like you wanted. You can finally think for yourself.

                No, Alfred insisted. You're wrong.

                Admit it, you want to stay here, the voice echoed. You don’t want to go back to Krasny.

                Alfred shook his head more fervently, digging his palms into his eyes as he tried to fight the horribly right voice in his head. Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Startled, he whirled around to land a punch. Fortunately, the one responsible had dodged swiftly.

                "Oh gods, I'm so sorry, Toris!" Alfred gasped. He blinked. Wait, Toris? "Toris? You're— You're here! Why are you here?"

                "General Winter called me here. Um," he shuffled a little, hesitating to ask. "Are...you okay? I could see you from afar..."

                Alfred flushed in shame upon realizing that he had been caught doing such a strange act. He laughed it off. "Yep, I'm fine! It's nothing serious. Er, what are you doing out here?"

                "Ah, I was on the way to Winter's office—"

                "Oh! Can I go with you?" Alfred insisted excitedly, "Can I? Can I? Please! I'm so bored! I have nothing to do!

                "If there's nothing on your schedule, why don't you rest?" Toris suggested. Alfred shook his head indignantly. "Can't, I'm incapable of it. Please?"

                Toris sighed, knowing he wouldn't win this. "Alright," he conceded rather easily. "You may accompany me." 

                Alfred cheered and began to follow Toris to Winter's office. He opened the door for Alfred and the two stepped inside, inclining their heads to the General. “Good evening, Toris,” Winter nodded to him in response, "And...Alfred? What are you doing here?"

                "I'm here to support Toris!"

                "So...you're bored."

                "Yeah."

                Winter sighed. "Very well. Please, take a seat.” Once the two had sat down, Winter began. “Laurinaitis, I called you here regarding the abundant Rebellion attacks in the East. Have you gathered any information on why that could be?”

                Toris nodded. “The North is the wealthiest region in Spades, and the East is second. The Rebellion wouldn’t dare to trespass on Northern territory, however, so instead, they target the East. We have the second largest mountains with plentiful mines, so that is probably where they are collecting all the resources they are supplying to the King.”

                Winter nodded thoughtfully. “I see, that is good information. Great job. So, presumably, your soldiers and Meka are actively fighting against the Rebellion?”

                “Yes, sir.”

                “Then, since the small-scale attacks are being handled, I want you to gather information about their next large-scale attack when you return to the East. What I wanted to talk to you about as well was the transportation of technology to the Bratva castles. Being the most responsible of them, I trust no one more.”

                Toris grinned sheepishly as Alfred elbowed him playfully. "Thank you for your kind words, General."

                "Actually, it is good that you brought Alfred with you. He will be helpful for this next part," he rose to his feet, reminding the two youths of his formidable size. Both Alfred and Toris hurried to open the door, with the latter politely insisting that he do it instead. The General walked out of the room, silently leading them out of the corridor.

                "What do you think he wants to show us?" Alfred whispered. 

                "I am not sure," Toris responded, "Perhaps it is something really important."

                "Or something really cool!"

                As Toris laughed, Alfred suddenly thought of a curious question. "Hey, Toris," he called his attention, "How did you start working at the Palace?"

                Toris blinked at this sudden change of topic. "Ah, it was so long ago. I've been in this Palace for as long as I have been alive. My father was a soldier, and my mother was a wet nurse for Sire's younger sister, Natalya. Both of my parents perished because of the King. My mother was killed after she had been discovered feeding Natalya because it was forbidden. After that, no other Omega in the Palace wanted to help the royal heirs, no matter how much the newborn Natalya had cried out of starvation. When my father tried to help by giving her fresh cows' milk, he was killed as well."

                Alfred was rendered speechless for a minute. "Toris, I— I'm so sorry," he stammered, horrified and ashamed. "I didn't mean to poke at an old wound—"

                The Alpha waved him off with a laugh. "Don't worry, no wounds have been poked. I don't remember them. I was only three years old, and I didn't witness their deaths personally. I believed myself to be an orphan all my life until one of the older staff told me about them. It was saddening, but I am over it. I have done quite well without parents."

                "No kidding," Alfred grinned, elbowing Toris playfully, "Fifth of the Bratva, ruler of the Eastern Spades, that's an incredible accomplishment. One thing's for sure, though," Alfred continued, "You definitely inherited their kindness."

                Toris smiled ruefully, "Thank you...The older staff tell me that as well."

                "'Cause it's true! They sound like great people— must have been, to produce someone like you. I'm sure they're really proud right now in the afterlife— or, uh, wherever they are."

                "We have arrived," Winter declared, stopping in front of a pair of steel doors. He turned to address them, "I'm not sure if you recall, Alfred, but I said that if you discovered who the buyer is, it would widen the investigation and legally permit me to use the more advanced technology," he reminded as he removed one of his gloves, reaching up to press his finger on the small, black screen next to the steel frame. A blue light scanned Winter's face, and a series of heavy, mechanical noises sounded before the steel gates began to pry open. 

                Bright light flooded the corridor as the doors swung wide, causing Alfred and Toris to shield their eyes. Their vision soon adjusted to the light, clearing to reveal what lay inside the room. Alfred's eyes widened, shimmering brightly as he gasped with delight.

                In the center of a room was an elaborate, futuristic steampunk vehicle. It exuded a blend of vintage charm and futuristic innovation, showcasing the ingenuity of its creator. It gleamed in golden bronze and navy blue, its chassis boasted intricate gears and cogs, while pipes and valves pulsed with latent power. It held a menacing grille and ornate brass headlights with massive wheels, designed for snowy and rugged terain, reminiscent of the mechanics of the Meka. Alfred, who had an insatiable love for technology, wasted no time in bounding towards the car, eagerly flouncing around it and squealing in excitement as he fawned over every little detail he could spot. 

                "I studied about these!" he jumped in place as he pointed to the vehicle, beaming at the Alphas. "I thought technology like this was long gone! They were popular in the eighteen-hundreds, a time where steam and metal ruled the world. Technically, it still does, but we've switched to electricity rather than steam. They're of the same origin as the Meka, but they faded away sometime during the early nineteen-hundreds due to the rise of electric technology."

               "That is partly a reason," Winter nodded as he approached, pleased with Alfred's knowledge on the subject. "But the rise of electricity as an energy source had only happened because these machines were locked away."

               "Locked away?" Alfred squeaked, "How could anyone keep such a beautiful machine away from public? Look at the works on this thing!"

               "Because they are strong vehicles. Powered by the steam of the orb rather than electricity from fossil fuels, they are very efficient and near indestructible. In the wrong hands, they are powerful tools. Not just as vehicles, but as weaponry. They are much too dangerous to be in the hands of...unstable monarchs," Winter chose his words carefully. "Hence, the council decided to lock away these machines to prevent the monarchy from exploiting their power. Back then, we operated under a more authoritarian regime. Our economy had struggled with inefficiency, stagnation, and shortages due to centralized planning. Under the former authoritarian regime, the monarchy controlled all means of production, leading to economic inefficiency, poverty, and scarcity. While the regime had aimed for equality by abolishing private property and individual wealth, it resulted in the suppression of individual freedoms and social upheaval through forced collectivization and industrialization. It was why we had been so poor back then. Millions had been displaced, persecuted, or killed in the pursuit of utopian ideals, causing social discontent and trauma. It felt like the Palace was breathing down everyone's backs. Fearful of what they would do with these machines, the council hid them."

               "That was the rule of the former monarchs," Toris chimed in. "But when the young Prince began to rule, he removed this regime and granted them freedom, allowing the economy to prosper and generate profit. That is why the city of Siber had been possible."

               "Whoa, Ivan did all that?" Alfred's brows raised, impressed. He had not lived long enough to experience such a terrible reign, and he was glad not to. "Wait, so if he could do that, then why not take back the machines himself the moment he had the ability to?"

               "He is still only the Prince, so he does not have full authority. I do not either," Winter added before Alfred could rebuke, "As the locking away of the machinery was signed by the council. Thus, we again need the council to approve their retrieval. Due to the good work of you and His Highness, they finally agreed. This one is the most harmless, so it had been allowed to stay here in case it was needed for emergencies," Winter explained as he traced his hand down the vehicle's sleek hood. Winter's expression grew somber as he eyed the dust that had gathered on the pads of his gloved fingers. "These technologies have been dormant for far too long," he murmured.

               Alfred and Toris watched in silent sympathy as the General reminisced a time long ago, a forgotten era buried by the tragedy of the royal family. Clearing his throat, he composed himself and faced them with a more collected demeanor. "That is why I said it is good you had brought Alfred with you. I was going to summon him to the office after you, anyway. Once Alfred retrieves the machines, Toris will distribute them to the Bratva castles."

               "This vehicle doesn't look like it could be used, though," Toris eyed the vehicle skeptically, afraid to touch it, as if a single tap could make it collapse. 

               "It's not," Winter agreed, "Which is another matter Alfred is useful for."

               Alfred, who had been inspecting the dashboard, straightened up at once when his ears picked up on those words, like a puppy on high alert. "Do you mean it?" he gasped in excited delight, "I get to fix this?"

               The moment Winter nodded his approval, Alfred eagerly got to work, his skilled hands deftly repairing gears, adjusting wiring, and fine-tuning intricate mechanisms. Hours flew by as Alfred worked, though it felt like no time at all, as Alfred was having the time of his life. Bit by bit, the vehicle began to come to life under his ministrations. Gears turned, pistons whirred, steam hissed, and then, with a resounding roar, it came to life. After cleaning and polishing it to bring back it's old shine, it was good as new.

               Winter reentered the room, dressed in his nightwear. "You finished it one day?" he blinked in surprise as he regarded the machine. Alfred stepped back to stand beside him, swelling with pride as the vehicle hummed with energy, the blue glow of the orb running across the vehicle's exterior and interior in sleek neon lines. "You could've taken a break, at least. How long have you been in here?"

               "Unimportant," Alfred waved him off. "What matters is that I did it! Look, General! Are you proud of me?"

               Winter raised a brow before a chuckle inevitably escaped him, and he petted the eager Alfred's head. "Yes, I'm proud. I'm impressed you finished it so fast, especially considering this is an ancient technology, and there are little to no texts about its mechanics."

               "Nothing a bit of trial and error can't fix," Alfred shrugged. "And it's of the same origins as the Meka, so I'm familiar with its clockwork now."

               Winter nodded approvingly. "Very good, Alfred. Do you think you can do the same for the machines in the mountains?" 

               Alfred saluted with a bright grin. "Yes, sir!"

MEANWHILE

                Ivan knocked on the door gently. “Yao?” he called, “I require assistance.”

                "You may come in, Your Highness," Yao's voice responded from within. Ivan turned the knob and entered the study, trying to suppress a cough at the overwhelming scent of incense. "Yes, sire? How can I assist you?" Yao inquired, gesturing for Ivan to take a seat.

                “I wanted to ask a few questions,” Ivan settled into the chair across him. “I have some concerns. My body, it has been acting strange recently.”

                Yao frowned in worry as he rose from his seat, moving to sit beside Ivan with the intent of examining him. “Oh? In what way?”

                Ivan hesitated, feeling bashful as he toyed with the ends of his scarf. "My heart... it's been aching, but not in a bad way," he confessed. "Whenever I'm with someone, my heart rate increases to a concerning pace, and when we are apart, it twists in pain. It aches every time we are together and when we are apart. I do not know what is causing it, and I do not know how to make it stop.”

                Yao gaped, then squinted in scrutiny. “You’re talking about Meiguo, aren’t you?”

                Surprised, Ivan blinked. “How did you know?”

                “It is not like there is anyone else in the Palace you could be talking about,” Yao answered amusedly, “So, what is the problem? Do you not know what you are feeling?”

                Ivan shook his head. “That is why I came here. I thought it might be because of excessive caffeine intake."

                Yao couldn't help but roll his eyes. "Believe me, Your Highness, there's not enough caffeine in the world to cause that kind of reaction."

                "Then what is it? Is it an illness?" Ivan questioned anxiously.

                Yao chuckled. “Tell me, when your heart races, what goes through your mind?”

                “That I might be sick.”

                Yao resisted the urge to smack his own forehead. “...No. I mean, what do you think causes the heart racing?”

                “That is what I am here to find out.”

                This time, Yao couldn’t resist palming his face in exasperation. Oh, these youngsters were so oblivious! First Alfred, now Ivan—was he the love doctor or something? He sharply rose from his seat and leaned over the desk to take out his stethoscope from the drawer, then sat back down. He plugged his earpieces in and pressed the diaphragm against Ivan’s chest. “Okay, Your Highness. Close your eyes and think of what makes you happy."

                Puzzled, Ivan furrowed his brow. "How will that—"

                "Trust me," Yao interrupted gently. "Just do it. And tell me what comes to mind."

                Reluctantly, Ivan complied, closing his eyes and focusing his thoughts. Images flashed through his mind

                Ivan reluctantly nodded and closed his eyes to concentrate. He tried to conjure up mental images of his favorite things. The first that came to mind was the bright yellow blossoms of his garden. “Er...sunflowers.”

                Yao pressed the stethoscope against Ivan's chest, listening intently. "Heart rate remains steady," he observed.

                "Sputnik," Ivan tried again.

                "No change," Yao replied.

                "Vodka?"

                “No—also, that’s not something that should be making you happy. Try thinking of a person,” Yao suggested.

                Ivan, eyes still closed, frowned in thought. He recalled his earlier years when his family had still been complete. He remembered his lovely older sister and his charming younger sister, who kept him happy despite the difficult times. “My sisters?” he ventured.

                “A slight increase, but not enough to be painful as you described. Concentrate, Your Highness.”

                Ivan furrowed his brows. Who else could be making him happy? General Winter, though the man had raised him, didn’t really make him feel any sort of happiness. He often went to Yao for aid, but he was too strict and too professional, and his constant scowling was a bit of a bummer. 

                He opened his eyes and scanned the room. Perhaps something here would trigger his memory. He looked at the desk, the bookshelves, the carpet, the walls, scanning the room until his gaze fell upon the window, beyond which lay his patch of sunflowers.

                Their vibrant colors made them look significant in the bleak backdrop of snow. A pop of color in an otherwise blank canvas, exuberant in the way they stood tall and proud, despite the snow threatening to drag them down. Even in the deadliest of storms, they wavered but never broke, stubborn in their survival. Even now, after more than a decade of very little light, they shone with the brightness of a thousand suns.

                They reminded him of...

                “Fredka...” he murmured, staring dazedly at the golden flowers outside Yao’s window. Yao watched as Ivan’s steadily increasing heart rate pounded in his ears.

                “It worked, Your Highness. And you said Meiguo’s name, didn’t you?”

                Ivan blinked, staring blankly for a moment. Then, his eyes widened a bit, and a warm pink blossomed on his cheeks. “...Ah.”

Chapter Text

                 One afternoon, as the golden leaves fell, Alfred and the Alpha were foraging in the forest. "Hey, guess what!" Alfred exclaimed, his basket brimming with greens. "I’m going to the market tomorrow. Do you want to come with me?"

                The two of them had begun living together. In the weeks that passed, the once frail and shy Alpha had blossomed into a cheerful and lively companion. He would eagerly insist that Alfred rest while he took care of everything, from gathering and chopping firewood to attempting simple meals. Right now, the Alpha whipped around with wide eyes. "I can go with you?"

                "Wow, what a reaction! Are you that excited?" 

                "You've never let me tag along before." 

                Alfred's smile faltered, but he covered it up well. The next day, after hiking down the mountain path, they finally arrived at the village. The loud clamor—"This way! Don't miss out on our offers!"—echoed into the air with such overlapping volume that it was deafening to their young ears. The Alpha was awed, the cobblestone feeling strange under his feet. 

                "You okay?" 

                "I am fine," the Alpha said, admiring his surroundings, "This is...nice. I have always wanted to go to the village."

                Alfred nodded, pleased, until he caught a glimpse of familiar blue eyes in the crowd. Panic flashed in his eyes. He turned around quickly. "Let's go somewhere else!"

                Once they left the busy plaza, Alfred sighed in relief but kept looking around nervously. He couldn't let anyone see his face. For safe measure, he decided to abandon the market altogether and peruse a grocery instead. 

                He left the Alpha at the back of the store, where it had a few pocketbooks for him to read. He needed to get food but didn’t want to steal. He only stole when it was necessary and when his parents forced him, but he had managed to scrounge a few coins so he could buy some properly. He went up to the grocer, who was the one person in the village who was actually kind to him.

                “Ah, it’s you! The little sun. I haven’t seen you in a while,” the grocer smiled warmly at him. Alfred smiled and responded, “It's nice to see you, too, mister. I managed to scrap together some cents so I can buy food!”

                The grocer looked pleasantly surprised. “Well, that’s good! How much do you have?”

                Alfred fumbled for his pockets, “Um...only these,” he stood on his tiptoes to place three cents on the counter.

                “Oh, Alfred...You can’t buy anything with just these."

                 Alfred’s face fell. "But… that’s all I have. I don’t want to steal..."

                The grocer was silent for a moment before sighing. “Well, how could I turn away a child in need?" he said kindly. "You're welcome to take whatever what you need, but let’s keep it our little secret," he said with a wink.

                Alfred beamed in surprise. "Oh, thank you, mister! Thank you!" The grocer chuckled in amusement and ruffled his hair affectionately.

                “EEK!”

                A sudden cry startled them both. They turned to see the Alpha, pretending to read a book with a bored look, while behind, two children were shrieking as a rat made out of ice jumped at them. Alfred gaped as the grocer rushed over. “What the— What kind of rat is that? Get away from it!”

                "Waah! Mister, get that thing away from us!”

                 Later, the Alpha sat by the fountain in the plaza, kicking a pebble around with his feet, waiting for Alfred to return from the store after he himself had been kicked out.

              "You shouldn’t use your powers like that," Alfred chided, plopping his hand on the Alpha's head as he passed. The Alpha winced and rubbed his forehead, pouting slightly. "Let's go back. I've got our food now."

                He walked a few steps until he heard a quiet murmur.

                “But you’re mine...”

                 Alfred paused in surprise, turning around to see the Alpha sitting still, lips pursed in what almost looked like agitation, glaring down at his knees tearily. 

                “You’re mine..." the calm of his words was eerie. "I’m closer to you than family...but no one knows what they’re talking about...”

                Alfred almost didn’t hear him. He burst into laughter. “I’m yours? I never thought I’d be owned by a young master, but here we are!”

                The Alpha scowled, though it looked more like a pout. “It’s not a joke! That’s what those Alphas in the shop were saying, that you would grow into a beautiful Omega and that they would be the ones to marry you. They’re...they’re wrong! I-If you must get married, then it must be me!”

                “Marriage? That’s silly!” Alfred laughed, “Alright. When we’re older, be sure to ask for my hand, 'kay?”

                The Alpha jumped to his feet, his cheeks puffing up in indignance. “I will! I really will!”

                Alfred just laughed and walked away. The Alpha ran after him, his insistence audible even across the plaza as they continued their trek toward the village exit, unaware of the grocer watching them.

                Ivan awoke to a blinding light pouring through the tall windows of his chamber. Groggy, he pulled back the curtains to see that no grey clouds were in sight. Rather, the landscape is bathed in a surreal, almost unrealistic glow, with the snow reflecting and refracting the bright sunlight in a dazzling display of whites and blues.

                Today was another bright winter day, it seemed, much to Ivan’s satisfaction. He briefly wondered if this was due to his own good mood. Gently, he touched the tips of his fingers to his lips, recalling the sweetness that they had tasted yesterday.

                Fredka.

                Ah, just thinking of the name made his heart flutter. He really was going insane, it seemed. Despite the horrible occurrence in his dream, he awoke quite happy. Perhaps he would be even happier if he could actually see Sunflower's face properly. He was only allowed mere glimpses of his hair, as his dream only showed Sunflower's body from his smile downwards, never showing the boy’s eyes.

                As if on cue, a knock sounded on his door and then clicked open. “Mornin’ Ivan,” Alfred greeted, carrying his breakfast as always. Smiling widely, Ivan bounded across the room and halted right next to Alfred as the other was setting down his tray, stopping just inches away from a collision. It startled the Omega, but his surprise was quickly replaced with a raise of his eyebrow.

                “You seem to be in a happy mood today,” he noted amusedly.

                “Am I?” Ivan hummed as he sat down, resting his chin on his palm, “Perhaps it is because of the kiss I gave you yesterday.”

                Alfred spluttered, choking on his own spit at Ivan's straightforwardness.

                “Don’t—” Alfred coughed, “Don’t talk about that.”

                “Why not?”

                “What do you mean why not?” he exclaimed, “It’s embarrassing! Also, don’t say it like that! It makes it sound as if we actually had a make-out session, even though it was just a peck on the cheek.”

                Ivan tilted his head. “Make...out?”

                “Yeah, you know,” Alfred huffed, plopping down on the seat across him to eat his own breakfast, “Make out.”

                “Make out has three definitions, but I do not think any of them is related to kissing,” Ivan frowned thoughtfully.

                “Those are the textbook definitions. Make out also has an informal, slang meaning. It refers to kissing someone passionately.”

                “Is that so? It seems I have a lot to learn.”

                “Sure do.”

                “We can practice right now,” Ivan suggested teasingly, leaning over the table with a mischievous smile, “you can teach me how make-out works.”

                “No way!” he shoved Ivan away by the forehead, his face flushing. “Focus on your food, Prince!”

                Ivan chuckled and began to eat his breakfast.

                Alfred stood before a pair of wooden doors, his knuckles rapping against the intricate surface twice. "General Winter," he called out, "Can we come in?"

                At Winter's affirmation, Alfred swung open the doors, allowing Ivan to step in before doing so himself.

                “Good morning, General!” Alfred greeted, “Your expression is as inscrutable as always.”

                “And yours is very scrutable. You are excited.”

                “Of course, I am!” Alfred responded giddily, “Today's the day!”

                “Don't be too excited. Remember, this is a job, not a trip," Winter reminded. "Now, I will be explaining the mission. According to the contract, the base that the machines were locked in is hidden in the northern mountains. I do not know where, as it was not stated to prevent the monarchs from discovering it. Remember, avoid as much turbulence as possible," he added, shooting a meaningful glare at Alfred. "If ever you encounter anyone that's not supposed to be there, do not engage in battle. Those technologies can't be used since they have been locked away for centuries, they are brittle and fragile, and we can't risk damaging them."

                Alfred pouted at the reminder, but he nodded in acknowledgment. "Understood. But why was the Prince called here as well?"

                “You will not be doing this alone. The Prince will be accompanying you.”

                “He is?” Alfred exclaimed simultaneously with Ivan’s “I am?”

                “In light of past encounters with the Rebellion, where your...impulsiveness led to rather excessive outcomes," Winter explained, choosing his words pointedly and making Alfred wince, "His Highness shall serve as a moderating influence. The Prince shall ensure you adhere to my orders of not participating in battle, as I know you will definitely engage when faced with the opportunity.”

                “What? So you’re sending him to babysit me?” Alfred was offended, he didn't need babysitting!

                “Yes.”

                Ivan, taking great pleasure in Alfred's reaction, turned to him with a wide, pleasantly surprised wide smile. "How great, Fredka! We have not worked on a joint mission before. I look forward to it. This should be much fun.”

                Alfred crossed his arms huffily in response, not pleased about being babysat. 

                “It shouldn’t be fun since it is a serious mission,” Winter raised a brow, “But I like the enthusiasm. Dismissed.”

                Alfred yawned as he emerged from his bathroom with a fluffy towel draped over his head while another secured his waist. After dropping Ivan off at his chambers, Alfred returned to his own room to finally take a much-needed bath. He couldn’t do so in the morning as he had been preoccupied with checking the King’s wing. Unfortunately, nothing had changed—the Meka were still marching and the King remained deranged. However, Alfred did notice that the footprints in the secret passageway were becoming more recent, so the cloaked figure—whoever they may be—was investigating at roughly the same time as him. It was a miracle that neither of them had crossed paths yet. But Alfred decided that prioritizing the Rebellion rather than his mission would be more fruitful, so he didn't feel too disappointed. He'll figure something out eventually—but for now, he was needed on a different mission.

                 As he prepared for the outing, Alfred considered the bright sun that cast a lively atmosphere upon the typically gloomy Palace. It has been brighter than usual nowadays, which was strange, considering the grim greyness that the Palace was under when he first arrived. So when he realized that all his pants were in the laundry, he decided on thermal stockings. It’s not like he could wear shorts—it might be sunny, but it was still winter— and he wouldn't be making snow angels anyway, so he deemed it acceptable.

                Dressed and ready, with a bag slung over his shoulder, Alfred left the tower, closing the door behind him as he stepped out into the cold. His shoes crunched the snow underneath as he approached the barn-like structure. He didn’t get to really absorb the appearance of the stables last time, since he had been too preoccupied with trying to apologize.

                It was a two-story structure with ramps instead of stairs, made entirely out of grey stone that was intricately carved into beautiful furnishings. It would usually have an intimidating effect due to the gloomy weather, but with the sun shining brilliantly today, it looked surprisingly welcoming. However, Alfred’s attention was no longer on the stables but rather on the large sleigh parked in front of its entrance, with two familiar horses tied to it. “Whoa," he whistled under his breath. 

                "Ah," Ivan emerged from the stable entrance, a bucket of apples in his arms. "You are late," he added, offering the crimson fruits to the waiting horses.

                “Yeah, well, I had to do something first," Alfred replied distractedly as he examined the large blue sled. "So, what's the deal with the sleigh? I thought we were going to use a car."

               "We will. We will only be using this sleigh to reach the end of the Palace's acreage before transferring vehicles. We do not want to alarm anyone, so Winter thought using the sleigh would be the less conspicuous option."

                "Alright," Alfred shrugged and hoisted himself into the sleigh, plopping onto the seat. Blinking at the softness, a confused Alfred looked down—he was sitting atop a pile of white fabrics. Turning to Ivan, he raised an eyebrow. "What's all this?"

                "I have prepared it with thick comforters and fur blankets to keep you warm during the journey," Ivan replied as he climbed in beside him.

                "Oh," Alfred blinked. "That's...surprisingly thoughtful. Thanks."

                "Of course," Ivan smiled, pleased. Taking hold of the reins, he urged the horses forward, guiding the sleigh through the snow with practiced ease, lightly jostling. “So, do you have a plan for what we'll do when we arrive there?” 

                "Simple," Alfred declared, wrapping the comforter snugly around himself. "We find the base, retrieve the machines, and return to the Palace as heroes."

                “That is not a plan. That is a wishlist."

                "And I suppose you have a plan?" Alfred responded sarcastically. 

                "I do, actually," Ivan answered with a touch of pride. "To find the base, we must first deduce which mountain it is in. The North is the most mountainous region in Spades, so it will be difficult to find where it is. The base could be hiding in plain sight in the large mountains or hiding discreetly in one of the small mountains."

                "Thanks for pointing that out, Captain Obvious," Alfred responded sarcastically, "But how will we find them?"

                "I am getting to that part," Ivan countered indignantly. "Trial and error isn't an option when time is of the essence, so we must narrow down our options through a process of elimination. The mountains in the North are either bordered by lakes or dotted with mines, and those lacking such features harbor caves instead. The ones with mines seem unlikely, as the council would never hide the machinery there. Mines are occupied very often, especially in a Kingdom that heavily depends on them, so someone might stumble upon those machines by accident. Likewise, those with lakes seem to be an unlikely option since they would have to transfer those heavy machinery across the water."

                "Or they use a submarine to carry them underwater, using the lake as a barrier," Alfred offered, "The council needs more than just trees and snow to deter the monarchy."

                "That is also true," Ivan considered with a pensive hum. They continued to discuss their options until Alfred stifled a yawn.

                "Feeling tired?" Ivan tilted his head at him. "What time did you sleep last night?" 

                "Don't remember," Alfred shrugged, "All I know is that I didn't sleep very well. I had a weird dream. Wouldn't call it a nightmare, but it wasn't good either."

                "What kind of dream?'

                Alfred was about to respond but then realized that revealing what his dreams were would make him look like a lunatic. He didn't even know why he was having them all of a sudden, much less know what they were or what they meant. "Not important," he dismissed. Ivan looked as if he was going to argue, but Alfred interrupted before he could. "Also! I brought you something."

                Ivan whipped toward him, eyes wide. "You did?"

                "Yep!" Alfred eagerly retrieved a small wicker basket from beneath his cloak. Uncovering the checkered cloth, he revealed square-shaped pastries with golden exteriors shining with honey and powdered sugar. "Ta-da! Beignets!" he cheered, offering the basket to Ivan with a bright smile.

                "You...made these for me?" 

                "I thought we might get hungry during the journey," Alfred explained, his enthusiasm dimming a bit. It was rare for him to do something like this, considering his lack of baking skill, and Ivan's subdued reaction was leaving him a bit embarrassed. Now that he thought about it, Ivan hadn't eaten the pastries the last two times that he had made them. Granted, they hated each other at the time, but still. "Or maybe not," he amended awkwardly, retracting the basket, "You probably don't want them—"

                "No!"

                Alfred jumped in startlement, a moment of silence passing as he stared at Ivan in bewilderment. Ivan cleared his throat and assumed a more composed demeanor. "I mean, no. I would love to eat it."

                "Are you sure? Because—"

                The basket was snatched out of his hands before he could finish speaking. Ivan stared at the basket, reeling with a mixture of disbelief and gratitude. He remembered that Alfred had made these same treats for him before, and he had refused them out of spite. But now, they looked warm, fluffy, and incredibly tasty. He picked one up and didn't hesitate to take a large bite.

                The Prince paused as he chewed, his initial eager movements slowing down. Alfred watched with nervous anticipation as Ivan continued chewing. "How is it?" he asked tentatively. 

                Ivan's expression slowly brightened as he took another bite. And another, and another, until he was practically devouring them. Alfred's self-consciousness subsided, and he allowed himself a relieved laugh. "That good, huh?"

                "It is so delicious," Ivan's voice was muffled, but he sounded as if he could cry. 

                "I'll make more when we return!" Alfred exclaimed happily as he swelled with radiant pride, resembling an excited puppy. Ivan felt his heart burst with overwhelming affection, as the way it had jumped at Alfred's reaction had been rather painful. 

               He's so cute, Ivan's brain was in mindless bliss right now, swarming with thoughts of only one person. So cute, so cute, so cute.

               "I suppose this means we're even now, huh?" Alfred continued jokingly, "You bring me these blankets, and I bring you pastries. It's almost like we're going on a trip rather than a mission."

               "Indeed," Ivan chuckled, "It is a good thing though. I want you to have a pleasant experience while we have not arrived yet."

               “That's nice of you,” Alfred grinned, “Though, even if we didn't do any of these, I would’ve still enjoyed myself. I always love going on adventures to unfamiliar places, especially when accompanied by someone I like.”

               Ivan turned to Alfred so sharply that he almost broke his neck. “Someone you like?”

               “Yep!” Alfred responded enthusiastically, “You’ve become a good friend, so I like you now.” He took the basket back so he could also eat, not noticing the way Ivan visibly deflated.

               “Ah," he responded flatly. "Friend. Yes."

               “Yeah, it’s unexpected but really nice. Even if this is a work thing, it's good to have some relaxation. You work harder than I do. I mean, I work hard too, but you’re the Prince.”

                Ivan frowned. “Do you have to refer to me as the Prince as if we are of different species entirely?”

                Alfred seemed to find his words funny and burst into laughter. “Aren’t we, though?” he grinned playfully, “Aren’t I just a lowly creature, after all?”

                Ivan scowled, but Alfred’s laughter continued, and he patted Ivan’s arm, “Calm down, I’m just joking! Why does that bother you anyway?”

                In spite of his reassurance, Ivan’s grip on the reins tightened. Why does it bother him? Perhaps it’s because it signified that they were not on the same page about their relationship. If Alfred believed that Ivan was out of his league, their relationship would never progress beyond what they were now.

                “Hello?” Alfred snapped his fingers in front of Ivan, breaking his stupor. “You suddenly went quiet, dude.”

                Ivan blinked, realizing he hadn’t responded to Alfred’s question. “Ah, my apologies. I was lost in thought.”

                “That’s always the case with you,” Alfred countered, curiosity evident in his voice, “What were you thinking about?”

                “Nothing."

                "Oh..." Alfred faltered, and then nodded hesitantly, "...okay."

                In truth, Alfred had begun to limit his reactions. After the Lantern Festival and the discovery that Ivan's sisters had died, Alfred didn't force or pester him into talking about his past anymore. Alfred knew all too well that pasts were sensitive subjects—he didn't even like talking about his own—so he understood and backed off. If this had been before, he would get mad at Ivan's response and call him a hypocrite, interpreting it as a personal attack. He still felt this way, feeling hurt as Ivan didn't trust him, but knew better now than to make it about himself. Besides, they weren't that close yet. Once Ivan was comfortable he would tell Alfred, right?

                So, instead of pushing the topic, Alfred opted to dig into his bag and pull out an assortment of colorful books. This got the book-loving Ivan's attention.

                "What are those?" he asked in intrigue. Alfred held up the books in pleasant surprise. "These? They're comic books."

                "Comic books? Are they funny?" 

                Alfred snorted. Ivan's lack of knowledge of anything modern always amused him—it was like watching an infant adjust to the world. Which was pretty much what it was, he realized. "Comics, not comical," he corrected with a laugh, "Though sometimes they can be funny too. But these specific kinds of comic books are graphic illustrations."

                "Ah. So cartoons."

                "You don't know comics, but you know cartoons?" Alfred exclaimed incredulously. "And no! They're not just cartoons! Some of them aren't suitable for kids! There's killing and blood and tons of graphic content!"

                "Should you really be reading them, then?"

                "This is coming from someone whose favorite fairy tale is an old witch who eats children? I think I get a pass on superheroes saving the day. And don't treat me like a kid who can't read anything gruesome! I'm a bodyguard, for god's sake. I've seen worse than that."

                "So mutilation, gore, and deaths are acceptable to you, but not nudity or anything remotely close to sexual?" Ivan questioned.

                "Of course, those are completely different things. Kids shouldn't know what any of that is—I don't even want to know what that is! At least for the gore, they market it as a bad thing so kids avoid it."

                "I still think it is ridiculous," Ivan countered as he turned back to the reins. 

                "No, it's not! Comics are cool, you just don't get it! It's sad you don't know anything about them—Here, I'll read them to you! But first, it's important to have some context, so let's start with how it all began!" Thus, Alfred began to talk Ivan's ear off about the origin and vast history of comics, overexplaining each one from the very first comic to the very latest, before reading the ones he had brought out loud to him. Ivan wasn't very interested in the plots but listened raptly nonetheless because of Alfred's amusing storytelling. He bellowed every sound effect and enacted every fight scene with vicious hand gestures, even changing his voice for every character. It was very funny, and Ivan found himself laughing more if anything. 

                As night began to fall, Alfred’s eyes began to droop. As he was finishing up the books, he began to yawn more often. He was wrapped in heavy blankets, reclined against soft pillows, feeling warmed to the core, and the soft jostling of the sleigh was slowly rocking him to sleep. As the Aurora Borealis began to take shape in the sky, Alfred could no longer keep them open. He yawned, before letting his head drop on the other's shoulder. Ivan did not flinch this time, as he had been watching Alfred slowly become drowsy. 

                He placed the comic books aside and tucked the blankets into the Omega's body, his own soft smile taking form. Alfred's body weight was comfortably warm against him. He remembered when this had happened in the carriage ride to Siber as well. His golden eyelashes fluttered in his sleep, his glasses were slipping down his nose, and his round, caramel cheeks were flushed from the cold. His full lips were parted to breathe, every soft breath materializing into an icy mist. He looked adorable being cocooned in such fluffy blankets, the soft fur brushing against his tanned skin.

                Ivan resisted the powerful urge to nuzzle him for fear of waking him up. Instead, he turned to smell his golden hair, inhaling that caramel apple scent he had grown to become obsessed with. He felt a little giddy knowing that these blankets, which he usually uses himself, would retain Alfred’s scent after tonight. He would never wash them again.

                Ivan sighed and dropped his head back on the pillows.

                I am becoming even more crazy.

                Alfred frowned as he felt his face being consistently poked.

                “...ka...”

                He groaned and feebly swatted the hands away, rolling onto his other side. His cheek was being squeezed now.

                “...edka...”

                He groaned louder. “What?” He sat up with a grumble, the fur blankets falling off of him. Alfred took off his glasses to rub his eyes and wipe his chin—embarrassingly, he realized he had been drooling in his sleep—then placed them back on.

                “We have arrived,” Ivan announced. Alfred squinted at him groggily, then realized with a jolt that he was no longer in the sleigh, but in the passenger seat of a steampunk vehicle. The large domed windscreen revealed beyond it an enormous lake whose clear waters mirrored the dazzling sky and the snowy mountains. The lake was so tranquil, completely devoid of even the slightest of ripples, that you’d almost mistake it for an actual mirror. Alfred’s eyes widened, the stunning view waking him up fully.

                “Whoa, this place is gorgeous!" he gasped in awe, marveling at the scenery. Ivan nodded in agreement. "Yes, the view is indeed magnificent. However, I have encountered a...slight complication."

                "Complication?" Alfred repeated with a puzzled frown, "And wait, are we already here? Why have we stopped at a lake? Wait, is this the vehicle I fixed the other day?"

                "Yes. And, that is the complication I was referring to," Ivan explained. "I know how to drive this vehicle, but I am at a loss on how to proceed further. The controls are too complex and modern for me to navigate."

                Alfred's eyes fell upon the intricate bronze dashboard, its complicated array of switches, buttons, and gauges resembling a bewildering array of clockwork. He had not had the chance to familiarize himself with the dashboard the other day, as he had been too busy fixing the engine and the corroded exterior. His gaze darted around the controls, familiarizing himself with them, the chaotic arrangement becoming organized in his mind before turning to Ivan. "Let's switch seats."

                After a bit of maneuvering, they exchanged places. Alfred flipped a few switches in quick succession, and the engine roared back to life. Light swirled in the center console before flashing aglow, dispersing into the rest of the interior in sleek neon lines, pulsing softly and quietly whirring. With the center console on, a holographic screen flickered onto the dashboard. Ivan watched, still puzzled, as Alfred swiftly navigated the holographic controls, swiping and pressing as if he had been driving this vehicle his whole life before pressing one more button.

                Ivan flinched as the car jolted with a clunk, causing metallic fins to extend from the sides of the car, bronze plates shifting to form a protective dome underneath the vehicle. Alfred shifted into gear and pressed on the accelerator, surging them toward the lake. Ivan gripped the seat in alarm.

                "Are you sure you know what you are doing?" he tried to ask calmly.

                "Of course, now sit tight." Upon making contact with the water, it glowed a bright blue, rippling around them as they sunk into the dark deepness. Alfred switched on the headlights then pressed a couple more buttons. With a whirr, the wheels of the car retreated into the hidden undercarriage and were replaced with a propeller at the rear.

                Alfred and Ivan found themselves submerged in the serene waters of the lake, surrounded by a myriad of colorful fish swimming gracefully past the windows of the now-submarine car. Ivan's initial alarm had transformed into awe as he stared at the underwater world before his eyes, shimmering with bioluminescence.

                As they delved deeper, they came across schools of neon-colored fish darting in and out of formation, and a graceful stingray glided by, casting a curious glance at the peculiar vehicle making its way through the water. Each and every creature shimmered with a bioluminescent-like glow, the seabed scattered with plants that seemed to glow in the dark. 

                "See, what'd I tell you?" he grinned. "I got this covered— Oops!" he swerved right just as he was about to hit a large rock, "That was close."

                Ivan looked as if he were trying to mold himself into the leather upholstery, gripping onto the seatbelt like a lifeline. He watched as Alfred skillfully navigated the submarine car, controlling its movements with a confidence that surprised him. "How do you know how to operate the vehicle? I sat there for an hour trying to figure it out before deciding to wake you."

                "You may be smarter than me," Alfred admitted, "but I'll always be better than you when it comes to technology! It's my specialty, while you know absolutely nothing about it."

                "Your specialty," Ivan repeated. "Have you always been interested in technology?"

                "Yep! Well, it first started at home. Our appliances back home always broke, so I had to learn to fix them. Sometimes our electricity and water would get cut off too, so I had to invent my own kind of solar panel generator to power the house in case of emergencies, along with another machine to help us fetch water. It was a trial and error thing, and I would use the scraps of metal I found in the..." Alfred paused, catching himself before he could reveal that those scraps were from his assassination guild's base. "...forest, to make it work."

                "Why can you not just buy new appliances and an actual generator?"

                "Can't afford it."

                "...Ah." 

                "Well, anyway," Alfred continued, trying to sound brighter, "Since then, I discovered I had a knack for technology, and I would develop machines for work too."

                "So that is why you stick to the Meka so much," Ivan noted amusedly, "Because they are a technological marvel for someone like you."

                "Exactly!"

                "And here I thought it was to compensate for something."

                "Hey!" Alfred jerked toward him, "What's that supposed to mea—"

                Alfred's rebuke was interrupted by a long, echoing sound that seemed to shake the very lake. Alfred gasped, jolting upright in his seat. "That was a whale sound!"

                "Yes," Ivan tried to peer through the windows but could see nothing other than the radiant seabed. "Where did it come from?"

                Alfred gasped in Ivan’s direction, making the Prince blink. Alfred scrambled across the car, making them sway dangerously side-to-side with rough metallic squeaks. Ivan gripped the seat for dear life as the car nearly rolled over. “Fredka, what are you—”

                He cut himself off with an "Oof!" as Alfred clambered into his space, practically jumping onto his lap and crushing the wind out of him, pointing a finger out the window. “Look!” 

                 A bright, luminous blue light was floating serenely past them, illuminating their vicinity in a beautiful glow. This glow was caused by a massive specimen whose mere fins made the vehicle seem like an ant in comparison. Another whale sound echoed through the area, louder this time, and the car lightly jostled from the animal's enormous fins as it swam past them. 

                "Let's go up!" Without waiting for Ivan's response, Alfred slammed on the pedal and sent them racing towards the surface. The car burst out of the water. The drizzle of the splash hadn't even returned to the water yet when Alfred flicked a switch, and the windscreen slid open, and the rest of the roof followed, shifting backward until it disappeared into the rear of the car, leaving the vehicle to resemble a boat.

                 Alfred leaned over the edge excitedly, dipping his hand into the water. He felt a sense of giddiness rush through him as his fingertips brushed the smooth, rubbery skin of the whale, the glow of his fingertips so bright against the already brilliant blue that it looked almost white.

                 As the whale swam past, Alfred got off of Ivan’s lap to scramble towards the other end of the vehicle, making them sway hazardously again. He watched, bright-eyed and in awe as the whale floated away, carrying the blue glow with it. Alfred leaned over the railing in an effort to keep it in his sights—he could feel Ivan join him, his hands hovering at his back in case he fell or (or jumped off, because it looked like he wanted to)—but it seemed to have dived deeper because the glow began to deteriorate, the area gradually returning to its motionless darkness. It was deathly quiet for a moment.

                 “Is it gone?” Alfred murmured.

                 “I...” Ivan began uncertainly, “...think so?”

                 The silence was broken by the sound of a powerful rush of water. They watched agape as the massive whale breached the surface of the lake, majestic and powerful. It leaped skyward, seemingly defying gravity, as if it were an apparition from another world. Alfred and Ivan watched in awe as the whale twisted and turned in the air, its massive body illuminated by the glowing blue water accompanied with it, looking was if it were surrounded by ribbons of light. The whale’s sleek body glistened with iridescence, its skin reflecting the mesmerizing colors of the Aurora above. The whale slowly twisted and twirled in the air, like a carefully choreographed ballet, seemingly weightless.

                 With a graceful descent, the whale plunged back into the depths, creating a colossal splash of water. But instead of the expected rush and roar, the splash was accompanied by a gentle rain of glowing blue sparkles. The luminous droplets cascaded through the air like a soft sparkling rain, disappearing into the dark depths of the massive lake.

                 Alfred was left speechless, his eyes fixed on the spot where the whale had disappeared.

                 “That...was...” Alfred murmured, “SO AWESOME!” 

                 He swiveled towards the Prince. “Ivan! Ivan! Did you see that? That was so amazing!”

                 Ivan chuckled, “Yes, I saw it. I am right next to you, after all.”

                 In truth, Ivan did not see it. He had seen the whale jump out of the water, but while it had been airborne, his attention shifted to the Omega and never left. How could it, when the Omega's face was glowing with awe and delight, smiling the brightest smile he'd ever seen?

                 Admittedly, he found the whale's presence here a tad curious. Humpback whales belonged in the ocean—and though the lake was very reminiscent of the sea with how vast it was, it was still freshwater, not saltwater, which is what whales need to survive. 

                 And yet, it had survived so far. He had no idea how it got here, which was rather strange. But it was just as strange, he supposed, as taking such delight in Alfred's expressions rather than a rare marine spectacle, so he disregarded it.

                 "I did not know you were so interested in whales." 

                 “I love whales!” Alfred squealed excitedly, “Did you know that some whales can communicate with each other over vast distances using complex songs? And get this; there’s a species of whale called the humpback, and they’re like the rock stars of the ocean! They sing these cool songs that can last for hours, and they’re different every year. And they help maintain the balance of marine ecosystems by controlling the populations of certain species,” Alfred explained, his hands moving animatedly. “And did you know that some whales, like the blue whale, are the largest animals on Earth? They can grow up to a hundred feet in length, surpassing the size of dinosaurs!”

                 “Do they? I was not aware.”

                 “Yeah! They also have impressive longevity—bowhead whales are among the longest-living mammals, with some estimated to live over two-hundred years. Their thick blubber helps protect them from icy waters. Gray whales undertake one of the longest migrations of any mammal. They travel about twelve-thousand miles round the earth to get from their feeding ground to their breeding ground—”

                 Alfred continued on through the rest of the ride, and by the end of it, Ivan had learned more about whales than he had cared to, but he didn't mind. Eventually, they emerged out of the lake. The fins retreated, the dome underneath retracted, and the wheels returned, transitioning back into a regular car with smooth mechanical movements. Alfred parked the car at the shore of the lake, while Ivan marked their location with an X carved into a nearby tree trunk, ensuring they wouldn't lose their way. They walked the vicinity for a while, and Alfred began sniffing the air in an attempt to catch a whiff of their gunpowder smell, but to no avail.

               "What are you doing?"

               "Trying to get a hold of their scent," Alfred answered as if it was obvious.

               "There is tons of snow, and the air is thin, not to mention they are hidden deep in the mountains," Ivan pointed out. "Their scent will not reach all the way out here."

               "Then what do you suppose we—"

               Ivan clapped a hand to his mouth, his body suddenly tense. He stood as still as a statue, only his eyes darting around in alarm. Alfred stiffened at the touch, his initial anger subsiding into concern at Ivan's reaction. "What is it?" he whispered.

               "I sense something. Something that is not supposed to be here."

               "The Rebellion?" 

               "No," Ivan shook his head, releasing Alfred and scanning the area. "Something else." Without another word, Ivan seized Alfred's wrist and pulled him through the snow.

               "Hey, what—!"

               "Shh!" Ivan silenced him, leading them to a more open space.

               They exited the grove of trees and arrived at the center of an empty clearing. The Omega watched in amazement as a soft icy mist began to swirl around the Prince's feet, slowly rising to circle his body, stopping just above his chest. It began to swirl faster and faster, expanding until it resembled a frigid vortex in the snowy clearing. Moments later, it abruptly dissipated, leaving behind only a lingering trail of icy mist that floated gently through the air, twirling through the clearing before disappearing into a different grove.

               Alfred exchanged a puzzled glance with Ivan, who had now opened his eyes, before chasing after it. 

               "What is that?" Alfred asked as he pulled his cloak up to hide his cheeks—the bitter cold was slapping him in the face, but he couldn't afford to stop running. 

               "It is a trail of magic," Ivan replied, "A subtle but unmistakable trail of magic, though it should not be here at all. It is not the magic of a person, however. If it were, I would not have been able to reveal this trail because that spell only works on non-human magic. Objects powered with the orb's energy are infused with a special type of magic different from humans, so it is trackable."

               "Oh, isn't that just the ancient machinery, then?" Alfred questioned, "They're powered by the orb."

               "That is their purpose, yes. But they have not been powered in centuries. They are not turned on, so how could their magic be tracked? It must be different, meaning—"

               "There is someone there who isn't supposed to be, who activated the machinery that belongs to us," Alfred finished.

               "You are becoming smarter every day, it seems."

               "I've always been smart!"

               The two of them followed the trail, trudging through the snow until they arrived at the foot of another mountain.

               "Nothing here," Alfred reported, "But the line stopped here, right? So it should be around somewhere."

               Ivan swept his gaze across the area until he spotted an irregular patch of snow at the foot of the mountain. He approached and began to inspect it. "This is an avalanche path," he said, "Or, more accurately, this snow is not supposed to be here. Something must be hidden behind it."

               "How do we remove it, though? We might cause another avalanche if we shovel it away."

               Ivan swung his hand upwards, creating a square-like structure out of ice within the pile of snow. Then with another swoosh of his hand, a gust of icy wind blew the powdery white away, with the rest of it above the structure staying unperturbed. When the snow fell away, a small cave opening came into view.

               "Smart," Alfred nodded. "Let's go."

              The cave was long and winding,  dark and frigid as the Northern winds whistled through its cracks, sharp icicles adorning every inch of the space. They crept quietly, softening their footsteps, but after a while of walking, Alfred was becoming antsy.

               "Weird, we haven't run into anything yet," he muttered. "Do you think we took a wrong tur—"

               CLANG.

              The echoing sound stopped Alfred mid-sentence, freezing both of them in place. "Did you hear that?" Alfred whispered.

               "No, I am standing like this just because I want to."

               Alfred shoved him, though it was very ineffective. "Do you ever go one day without being sarcastic?"

              Another clang reverberated through the cave, prompting Alfred to turn toward a smaller opening. "I think it came from over there," he declared, breaking into a jog. Ivan ran after him, catching up with his pace quickly. "Do not do that," he scolded, "We must stay together, lest one of us gets caught or reveals our presence here."

               "Relax, it'll be fine," Alfred waved off his concern and ran ahead. Ivan resisted the urge to yank him back and just quickened his pace to catch up. They followed the clanging noise, each one growing louder and more frequent as they neared the source. They kept their weapons at the ready, poised to attack as they rounded a corner—

             —that was a dead end.

             "What?" Alfred yelped, "This can't be!" He pressed his ear to the cold rock and strained his ear. He could hear the muffled clanging behind it. "I can hear it, it's here. But this thing is in the way."

             "Let's find a different entrance then—"

             Before Ivan could finish his words, Alfred punched his fist into the rock. The stone crumbled beneath his blow, exploding into tiny pieces of debris with a loud crack.

             "Fredka!" Ivan hissed, "You cannot just do that, how many times must I tell you this? You are an experienced bodyguard, surely you know the importance of keeping a low profile?"

             "How else were we supposed to do it?" Alfred stepped over the chunk of rocks, "And nothing bad happened anyway. Calm down, will you?"

             Ivan didn't respond. Alfred turned back to him, confused at his lack of reaction. "Ivan? What's the matter?"

             Ivan placed a hand on his head and turned him around. Alfred's mouth fell open, his eyes widening to unbelievable proportions as he took in the sight. The cavern before them was the trappings of a makeshift military base, with crates of weaponry stacked in piles, steel platforms, and oil barrels, and above them was a ceiling of ice keeping the icy waters of the lake at bay.

             But that wasn't what held their attention. Down below were a hidden cache, rows and rows of steampunk technology coated in dust and corroded with time. Marching along them were figures dressed in black, who held militia-grade weapons at the ready, the cores of their weaponry shining with foreboding blue hue. 

Chapter Text

                "No. Just wanted to be next to you."

                "That's surprising," Alfred laughed, "Not sick of me yet?"

                Ivan chuckled, "I do not think I am capable of feeling that way. I am more surprised that you have not grown tired of me."

                "I'm tempted sometimes," Alfred crossed his arms, turning his nose upward, "But I guess I'm not capable of that either."

                "You are too kind-hearted to be."

                Alfred spun around, "You think I'm kind-hearted?"

                "Are you not?" Ivan raised an eyebrow. He couldn't help but smile in amusement as Alfred preened under the praise.

                "What a response," Ivan ruffled his hair, "Do you enjoy receiving compliments that much?"

                "Of course, who wouldn't?"

                "Do you not get enough of them in Krasny?"

                "There were plenty about my appearance, but they were either disgusting or insincere," Alfred shrugged, "Aside from that, people only ever insulted me."

                Ivan's smile faltered for a moment, a spark of anger flaring within him. "I see..."

                Wanting to fix the tense atmosphere he created, he felt compelled to add. "But hey, you'd think that would do more damage than anger management and self-esteem issues, amirite?" he laughed, elbowing him playfully.

                His joke didn't seem to resonate with Ivan because his face stayed sober. He suddenly stopped, blocking Alfred's path, and reached up to cup his warm cheek. "They do not know what they are talking about," he spoke softly. Alfred gulped as Ivan's thumb began to stroke his cheekbone.

                There was something in Ivan's eyes that Alfred hadn't noticed before. He couldn't put a name to it, as it was unfamiliar to him. But whatever it was, it was intense. It was powerful. Ivan looked at Alfred as if he were the center of everything good and pure.

                Despite the ferocity of his gaze, Ivan's voice was lethally soft, as if Alfred would shatter if he spoke above a whisper. "Does it bother you? I can destroy that village if you wish," his voice was haunting, and the meaning of his words moreso, "They will never utter another word about you..."

                He felt rooted to the spot, unable to break such haunting eye contact. Sometimes he forgot that Ivan was the Prince—the Prince who was infamous for being dangerous and cruel. Over the months, Alfred had concluded that that reputation was false, but sometimes, Ivan did things like this that made him reconsider the rumors.

                Snapping to his senses, he stepped back. He saw the other's hand twitch as if wanting to reach out to him again. Alfred cleared his throat. "Uh-oh, look at the time!" he declared loudly, holding up his non-existent watch, "We should head back, now!" He rushed past Ivan, trying his best not to sound shaky. Such intensity should be illegal, he decided.

                Ivan did not react beyond simply turning to follow him. When Alfred spared a secretive glance, his expression was unreadable. He was smiling—but he was always smiling, so that wasn't unusual.

                Alfred began to contemplate how to return the atmosphere to normal, not wanting them to dip into an awkward silence, when he suddenly tripped on a tree root. He stumbled forward with a yelp, but couldn't regain his footing due to the icy ground. Thus, he began rolling down the mountain. 

                Ivan felt a surge of panic at witnessing it. "Fredka!" he chased after him, praying to God that he didn't crash into any sharp rocks, because there was no way they could make it back to the Palace in time if he started losing blood. While Alfred did not crash into rocks, he did crash into trees, the impact altering his direction each time. Alfred tumbled off the main path and into the forest, his fluctuating yells echoing through the mountain and making it easy for Ivan to locate him. Alfred collided with one last tree, whose trunk was so wide that it did not change his direction. Rather, it stopped him. Woozy, Alfred swayed to his feet with a groan. He hurriedly took off his glasses to inspect them. He sighed in relief—no cracks. Satisfied, he placed them back on just as Ivan was running into the area.

                "Fredka!" he exclaimed, rushing over to him. He immediately began to inspect Alfred's body, plucking at his arms to make sure they were still functional, "Are you okay? Are you injured? Does it hurt anywhere?"

                Alfred held up his hands in a placating manner. "I'm okay. No harm done at all. Even my glasses are okay, see?" he tapped the frames.

                Ivan heaved a sigh, "You must be more careful. Your clumsiness could be the death of you."

                Alfred made a sound akin to pshh. "It takes more than that to kill me! I have such high pain tolerance even a stab wound to the stomach wouldn't kill me."

                "Do not jinx it," Ivan warned with a glare. 

                "Oh, calm down, you big bear of an Alpha," Alfred patted his arm, "I'm fine. More importantly, do you smell that?"

                "Smell what?"

                "Aren't you supposed to have a sharper nose than me? Being an Alpha and all?"

                "Sorry I was not sniffing the vicinity," Ivan responded sarcastically, "I was a little preoccupied chasing after your tumbling body."

                Alfred huffed. "It smells like steam," he explained, "Evaporated steam. The air feels humid here." 

                Ivan's brows furrowed at this information. He turned around and began to follow the scent like a well-trained dog, creeping through the dense woods as Alfred followed him. After a few minutes of weaving through trees and trudging through the snow, Ivan pushed aside a line of thin trees, revealing a hidden treasure. 

                "A hot spring," Ivan blinked, his eyes widening in surprise. Bordered by smooth, gray stones, the hot spring emitted a gentle wisp of steam that twirled and vanished into the winter sky. Unlike the rest of the mountain, the ground surrounding the oasis was bare of snow. Approaching the water, he dipped his finger into it, finding it invitingly warm. 

                "The water is hot. It seems unaffected by the winter chill. I suppose a soak would be a nice respite for us—we have been in the cold for hours now. What do you think, Fredka?" he turned to Alfred, expecting him to share in his excitement. However, to his surprise, the blonde appeared tense, his posture closed off.

                "I'm thinking I'd rather die than strip in this cold," Alfred ground out.

                Ivan was unbothered by his irritable response. "I see. Well, it is entirely up to you," he responded, "You can choose to stay cold and miserable or seek a brief refuge in the hot water. The decision is yours."

                "Damn right, it is," Alfred declared. The thought of undressing in the frigid air was unbearable to him.

                "Suits yourself," Ivan shrugged, "But I will definitely be taking this opportunity, as I have never had the chance to experience a hot spring before. So, you can just stand there in the snow and keep watch, okay?" Ivan smiled his infuriating shut-eye smile, knowing full well how his words would irk his companion.

                Alfred watched with a grimace as Ivan nonchalantly began to shed his layers of clothing. The coats fell away until only his tank top and pants were left. The clothing did a terrible job of hiding Ivan's well-defined physique, every muscle exhibiting raw, powerful strength. Realizing that he shouldn't be staring, he whipped around sharply, horrified at almost ogling Ivan. 

                Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Alfred shifted his mind away from Ivan. He focused on the surrounding snow-covered landscape, trying to calm the racing beat in his chest. The sound of a splash interrupted his inner turmoil, and he couldn't help but turn his head to steal a glance in Ivan's direction.

                There, in the shimmering water, Ivan leaned back, his bare body glistening with droplets of water. Swallowing hard, Alfred began to reconsider his previous decision. The allure of the hot spring and the warmth it offered was too enticing to resist. Ivan seemed to be enjoying it, and who was Alfred to deny himself such a simple pleasure? With a mix of trepidation and anticipation, Alfred made his way toward the edge of the hot spring, his resolve faltering with each step.

                As he cautiously dipped his toe into the water, testing its temperature, Ivan turned to smirk at him, "Have you reconsidered?"

                "Shut up! I'm only doing it 'cause I'm cold," Alfred grumbled as he stepped back. He took off his cloak and placed it on Ivan's clothing pile. He instantly regretted losing that layer but told himself the warmth of the water would make up for it. He reached behind him to pull down the zipper of his uniform, arching his back to do so. As the zipper slowly made its way down, exposing the bare skin beneath it, Ivan unintentionally leaned forward. His eyes watched hungrily as Alfred began to strip right in front of him, watched as the sleeves slid off his shoulder, revealing a lean, golden torso. His large chest slimmed down to his waist then widened into his hips, making for a muscular yet hourglass figure. Alfred then lifted his uniform, revealing a pair of black stockings. Ivan felt his mouth dry at the bare thighs spilling out at the top. He leaned forward to catch every detail of Alfred peeling his stockings off. He gulped when the flesh jiggled after being released from their black confines.

                Ivan suddenly whipped his head around. His heart was beating so fast, pumping blood through his body like a raging river. He had to look away before the blood went south because that would be hard to explain. 

                He can't believe he ever called Alfred fat. That was certainly not fat. 

                He was startled when the sound of splashing water appeared a few feet away from him. To his disappointment, Alfred had already sunk up to his chest by the time Ivan had looked up.  

                Alfred exhaled in contentment as he sunk into the water completely, enveloping himself in the satisfying warmth. It felt like being wrapped in a thick blanket in a cold room. "You're right, this feels so nice," he sighed blissfully.

                "I am always right."

                Alfred splashed the water at him with a glare, but Ivan was unfazed. "You know, I am surprised you did not make a fuss about shedding your clothes in front of me," he said.

                Alfred frowned at him, seeming to not understand his words. Then it hit him. His face flushed. "You saw that!?"

                "Well, you were doing it right in front of me."

                "No, I wasn't! You were facing the other way—you easily could have kept your gaze forward and not looked back at me like some kind of creep!"

                "Ah, but I couldn't resist~" Ivan teased. Alfred splashed him with water again, making Ivan laugh.

                "Just kidding. I assumed you were okay with it since you did not make a fuss. Normally, you would hide behind something and yell at me not to look," Ivan explained.

                "I was more focused on how cold it was," Alfred crossed his arms with a huff. 

                "Understood, my apologies. I will ask next time and not assume. Though I must say, I'm surprised at how...fit you are," Ivan chose his words carefully after being called a creep.

                Alfred smirked. "Impressed? I do have a good physique—when I'm active, that is. If I'm idle for too long, I gain weight quickly. You're pretty fit yourself for a Prince, too. I've been thinking that for a while now."

                Ivan raised a brow. "But you have only seen me shirtless today," he pointed out.

                "No, I saw it before."

                Ivan blinked, taken aback. "What? You saw...what?"

                "When you got drunk that night of the Bratva conference, I had to change your clothes," Alfred shrugged, "It was an unpleasant experience, to say the least."

                What looked like panic flashed in Ivan's eyes for a second. "You saw me naked?"

                "What? No!" Alfred floundered, "Just shirtless! Not naked, Ivan, gods!"

                Ivan visibly relaxed, nodding in acknowledgment. "Ahh, I see. I am rather muscular, yes?" he grinned.

                "That much is obvious, at least," Alfred huffed, "You're gigantic and have a sharp jawline, it would be impossible for you to be that big with fat alone. Not to mention that you have such a strict diet and eat such boring foods, I'd be more surprised if you were fat."

               "Yes, well, Princes need to be able to fight in battle. I would not exactly be the perfect heir if I were unable to do that due to being physically unfit, would I?"

                "You have a point, I guess," Alfred sighed. There was a moment's pause before he asked, "Hey, are you scared of anything? Like how I'm scared of ghosts."

                "No."

                "No fears? Insecurities?"

                "None."

                "That's impossible."

                Ivan sighed. "If you are really that interested, there is indeed something I worry about. Though it is not like a fear of ghosts or the dark."

                Alfred perked up. "What is it?"

               "I used to hate being the Prince," Ivan began. "I thought it was the worst fate imaginable to have been born in my family and have to shoulder the responsibility that came with it. Most of all, I feared my fate. I was scared that once I became King, I would become like my father, and my grandfather, and all the Kings before me. They had all derailed into cruelty, and I was terrified that I would be next. The one thing I fear most is that I would turn out to be like them. That is why even though it was very painful, I endured the experiments done on me. Those experiments were used to 'fix me', in a way. They were conducting research to see if there was any way for them to remove the insanity from the Braginsky bloodline for good. I did not want to be unstable anymore, so I endured the experiments no matter how painful because I was hopeful that it would fix me. But it did not—in fact, it had worsened it. Now I am terrified that I will derail even faster than they did. I hated being Prince so much, I was so terrified and lost, that after the death of my sisters, I ran away."

                "You ran away?" Alfred repeated, thinking it sounded awfully familiar. "Then...why did you come back?"

                "I did not. I was forced to come back. But even after having my memories of my time outside the Palace forcefully erased, I remembered some things that drove me to work hard at being a good King."

                "What is it?"

                Ivan let out a long exhale. Alfred didn't know whether it counted as a sigh.

                "My sister."

                Alfred blinked, waiting for elaboration. Seriously, Ivan needed to stop being vague all the time.

                Ivan chuckled at his reaction, but the amusement quickly faded with his words. "She told me that she was excited for the day I become King. She said I was the catalyst for change in the Braginsky bloodline—the first good King. The first monarch in the royal family whose existence wouldn't be wiped from the records. I would be a step above my deranged ancestors. A monarch who is just and fair, who nurtures his people. She was excited about it because she believed that when I was crowned, I could change her and Natalya's lives. I could make life better for us—for everyone. But that bright-eyed dream died when she did."

                Ivan looked up. The forest was thick, but the leaves did not extend to the hotspring, giving them a clear view of the Aurora Borealis. He couldn't count the number of times his sister had sung lullabies to him under this very sky.

                "I never believed her. I saw what my father was like and had resigned to knowing that I would turn out the same. After her and Natalya's deaths, I became a hollow shell. No matter what my father did to me, I could not hear or feel anything. It was no exaggeration to say that I felt as if I were dead. There were times when I wondered if I had died alongside them, and that the Gods were torturing me by keeping me as a ghost. Fortunately, an incident happened that altered me into a better state. I remembered my sister's words, along with another's. I do not know who they are, but what they said has always stuck with me."

                "Out of everyone, Kings are the very symbol of selflessness. They sacrifice their whole lives just to ensure the well-being of their people. They’re using their lives to make the lives of others as good as possible. Kings are strong and take care of their people, just like heroes. And good heroes, and good kings," Ivan smiled gently at his reflection in the water, "Do whatever it takes to protect those they care for. So, when you become King, you can be our real-life hero."

                Ivan turned to smile at Alfred. "So, I decided to work hard at becoming King. I will fulfill my sister's dream and give my people the life she couldn't have, because that's what a good King does. I vowed to myself that I would never become like my father, and when my reign arrives, I will work even harder to honor my sisters. Even if no one appreciates it, I know that they would, and that is enough for me."

                Ivan looked down again with a sigh, "At least, that is what I try to tell myself. There are many occasions where I wonder if sacrificing my life for the sake of a dead person's wish is truly worth it. Of course, it is still a responsibility of mine, being born into the royal family. But sometimes I find myself wanting to slack off, my mind wandering during the meetings, my movements becoming sluggish in training."

                "Maybe you're tired?" Alfred suggested, "Keeping such a strong facade for so long is bound to exhaust you. It's not bad to want rest."

                "It is not simply rest that I want. A nap during the day. Those are not nearly enough to make up for the years I have lost. What I want more than anything is to not be alone."

                Alfred went still. Ivan sighed.

                "I remember that you told me you did not want to go back to your village, for fear of spending the rest of your life slaving away all by yourself. Well, that is my own fear too. Even if I do become a good King, I know that I will not enjoy it. It will be so lonely, and the added responsibility of having to be married and produce heirs worsens it. I just want to be with someone. Someone I like. Even if it is just as a friend. I do not want to be alone," Ivan murmured. "I have been alone for far too long."

                He then turned to smile at Alfred. "But thankfully, you are here now."

                "Me?" 

                "Is there anyone else here?"

                Alfred splashed him, eliciting a laugh from the Prince. The Omega relaxed, as the heavy atmosphere seemed to have lifted a bit. "Yes, you. With you here, I am not alone anymore. After all, it is not like you will leave, yes?"

                "...Yeah," Alfred faltered, "I'm not leaving."

                Ivan's own smile widened."Good. If you did leave, I do not think I could bear it," Ivan swam towards him, his big, powerful body slicing through the warm water with surprising grace. "I am only happy when I am with you. You are the only one who makes me feel this way."

                Alfred prayed his heartbeat wasn't audible as Ivan's naked body loomed closer. "...Feel what, exactly?"

                Ivan paused a foot away from him. He seemed to be studying Alfred's face, analyzing it with those violet eyes. Those eyes that, no matter if they were soft or cold, were always intense. It made Alfred gulp, but not out of fear. Rather, the eye contact was so long that he had to swallow the saliva that had built up in his mouth. After a while, Ivan looked away to laugh.

                "Ah, you are too naive to understand just yet," he shook his head fondly, "I am afraid your mind might shatter if anything other than superheroes and hamburgers were to enter it."

                "Hey!" Alfred splashed him with water, more harshly this time. "That makes me sound as if I'm stupid!"

                "You are not. You are smart, of course, when it comes to battle IQ, academic knowledge, and random trivia. But in social settings? Emotionally? You are quite dumb. We all have our weaknesses. I am technologically illiterate, for example."

                The blonde pouted, "How do you know for sure that I wouldn't understand? You know, you said that earlier too."

                "Yes, and I stand by it. As I said, I would rather you figured it out yourself."

                Alfred frowned, "Figure out what?"

                "See, that is what I mean," Ivan turned his nose up, almost haughtily. 

                "Figure out what?" Alfred exclaimed, "What did I say?"

                "Do not worry about it," he assured, patting his head, "You will understand eventually."

                Alfred huffed, pushing away the hand. "Stop treating me like a little kid!"

                "Aw, but you are too adorable not to," Ivan giggled. Alfred rolled his eyes, shoving Ivan away by the chest, trying to ignore the way it jiggled under his touch.

                Ivan merely laughed. "Ah, I believe we should go now," he announced, standing up, "It is a few hours of sleigh-riding back to the Palace. If we want to get to our beds before three in the morning, we best leave now."

                He waved his hand, the magical blue smoke summoning fluffy white towels for them to dry off with. He wiped his body clean of any droplets and rubbed the excess water out of his hair. He quickly dressed into his clothes, then turned around, "Are you ready—"

                He stopped mid-sentence. He had expected Alfred to have risen from the water at the same time as him and be done with dressing already. But to his surprise, he was still in the water. Staring at him.

                Ivan raised a brow. "I understand if you want to bathe longer, but we have to go back now."

                "I can't."

                The Prince blinked, "What?"

                Alfred's posture was exceptionally tense. "I said," his voice sounded strained, "I can't."

                "Fredka, your fingers are starting to look like raisins—"

                "It's cold, okay!" Alfred snapped, "If I stand up, the temperature difference will slap me in the face. And everywhere else in my body! I can't stand up now!"

                "Ohh," Ivan nodded in understanding, "I see. Hmm," he looked around, then picked up the other towel. He held it up as he approached the water, "Come here." 

                Alfred looked scandalized, "You're going to carry me out of the water with that towel? But I'm naked!"

                "It is either that or you freeze."

                "What great options," Alfred huffed as he made his way to the edge of the hotspring, "Okay, I'm here."

                "Stand up, and I will lift you out of the water in the towel. You will only feel the cold for a second," Ivan assured him. 

                Alfred was hesitant. "Won't it be colder that way?"

                "Do you have a better idea?"

                Alfred pouted. "Fine." He took a moment to hype himself up before springing upwards, the water splashing around him. True to his word, he only felt the cold for half a second before Ivan's strong arms quickly scooped him out of the water. He was quickly placed down, his feet reacquainting with the grass. Alfred sighed contentedly at the warmth the towel provided him, pulling it tighter around him for a second. Ivan expected him to start wiping off the droplets already, but to his surprise, Alfred just turned to look back at him, glaring.

                What did I do? Ivan asked himself. He blinked at the Omega, puzzled, until it clicked and his lips stretched into a smirk. "Ah, I almost forgot you are a prude," he hummed, "Alright, I will turn around."

                When he turned, he heard the shuffling of the towel, indicating that Alfred was wiping himself off now. Ivan's smile widened—his prudishness was so cute. Some would expect him to be shameless and uncaring about whether he showed any skin due to his extroverted nature, but he was surprisingly shy. It was just another one of his bizarrely contradictory traits, Ivan supposed. 

                "What the—!" 

                Ivan whirled around at the screech. "Fredka? What is wrong?" he asked, alarmed. Alfred was dressed in his clothes again, but he was barefoot, the towel bunched up in his arms. The blonde whipped around, looking distressed, "My shoes! They're gone!"

                Ivan nearly didn't process what he said. When he did, he let out a large sigh, pressing a hand to his chest. "I thought it was something serious. Do not yell like that next time."

                "What are you talking about? This is serious! Do you think I can walk barefoot in the snow?!" 

                "Ah," Ivan said, "I forgot about that."

                Alfred huffed. "You know, you have some nerve to tell me that I'm socially stupid when you lack common sense too. Sometimes I think you're the reincarnation of a wise old sage from the medieval ages, and other times I think you have the comprehension skills of a five-year-old."

                "That makes two of us," Ivan arched a cold brow. Alfred ignored him in favor of searching the area (that wasn't covered in snow). After he circled the hotspring three times, he began to turn the rocks and slabs of stones over. Ivan spoke up, "I do not think your boots can fit under a rock. That kind of searching is useless."

                "Then where could it have gone?" Alfred cried, throwing his hands up, "They couldn't have just grown legs and decided to run away!"

                "Do not fret, at least you have your stockings. So you are not completely barefoot."

                "Oh, right!" Alfred perked up, "I forgot about my stockings! That's a good idea!" He ran over to the rock that his stockings were on. The rock was situated atop the stones that bordered the hotspring. In his excitement, he accidentally pushed the rock into the water. 

                Alfred and Ivan froze. They stayed still for a long second before Ivan involuntarily snorted. Alfred whipped around to see him stifling his laughter into his scarf, and doing a rather bad job of it. "Stop laughing! It's not funny, now I have no other options!" he plucked up the wet stockings, cringing as copious amounts of water poured out of them, "Ugh, how are we going to go back now?"

                "I have an idea. But you will not like it."

                "Spill it. Anything is better than walking barefoot in the snow."

                "You alright, Fredka?" Ivan smirked down at him. The Omega was curled up in Ivan's arms as the other carried him bridal-style down the mountain, his wet stockings buried in the fluffy towels that he hugged in his arms.

                "You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Alfred accused, glaring.

                "Very much so," Ivan hummed.

                "Aren't I heavy?"

                "Perhaps to weaklings, you are. But I have no problem carrying you."

                "You're just bursting with confidence, aren't you?" Alfred remarked sarcastically, huffing as he turned to look up at the sky. Like always, the sky was crystal clear, sprinkled with bright dots and transient lights.

                "The sky is really clear in this part of Spades,” Alfred remarked conversationally once Ivan was seated, “It’s even clearer than Krasny. When we were in Siber, the stars weren’t as visible, though.”

                “That is due to pollution. The more urbanization in an area, the less clear the sky is. This part of the North’s only inhabitants is the Winter Palace, while Krasny is filled with towns and villages. That is why the sky is so clear here.”

                "Yeah, you can even see the Zodiac Constellations! That one is the tenth constellation, the goat Capricorn.”

                Ivan smirked, thinking up another way to annoy Alfred, “You mean Kozerog.”

                “What? No, I mean Capricorn.”

                “It is Kozerog in Russian.”

                “Well, we’re not speaking in Russian, are we? It’s Capricorn!” Alfred huffed, “And next to it is Aquarius. You’d think Aquarius is a water sign, but it’s actually an air sign—”

                “Vodoley,” Ivan nodded.

                “Wha— No, it’s Aquarius. Aquarius.”

                “Vodoley. And the other one next to Kozerog is Ryby.”

                “No, it’s Pisces! Not whatever the fuck that is.”

                “Pronounce it. Pronounce Ryby.”

                “You know I can’t roll my Rs!” Alfred crossed his arms indignantly, “and I have no idea how you managed to pronounce B like that.”

                “I agree. It is a skill,” Ivan hummed with a nod. 

                “I didn’t say that! There’s nothing to agree with!”

                “Argh!” Alfred threw his hands up as Ivan laughed, “Ugh, fine, call it whatever you want. Let’s just agree those aren’t the official names! They’re just translated into Russian.”

                “Ah, but Spadians were the ones to discover and name these constellations, and Spadians speak Russian.”

                “But they named it in English.”

                “Did they, though?” Ivan hummed mockingly.

                Alfred growled in frustration, and Ivan laughed. He reached up to pet Alfred’s hair in consolation. “I am merely messing with you, Fredka.”

                Alfred pouted as the hand carded through his golden locks, “I knew that.”

                “Then why so upset?”

                “Isn’t that the reaction you wanted? I think you would be rather disappointed if I had reacted in any other way.”

                “So you let yourself get riled up just to not disappoint me? How sweet~”

                Alfred pushed his hand off with a huff, “Don’t interpret it into something more or anything. Just trying to keep you from killing me, that’s all.”

                Ivan let out an exaggerated gasp. "I would never kill you. I feel so attacked right now."

                Alfred shoved him away by the forehead, "Oh, shut up. Let's not act as if you wouldn't have given anything to see me in my grave a few months ago."

                "Ah, but that was a few months ago. I feel differently now. We are friends, after all. I would never let you die," Ivan chuckled, a hint of seriousness underneath, "Even if you did, I would give you the kiss of life~"

                "Eugh," Alfred made a show of shuddering, "I'd rather you just let me die."

                Ivan laughed, and they fell into comfortable silence after that—too comfortable. Alfred was beginning to feel sleepy, and Ivan's large chest was looking like a good pillow right now, the Prince's multiple layers of clothes making him feel warm. With the strong arms encircled around him, ensuring his safety, Alfred felt like it was a good time to sleep. But he didn't want to give Ivan the illusion of intimacy, so he tried to fight the drowsiness.

                He was doing a terrible job at it. But fortunately, he had a savior. As his eyelids began to droop, his ears picked up on something—Omega ears were sharper than Alpha ears—It was the rustling of leaves, which was strange because there was no wind. The rustles became quicker and more frequent, alarming Alfred.

                Ivan was startled when Alfred suddenly perked up in his arms. He had thought that the other was asleep due to how motionless he was, but it seemed that he was wrong. 

                "Do you hear that?" Alfred demanded, looking around wildly. 

                Ivan raised a brow, "Hear what?"

                The leaves rustled again.

                "That!" Alfred exclaimed. Ivan frowned, "Just saying That does not explain anything."

                The leaves rustled once more, louder this time, indicating that it was closer. Alfred felt a tendril of fear clutch at his chest—he could sense a presence, but it wasn't human. Alfred shuddered violently at the thought, and he instantly began to flounder, dropping the towels.

                "Wha— Fredka—" 

                "It's closer!" he pulled and tugged on Ivan's head as he clambered onto his shoulders, oblivious to the sharp drop in temperature emanating from Ivan, "Can't you feel it? It's not human! What if it's a ghost? Oh, I hate ghosts!"

                "What does a ghost being around have to do with you climbing onto my shoulders?" Ivan questioned, pushing away the hand that was blindly grabbing at his face. "Ghosts are not real, Fredka."

                "You don't know that!" Alfred screeched, practically choking Ivan as he held on tightly to his neck, his legs wrapped around the other's middle. His weight was forcing Ivan to arch backward. "What if this ghost can't float and can only walk? If I climb onto you as high as possible, they won't be able to reach me!"

                "My ears, Fredka," Ivan sang coldly, "If you yell, that will just attract them further—"

                "I thought you said they weren't real!"

                "And you said that I did not know if they were or not—"

                "But—"

                Alfred stopped with a gasp as a neighboring bush began to shake, its leaves rustling all over the place. Alfred's limbs tightened their hold on Ivan, choking him further. He ducked behind Ivan's shoulder, only his eyes and worried eyebrows visible now as they watched the shrub.

                The bush stopped shaking when a creature jumped out from it. A fat, fluffy creature with beige and dark-brown fur, with the black markings around its blue eyes resembling spectacles. Alfred and Ivan froze as they stared at the animal, watching its tail swish side-to-side. However, Alfred's thoughts of ghosts were long gone once he saw what the creature held in its mouth.

                "My boots!" he yelled, pointing at the cat accusingly as he practically pounced onto Ivan's shoulders, his other hand grabbing onto the Alpha's face again. The cat was startled by his shout and scrambled away. 

                "Hey! Come back here!" Alfred jumped off of Ivan and began to chase the furry animal. Ivan quickly forgot his annoyance as it was instantly replaced with panic. "Fredka, stop!" he called out, "You are barefoot!"

                He bolted after Alfred, his heavy footsteps shaking the snow off the surrounding trees. Alfred paid no mind to this, continuing to chase the creature who had stolen his shoes. The snow-covered ground sent icy shivers up his spine, but with each step, the determination to catch the feline grew stronger. "Come back here, you little thief!" he swiped at the cat, "Give me back my shoes!"

                As Alfred ran through the snowy wilderness, the cat darted through the trees, leading him on a wild chase. The more Alfred chased, the deeper he ventured into the winter landscape, barely conscious of how his bare feet grew colder and colder. He barely heard Ivan's calls either as the cold slapped his face. With each passing minute, Alfred's feet felt an intense numbness, but he remained undeterred, determined to catch that pesky cat. As the chase continued, the frostbite began to take its toll. Alfred winced with every step, now hobbling rather than running. Defeated, he plopped onto a large tree root, his expression twisted in pain. Sensing something was wrong, the cat stopped to look back and saw Alfred, and saw that his chaser's feet were a concerning shade of blue.

                Realizing the extent of Alfred's predicament, the cat scampered over to his side, dropping the boots next to the root. The mischievous feline meowed sympathetically, silently admitting his guilt for the whole ordeal. Alfred, unable to speak due to the numbing cold, extended a hand toward the cat as if accepting the cat's apology. The cat nuzzled his face against the warm hand, rubbing the rest of his body against it before spinning around to lick it in apology. Alfred, despite the pain he was experiencing, smiled at the display and lifted the fluffy cat into his lap. 

                At that moment, Ivan rushed into the area. He saw Alfred sitting on a tree root, his feet elevated and a pained smile etched on his face as he petted the feline. Worry seized at Ivan, furrowing his brows as he rushed to Alfred's side. "What happened? Are you hurt?" Ivan's alarmed questions were laced with concern as he took in the sight of his companion.

                Alfred attempted a reassuring smile, but it faltered under the strain of pain. "I'm okay, Ivan, just got a little cold. That cat led me on a wild chase, but I'm fine."

                "You are not fine," Ivan's worry gave way to a stern tone. "This is frostbite, Fredka. What were you thinking? We need to get you warm!"

                Quickly, Ivan hoisted Alfred into his arms, cradling him against his chest. "We are going back to the car. I can not believe you would be so reckless," Ivan scolded in a mix of concern and frustration. As Ivan carried Alfred through the moonlit forest, Alfred's attempts to lighten the mood with a smile were met with a deepening worry on Ivan's face. He knew better than anyone how cruel winter could be, especially to those sensitive to the cold, such as Alfred.

                Meanwhile, Alfred's lips were pursed as he was curled up in Ivan's protective embrace. As he rested his head on Ivan's shoulder, his face buried into the soft wool scarf, he could feel the anxious heartbeat pounding beneath the skin. Guilt began to claw at his chest. Ivan had been patient with him throughout the night, not snapping at him even once. When he did get annoyed, he didn't let it show, and how did the blonde repay him? By nearly ending their lives in the cave and getting frostbite. Great.

                Alfred hugged the beige cat—which had refused to let go of him—tighter as the car came into view. With one hand, he practically ripped the door open and hurriedly pulled out the comforters and blankets. Still cradled in Ivan's other arm, Alfred watched as he arranged the comforters into a soft nest. His movements were angry, indicating that he was stressed and trying to be quick.

                As Ivan restarted the car, Alfred no longer felt the excitement of watching the glow of the water. 

                Without wasting a moment, Ivan fetched a basin filled with warm water, a hint of steam rising from its surface. He knelt in front of Alfred, eyes unwaveringly focused on the task at hand. With gentle precision and deliberate care, he began to immerse Alfred's frostbitten feet in the soothing warmth, before gently massaging the numb feet, his touch a contrast to the biting cold they had endured. The rhythmic motions were both therapeutic and purposeful, aimed at coaxing life back into the frozen limbs.

                "Nonsense. I cannot stand idly by when you are in pain. It is my duty as Prince to care for those under my protection."

                "I'm sorry for ruining the trip."

                "You did not ruin it."

                "I'm sorry for annoying you."

                "You did not annoy me."

                "That's impossible. I was being a hassle the whole time."

                "You were not. I enjoyed it."

                Alfred pouted, "You spoil me too much."

                "Quite the contrary, I have not spoiled you enough," Ivan responded, "If I did, you would not have gotten this frostbite in the first place."

                "Don't blame yourself. I'm the one that ran off."

                "No, you were my responsibility, and I was careless."

                Alfred frowned. If this is what he was like before, he owed his brother a huge apology. "No, you're my responsibility. I'm your bodyguard. I should be the one looking out for you, not the other way around."

                "But you are not my bodyguard today. Today, you are just Alfred."

                "And you are just Ivan. Taking care of me as your Princely duty shouldn't count," Alfred threw his words back at him. Ivan fell silent. His jaw flexed, indicating Alfred had won.

                He looked back down at his task at hand. He rubbed his thumb over Alfred's foot, which was starting to regain its color. "But I like taking care of you," Ivan confessed quietly.

                Alfred felt like his heart had popped out of his chest at these words with the way his heartstrings had tugged so strongly. He clenched his fists, twisting the blanket under him into tight folds. Against his will, his cheeks flushed even redder and the butterflies in his stomach aggravated.

                What is this weird feeling...

                The room was filled with a quiet ambiance, broken only by the crackling of the fireplace and the occasional exchange of words. Eventually, Ivan put away the basin and reemerged from the bathroom with a towel. He began to wipe the Omega's feet dry, still being careful even though Alfred said it didn't hurt anymore. The blonde couldn't explain it, but this moment felt so intimate. His bare feet were being touched with bare hands. Very gentle and chaste hands. The scars on his skin whispered of cruelty, but his touch practiced kindness.

                Yes, that was Ivan in his entirety.

                Alfred felt words begin to bubble up in his throat, threatening to burst out a vomit of scrambled speech. His body felt the powerful urge, the inexplicable need to fling his arms around this Alpha and hug him. Just to get it out of his system. Just to thank him in at least some way.

                However, Alfred stayed still. His lips stayed sealed, and his hands stayed clenched. By the time he felt as if he couldn't control himself anymore, Ivan had already walked away to return the rag. 

                As he awaited Ivan's return, he felt himself become drowsy. Ivan's massage had relaxed him to no return. The soft crackle of the fireplace, the softness of the bed, and the absolute warmth that flowed through his veins made him feel incredibly sleepy. Before he knew it, his vision was swimming, and suddenly, he was lying on his back, and his eyelids were slipping closed.

                Soon after, Ivan emerged from the bathroom, wiping his hands dry. "Your feet seem healed now, Fredka. If you want to go back to your room—" 

                The Prince paused. There, on the edge of his bed, lay Alfred, who was fast asleep. His feet dangled over the edge of the bed as he had been previously sitting down. The sight softened the fatigue in Ivan's eyes. Mindful of Alfred's well-being, he approached with a quiet step. Gently, he reached down and lifted Alfred into his arms, pulling him up the bed to lay his head on the pillows and tuck the blankets into his body, which Alfred instantly curled into.

                The room seemed to hold its breath as Ivan observed the peaceful expression on Alfred's face. The flickering candlelight played on the other's features, casting a soft glow that highlighted the beauty of the Omega. He looked so peaceful. It was so different compared to how he was when he first arrived—Alfred always seemed to be on guard. Always thinking of something, always on edge, always guarded. Alfred had seemed suspicious of everything around him. But now he was completely at peace, his mind no longer plagued by whatever had been stressing him back then. Ivan felt proud to know that he was the one to have influenced Alfred like this.

                But it is not as if he were the only one coaxing the other into a better state. Alfred had done it first, after all.

                Unable to resist the impulse, Ivan leaned down and pressed a kiss to Alfred's forehead. 

Chapter Text

                Alfred woke up to the beige cat he had rescued last night licking his face. Groaning groggily, he feebly swatted the cat away and sat up, pressing a hand to his torso.

                Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, his eyes grew wide when he realized that he was in a very large bed. It took him a moment to adjust to the unfamiliar perspective, but soon enough, his surroundings came into focus.

                It was Ivan’s chambers. He hadn’t recognized it at first because he had never seen this room from this perspective. He had only ever made this bed, never slept in it.

                Rubbing his feet, which felt strangely back to normal, Alfred swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. The beige cat jumped off the bed as well and padded over to the lounge area. Alfred’s eyes followed the feline until something caught his attention—a pair of legs sticking out from the loveseat couch. Curiosity piqued, he made his way over to the sofa and discovered Ivan sprawled out on the small two-seater. Sputnik and the beige cat were curled up on top of him, using his chest as a more-than-adequate pillow.

                A smile tugged at Alfred’s lips as he realized that Ivan must have known that he would be uncomfortable sleeping together and would freak out in the morning, so he chose to squeeze himself into this tiny couch instead. Crouching down, he studied Ivan’s face. He had a strong nose and an even stronger jaw, but his round cheeks and rounded eyes softened the effect, making for quite a handsome mix. Alfred frowned when he felt his cheeks warm. Ugh, what were these feelings? It was so strange. He would never have thought these things before, but now he found himself admitting that Ivan was quite handsome (when he wasn’t smirking or being pretentious, that is).

                Alfred brushed away the bangs that were concealing his other eye, marveling at the fluffiness of his ashen hair. It was softer than feathers. Unable to pull away now, Alfred found himself absentmindedly poking Ivan’s large nose, eliciting an annoyed scrunch from the sleeping Prince everytime. It was an endearing sight that made Alfred smile, which he instantly berated himself for.

                Before he could lose himself in the moment, he suddenly remembered his job. His time as Just Alfred was over now, and he was back to being Bodyguard Alfred. He fished out his phone to check for any messages, but his attention was quickly diverted from responsibilities when his eyes landed on the date.

                It was October 31.

                Ivan stirred, vaguely aware of his chest feeling heavier than usual. He groaned lowly, his hand reaching to investigate what was weighing on him. His hand made contact with soft fur, and he raised his head to see his beloved cat resting on top of him. He smiled and petted Sputnik, lifting him into his arms so as not to disturb him as he sat up. Yawning, still petting his cat, he looked around. He blinked when he saw the blankets of his bed messed up—and empty.

                Did Fredka leave already? he wondered. He usually wakes me up. Even the cat we rescued is not here. That is strange. And his feet are not fully recovered yet, he should not be walking around. I had planned on submitting a request to let Fredka off from work so he could recover, but of course, the stubborn Omega just had to wander off. No self-preservation skills whatsoever, that one.

                Concerned for Alfred’s well-being, he picked up his phone and sent a message to him, only for his message to be left on delivered. Worry gnawed at Ivan, prompting him to leave his chamber still dressed in his pajamas. But his worry soon morphed into suspicion as he walked down the halls. The corridors were empty—or at least, emptier than usual. Something was amiss.

                Making his way to the ground floor, Ivan stepped into the lift and descended, the soft whirr about to lull him to sleep if the door hadn't dinged open, revealing a sight that completely blindsided him—the entire entrance hall was a flurry of activity, brimming with servants scurrying about, adorning the space with elaborate Halloween decorations. Ivan sidestepped the rushing staff members, becoming more and more puzzled as he made his way to the ballroom, where most of the noise was emanating from.

                Upon pushing open the grand doors, he found that the ballroom was in the process of being transformed beyond recognition, with servants perched atop several ladders to hang cobwebs, scraggly black lace, and bat decorations while the others on the ground distributed pumpkins and skeletons, creating a spooky atmosphere.

                In the midst of it all, Alfred stood at the center, orchestrating the preparations with a fierce air of authority. Ivan approached him, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Fredka, what is all this?”

                Alfred whirled around, startled by Ivan’s presence. Surprise flashed across his face before a beaming smile brightened his visage. “Oh, you’re awake! Good! I need you for something.”

                “You need me?” Ivan echoed, hiked his scarf up coyly and deliberately omitting the rest of the sentence.

                “Yeah, for Halloween prep!” Alfred grabbed his wrist and dragged him out of the room.

                “Halloween prep?” Ivan frowned, “We have never had such a thing.”

                “Which is sad. That’s why! I went straight to Winter! He wasn’t very enthusiastic about it, saying the same thing as you did, We have never celebrated that before,” he mocked Winter’s tone, “but when I asked Yao to convince him, Winter conceded. It’s like he can’t say no to him—he didn’t stop Yao from coming with us to the Lantern Festival either.”

                “Yes, it is quite difficult to refuse Yao since he will not allow you to refuse,” Ivan grimaced, “He is not easily swayed, that is why Winter just agrees to whatever he says.”

                “They sound just like you and I.”

                “It is You and me.”

                “Potato, po-tah-to,” Alfred waved off.

                Ivan rolled his eyes as Alfred continued to drag him through the halls. They distributed carved-out pumpkins, with Alfred carrying the largest while Ivan floated the rest behind him. The Prince used his magic to elevate the pumpkins onto high places, and other times, he would let Alfred perch on his shoulders to do it himself. He silently and gladly followed Alfred’s every whim as he skipped around the Palace, placing the pumpkins everywhere he could and lighting the candles in them. 

                “A little to the right,” Alfred squinted at the Palace. It was now covered in an incredibly elaborate yet magnificent display of spooky decorations. It was adorned with smoky white material to resemble cobwebs, black lace, candle-lit pumpkins, and bat decorations, and now, Alfred was orchestrating the placement of a massive skeleton that looked like it was creeping over the Palace, with the way its bony fingers gripped the turrets and its black, black eyes peered over the main building. The skeleton, in its entirety, was surrounded by an icy blue mist, courtesy of Ivan.

                Ivan moved the skeleton to the right, and Alfred beamed. “Perfect! Okay, let’s distribute the candy now!”

                Alfred happily skipped through the Palace with the bucket of candy in his arms, offering it to anyone they passed by and not taking no for an answer. A few of them had blushed at being given something by Alfred but were quick to scamper away at the sight of Ivan’s glare.

                “Yao, happy Halloween!” he held up the bucket of candy to the royal Jack, who had just emerged from his study.

                Yao returned the greeting before asking, “How are the preparations going?” He dug through the bucket, selecting only the cutely packaged sweets.

                “Smoothly so far!” the blonde reported proudly, “We carved out all the pumpkins you made in the patch, and successfully decorated the Palace with them!”

                Yao nodded as he picked out a pack of panda-shaped biscuits, “That’s good. Nice to know my efforts of convincing Winter didn’t go to waste.”

                “There was hardly any effort, though. Winter looked like he had already given up when you entered the room.”

                “I have that effect on people. He’s worked with me for so long that he knows not to go against me anymore. Smart move on his part, if only our wretched heir was the same.”

                “I am right here.”

                “Yes, I know. It's rather unfortunate.”

                Ivan rolled his eyes.

                “See? No respect for his elders whatsoever,” Yao waved him away with a scoff. Alfred laughed as they bid Yao goodbye. Next, they approached Raivis, who looked so happy at being able to eat sweets that he barely looked at the Prince. Alfred and Ivan decided this was a good thing since the young Alpha could really use a break.

                Next, they hunted down Winter. The Ace was in his office, going through reports.

                “Good afternoon, General!” Alfred slammed the door open, “It’s time to stop working and time to start funning!”

                Winter was startled at the intrusion, but the shock quickly dissolved into a frown. It was those rare moments where Winter actually showed emotions rather than being a stony robot. “...Funning?”

                “Yeah, you know, having fun!”

                “That is not a word. You could have just said having fun.”

                “Eh, too many words,” Alfred shrugged and shoved the bucket at him, “Here, candy!”

                Winter stared at the bucket.

                “Ohh,” Alfred drawled, “I forgot you’re old. This will probably raise your blood level or something.”

                Winter shot him a disbelieving scowl as Ivan snorted behind him. Alfred turned to him, “Did I say something?”

                “General Winter is actually thirty-five,” Ivan managed to say, “That is just how stressful being a General is.”

                Alfred whirled around. “You’re only thirty-five?” he repeated incredulously, “I always thought you were fifty!”

                Ivan snorted louder as Winter rose to his feet with a cold look. “As always, you are incapable of reading a mood and holding your tongue.” Nonetheless, he took a handful of sweets. “Thank you for the candy.”

                “Did you take some just to prove that you’re not as old as I thought?” Alfred asked innocently.

                Winter averted his eyes for a second. “...No.”

                Alfred grinned, “Don’t worry, I believe you.”

                Winter huffed. “If there’s nothing else, you can leave now.”

                The pair bid him a cheerful goodbye before going on their way. Ivan asked what they were to do next. 

                “There’s still more decorations to put up— Oh, and! We have to make our costumes!”

                Ivan frowned, “Costumes?”

                “Don’t worry, it doesn’t have to be elaborate or anything. You can go as yourself if you want. Though, I'd advise you to be original instead, 'cause I’m pretty sure at least half of the staff are going as you, too,” he teased.

                “Very funny. There is indeed nothing more scary than a corrupt political figure.”

                “Ha!” Alfred flung a finger at him, “So you admit you’re corrupt!”

                Ivan looked at him with a smirk. In a blink, he swooped down to Alfred’s level, bringing his face incredibly close. Alfred blushed and instinctively stepped away, but his back met the wall. Trapped, his cheeks flushed deeper as he could do nothing but watch Ivan lean in close.

                “It seems you have caught on, then,” Ivan rumbled with a convincing glint in his eyes.

                “Caught...caught on to what?” Alfred spluttered quietly.

                “My evil schemes, of course,” Ivan raised a brow. Those violet eyes darted to his lips suggestively, and it took everything in Alfred’s power not to lick them. “Unless you want me to mean something else?”

                “N...” A shiver wracked through Alfred’s spine, but he held it in. This was strange—too strange. It was unfamiliar, and he didn’t like it. “No!”

                He shoved Ivan away with a huff, attempting to hide the flush of his cheeks. The Prince chuckled and let himself be pushed. “I am merely joking, Fredka. Of course, you of all people would never mean anything different.”

                Alfred pouted as they continued their trek, deciding not to grace the Alpha with further response. As they walked, Alfred couldn’t help but feel conflicted about Ivan’s words.

                Alfred had never once thought about romance in his life. There were times he did, but it was fleeting and sometimes with disdain. With all the suitors flanking him and brow-beating him in their shallow pursuit of a pretty wife, he had a rather twisted view of it. He only ever saw a happy romance in fairy tales, never in real life. That’s why he had been so surprised during the Bratva reception, as it was his first time seeing a happy couple in reality. The villagers in Krasny were quite outdated and thus practiced outdated ideals. The Omega-mates in the village were forced to stay at home and were treated even lesser than servants, for at least servants did not have to sacrifice their bodies. Alfred saw how much freedom they lacked, and it terrified him. He wasn’t free for the last few years either, being chained down by his responsibilities as Matthew’s caretaker, but it was better than what the Omega-mates of Krasny experienced. It was similar to his childhood, and he never wanted to experience that again. He was scared of it more than anything. That was his true fear, not ghosts (though, ghosts still scared him). Any threat to his freedom, and he immediately fought back like a bird being forced into a cage. That’s why he had been so testy in Krasny, like a time bomb. They couldn’t mind their own business and constantly watched Alfred, which infuriated him. He could actually feel the anger bubbling in his veins, making him shake in rage. But he smiled through it. He faked a bright smile and acted polite even though there was never a moment that he wasn’t absolutely livid. 

                That was partially why they found Alfred weird. Along with his contradictory personality, his tendency to disappear for hours at a time, and his inhuman strength, he had what they saw as mood swings. He could be the sweetest person to walk the earth in one conversation, then be the devil incarnate in the next one. He turned rude and angry at the slightest provocation—or at least, that’s what it looked like to them. Alfred believed he should be considered a saint for the patience he had practiced in Krasny because if he had his way, that village would be drowning in their red, red blood.

                When Alfred first arrived at this Palace, he thought it would be a worse version of Krasny. But, weirdly, Ivan’s infuriating personality had made him feel free. He didn’t have to wear a mask and could be as angry as he wished. He didn’t know why he had felt safe enough to freely express his anger here. He was just as outnumbered and alone as he was in Krasny. In fact, it was worse here, since he had nowhere to escape to and no brother to talk to. So why, then?

                Alfred stared at the Prince’s back. He watched Ivan’s relaxed posture, the gentle smile on his face that the Omega could barely see.

                Maybe...

                Winter entered the drawing room with a scowl, carrying a file. Yao, who was placing down a platter of Halloween-decorated treats on the coffee table, paused to frown at him, “What’s up with you?”

                “Halloween is the worst,” Winter dropped the file onto the table and flopped onto the couch across from Alfred and Ivan. “It’s been such a busy day for the Royal guards and the local police. Thank God for Meka, otherwise, we’d be even more exhausted.”

                “Oh yeah,” Alfred perked up, “I passed by the holding cell when I was decorating the dungeons, and it was completely full—it looked gross, to be honest. I had to separate Mario and Luigi.”

                “From fighting?”

                “From making out.”

                “Yikes,” Yao cringed.

                “Plus, one of them in a banana costume managed to escape and stole a bunch of gold vases and jewelry but got stuck in one of the revolving doors on their way out.”

                “Based on your smile, I assume you made a lot of banana puns?” Winter raised a brow at him.

                “Uh-huh,” Alfred nodded, his goofy smile stuck, “So many! The best part is I hid a paint bomb in one of those vases because, duh, Halloween, and like an idiot, he pressed it and got sprayed in the face!” he laughed.

                Instinctively, Yao glanced at Ivan. His expression was so fond as he watched Alfred, so loving and genuine. Then his gaze switched to Winter, who was looking at Ivan too. But unlike Yao, who found it sweet, the General's face was etched with disapproval and wariness. Yao narrowed his eyes.

                “He got it in his eyes, and he was screaming nonstop,” Alfred’s voice pulled Yao back from his thoughts, “I swear, these perps are so stupid. I’d make a better criminal than any of them, and none of you would be able to catch me.”

                The other three immediately clamored in simultaneous protest as Alfred cackled.

                “I am fairly certain you would be caught,” Ivan’s protest stood out. “No, actually, I am a hundred percent sure you would be caught.”

                “Oho,” Alfred raised a haughty brow, smirking, “All right, challenge accepted.”

                “I did not issue a challenge.”

                “Fine, I’ll issue it for you,” Alfred stood up, “What’s the most valuable thing you have? Other than your scarf,” he added quickly.

                Ivan thought it over as he also stood, “My crown.”

                Winter frowned, “Your Highness, the crown is far too valuable to be—”

                “Deal!” Alfred tried to shake Ivan’s hand, but the Prince held it up to stop him, “Ah, I am not doing this unless I get something in return.”

                “Fine. The prize is that the loser will do all of our work. Meetings, documents, all of it, for five weeks, and the winner gets to rest easy.”

                “I am considering it,” Ivan hummed, “How exactly will this work?”

                “The crown will be in the throne room. By midnight tonight, one of us has to steal it. No use of magic, and the winner is whoever has the crown at midnight, not whoever got it first. We have exactly two hours to plan and prepare our strategy before the heist begins. And later, during the party, the loser has to publicly announce the winner as the true Queen of the Palace—hence the crown—and an amazing human slash genius.”

                “Queen?” Ivan raised a brow.

                “We all know I’m going to win,” Alfred smirked. Ivan scoffed, his competitive fire successfully sparked, “Let us see about that. Alright, I accept your wager.”

                “Good,” they shook hands, sealing the deal, “Then the heist is set.”

                The Crown of the Spades Prince was a magnificent golden piece that sat atop a plush navy pillow in a glass casing on the podium of the throne room, where four, tall golden thrones were situated.

                Its beautiful sapphires glinted in the chandelier light as servants bustled around the room, decorating for Halloween. The entire Palace was aware of the wager, and they were absolutely buzzing with it. They were divided on who would win and even created a betting pool. Half bet on Alfred, while the other half bet on Ivan. It sparked a few banters—and arguments.

                “Are you insane? Have you met the Prince?”

                “Have you met Alfred? He’s more cunning than he looks.”

                “Oh please, you’re only saying that ‘cause he’s pretty.”

                “No, I’m not! Alfred is just as brilliant as the Prince!”

                “He didn’t even go to school. The Prince is the most intelligent person in Spades, he was taught by the brightest minds of our century— but go ahead, bet on the bodyguard of all people. Just don’t complain when I win all your money later.”

                “As if.”

                Luckily, the two players were unaware of the buzz as they contemplated their strategy over the two hours. When the clock struck six, they would be ready. Meanwhile, Winter and Yao stood on the podium, watching the crown until the heist began. The crown was usually locked somewhere safe, but it had been brought out just for the heist. Winter insisted on watching it personally. The silence between them felt different to both: for Yao, it was tense. For Winter, it was comfortable. At least until Yao opened his mouth.

                “Winter, do you care for His Highness?” he asked abruptly.

                Winter turned to him, confusion etched on his furrowed brows, “What’s with the sudden question?”

                “I noticed your expression in the drawing room,” Yao supplied coolly, not taking his eyes off the crown, “When Sire was smiling at Meiguo.”

                Winter immediately understood. “Ah.”

                “I have such a conflicted opinion of you because of this, General,” Yao looked down his nose at the glass display, wherein lied the symbol of duty. The greatest honor and the heaviest burden. “Sometimes, I think you could be kind. Then there are times like these, where you are truly the robot I first met.”

                “You can't deny the consequences of the Prince’s distraction, Yao,” Winter narrowed his eyes, “We’re on the brink of war, and his mind is clouded by affairs of the heart. This is not the time for romantic indulgences. Lives are at stake, and the Prince's obsession is jeopardizing everything we’ve worked for.”

                “It’s not obsession; it’s love,” Yao snapped, “He’s grown up now. Let him experience it. The Prince has sacrificed so much for the kingdom. For you. Can’t he have a little happiness?”

                Winter’s gaze hardened, “Happiness at the cost of our kingdom’s safety? I won’t allow it. Ivan needs to prioritize his responsibilities, otherwise, he’s endangering not only himself but the entire Kingdom. Spades and Hearts are in danger if he doesn’t pull himself together.”

                “Has he ever failed you before? Calm down. Didn’t you say you hired an extra hand for the investigation?”

                Winter bit his lip. Yes, but that extra hand is also becoming distracted because of His Highness, he wanted to say.

                Instead, he sighed, “Yao, I understand why you want to defend him in such a way. After nine years of watching him grow, you’ve developed a maternal feeling for him. But don’t mistake that I don’t feel the same. I was the one who raised that boy. But that’s exactly why he shouldn’t be distracted because it will only hurt him more. And I’m not talking about the war.”

                Yao froze. Slowly, he turned to face Winter. A deep frown etched into his deceivingly delicate face, mixed with confusion and suspicion, “What are you talking about—”

                Loud fanfare trumpeted into the vast throne room, reverberating off the dark blue marble walls in an echo. They turned to see a group of Meka with trumpets marching through the doors, their heavy mechanical footsteps shaking the ground.

                “Hear ye, hear ye!” Alfred announced loudly, emerging from the cluster of robotic sentinels with a flourish of his arms. He was in his costume, which seemed to be a...sheriff? A ghost sheriff? Who knows. He looked good, that's all that mattered.

                “Oh, we hear ye,” Winter grimaced.

                “Today marks the first Halloween heist in Spadian history,” Alfred continued, “And, not so coincidentally, my victory.” A mix of boos and cheers clamored at this statement. “Boo me all you want!” Alfred declared boldly, “It just makes my eventual win all the more sweeter—”

                Alfred’s speech was cut short when smoke exploded in the middle of the throne room, eliciting screams from the crowd. The smoke was icy-blue, so Alfred was undeterred as he knew who it was. When the vapor cleared, Ivan stood in the middle with his head held high, his infuriating face adorned with an infuriating smirk. With an elaborate all-black suit and large ram-like horns, his costume was that of a demon. Fitting. “Good evening, my subjects,” Ivan spat out the word, making it sound more like peasants than subjects, “Today marks—”

                “I already said that,” Alfred interrupted. Ivan dropped his smile to frown at him. “When did you get here?”

                “Earlier than you, evidently,” he gestured to the Meka surrounding him, “Which just proves my inevitable victory.”

                Ivan waved him away dismissively. “You may have arrived here first, but I am sure you have not yet declared this part of the speech,” he turned to address the crowd now, “As you all know, the heist will end at midnight. One of us must steal the crown, which will be placed in the middle of the throne room,” With a swirl of his magic hand, Ivan lifted the glass display from behind Winter and Yao and gracefully descended it next to him, “Whoever has it by midnight wins, and the loser will have to do all of the winner’s work for five weeks and publicly announce them as an amazing human slash genius. Now, you might be wondering why that last part is considered a reward when I, as the Prince, have received far better compliments,” he gestured to himself arrogantly as he approached Alfred, which the Omega arched a cold brow at.

                “It is because our lovely bodyguard here is the one saying it,” he gestured to Alfred with a teasing tone. The blonde's expression was so unamused he could freeze the buffet table's wine with his gaze alone. "I have never once received a compliment from him, so this shall be a satisfying victory indeed.”

                Alfred scoffed out a humorless laugh, brushing off Ivan’s cockiness. “You talk big, demon boy. But winning this heist won’t be as easy as you think. You’ll only receive a compliment,” he mocked his tone, “if you win.”

                “When, my darling,” Ivan smirked, “When I win.”

                Alfred’s face burned red. Out of anger or because of the pet name, he wasn’t sure. Or maybe it was out of embarrassment because the servants had emitted a collective Aww. On the podium, Winter narrowed his eyes, earning himself a pinch from Yao.

                Alfred was practically vibrating, “You—”

                Suddenly, the throne room went pitch-black. The servants screamed in fear, and it was pandemonium for a second.

                “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

                “I can’t see!”

                “Everyone, grab something random!”

                “Not me, Ivan!”

                “Oops~”

                “Silence!”

                The lights switched back on, the chandelier flickering back to life. Everyone looked around wildly, confused, until they heard Raivis's shriek.

                “The crown!” he pointed a finger at the glass case, which was now empty, “It’s gone!”

                A collective gasp rippled through the room, and a loud, chaotic clamor followed like an explosion, with everyone hurling accusations and making suggestions on what could have happened.

                “Silence!” Winter repeated, his deep voice booming through the room with an echo. Everyone fell quiet. “Do not worry, the crown was fake.”

                “Fake?” they repeated incredulously.

                “Of course. What do you take me for? I would never allow the real crown to be used for such a purpose. Yao made a replica, so there is no need to panic.”

                “So where did it go?” Alfred whipped around to face Ivan, yanking his hand away, “You were the last one near the case! This was your doing, wasn’t it?” he jabbed a finger at his face. Ivan pushed his finger down with an arched brow, “How could I do that? We were holding hands the whole time that the lights were out, and the case is all the way over there.”

                “You could’ve used your magic or something. I’m patting you down!”

                “Sure,” Ivan smirked mockingly, “I have always wanted you to touch me like that.”

                Alfred cringed, wrinkling his nose. "Eugh, never mind.”

                “And you said we cannot use magic. I may be competitive, but I would never stoop so low to cheat. That would imply that I am scared of you winning, which I am certainly not.”

                “Then who took it?” Alfred huffed, “I was holding your hand too, so it wasn’t me.”

                A holographic screen suddenly flickered above the glass case, casting a neon-blue glow upon the room. On the screen was a wolf-mask-wearing person. It wasn’t well-made, which made it look even scarier to look at.

                “Good evening, losers,” the holographic person rumbled. The voice was so obviously altered. “You really thought you could do this without me?”

                “What the—" Alfred frowned, "Who are you?” 

                “Now, if you want to find the crown—”

                Alfred gaped. “Hey!” He turned to Ivan, incredulous, “He just ignored my question!”

                “I believe it is a recording, Fredka.”

                “Oh.”

                “You’re going to have to work for it. Scattered around the Palace are clues to the whereabouts of the crown. Find those clues and get the crown, or else.”

                The hologram flickered off, leaving the room stunned. Alfred and Ivan stood still before turning to look at each other. Then, they bolted out of the room. Alfred tripped him, laughing in triumph when the Prince stumbled. In retaliation, Ivan grabbed Alfred’s cape and threw him back, making Alfred trip over his own feet and fall onto his back. Alfred scrambled to his feet with a growl and sprinted out of the room after his opponent. Now, the heist was truly on.

                Alfred chuckled to himself as he walked down the hallways, adjusting his sheriff hat. One might wonder why he wasn't panicking about finding the crown. 

                That's because he had been the one to steal it in the first place. With the help of Bucky and his love for chasing random food, Alfred crawled through the vents and found the server room, a room that he had discovered when Winter tasked him with fixing it when it malfunctioned. The server room functioned as the operating center for the entire Northern region's internet, with tall server boxes lined up along the walls and in the center. It was strictly off-limits since it also held all the confidential information regarding the Palace, making it the perfect hiding place. To hide the crown, Alfred lifted a server box in the corner and then slid the headpiece underneath it. The box had been hollow, unlike the rest of its neighbors, but he made sure it was just as heavy so no one but him could lift it. And maybe Ivan. If he could find that place. 

                Right now, Ivan was probably on some wild goose chase, trying to find clues that didn’t exist. Once it was midnight, all he had to do was bring out the crown and then rub his victory all over that smug bastard’s face.

                “Hm? Bucky, where are you going?” Alfred suddenly noticed that his cat was no longer walking next to him, and when he looked up he saw the feline’s fluffy tail swishing as it disappeared into another corridor.

                Puzzled, Alfred jogged after his cat. The plump feline walked for a while before stopping at a door and pawing at it insistently. Alfred caught up to him with a frown, “What are you doing?” He hefted the cat into his arms, earning himself a meow in protest. “Did you smell something in there?”

                Alfred turned to the door. It looked like every other Palace door, but something about it was...foreboding. Daunting. As if there was something inside that he wasn’t supposed to see. Alfred, being the type to trespass an off-limits area if it had a DANGER sign, was only further interested by this strange door. Curiosity tugged at him, urging him to pull the doorknob, while his gut was screaming at him to do the exact opposite.

                Just as his fingers were about to touch the golden knob, Bucky jumped free from his arms and suddenly ran off. “What the— Bucky!”

                The door vanished from Alfred’s mind as he sprinted after his surprisingly agile cat. “Bucky! What are you doing?” he exclaimed as the cat skidded over the carpet, banking a sharp turn at the end of the hallway that made Alfred stumble. He came close to catching the feline a few times, his hands swiping at the animal, but Bucky was a good dodger. Must have been all that time out in the wilderness—still, it was annoying. Bucky swerved left and ran into a room, which Alfred didn’t hesitate to enter as well.

                Big mistake.

                The moment he passed the threshold, the door swung shut, and Alfred’s wrist was yanked on. In the blink of an eye, he was handcuffed to the bookshelf of Ivan's private library. A new emotion surged. Anger.

                “What the hell?!” he shouted, yanking on the cuff.

                “Nice try, but those cuffs are made out of tungsten. Even you and your inhuman strength could not break it,” Ivan smirked as he tossed an entire patty at Bucky, who jumped and caught it in his mouth. Traitor.

                “What are you doing?" Alfred's tone was accusatory, "Aren’t you supposed to be finding clues?” 

                “We both know there are no clues. You were the one in that hologram.”

                “Me?" Alfred repeated incredulously, "I was in the room the entire time.”

                Ivan hummed. “Yes, that stumped me for a while too. I wondered if there was a third party participating in the heist, but I realized that you are the only person who uses the word ‘losers’ in this Palace. Everyone else is more eloquent than that. You prerecorded that hologram during the two hours we were given just to send me on a wild goose chase, and you trained your cat to steal the crown while the lights were out.”

                Alfred groaned. Busted. “How did you know I used Bucky for this?”

                “When I hugged you while the lights were out, I felt a cat whistle in your pocket. I also felt you holding your phone, which you were not holding before it went dark, meaning you turned off the lights using an app.”

                “Fine. You might have handcuffed me,” Alfred admitted coldly, “but you’ll never find where I hid the crown.”

                “Oh, I will. After all, we still have,” he checked his watch, “Four hours until midnight. That is more than enough time.”

                “Ugh, can’t you let me out? I hate being tied up!” Alfred whined, “Just lock the library door from the outside instead of handcuffing me!”

                “No.”

                “Dude, come on! What if I need to pee? Actually, I feel it coming right now! Do you want me to piss my pants all over your beloved books?”

                “I know you do not drink water,” Ivan crossed his arms, “You pee once every two days, and you just went this morning.”

                “Dammit! You know me too well,” Alfred yanked on the cuff once more. Ivan smirked. “Ugh! This should count as cheating in some way.”

                “Ah, but there were no rules said about it. Yet another example of your lack of foresight,” Ivan looked so smug the Omega wanted to punch him, “I will always be one step ahead of you. You cannot surprise me anymore. You are just that predictable," he chuckled as he walked out, leaving a bristling Alfred behind.

                Once the door clicked closed, the Omega slumped against the bookshelf and glared at Bucky, who was nonchalantly licking his paw. 

                Ivan sat behind a desk in the large drawing room, sipping a cup of tea. The room had been transformed into a Halloween haven with decorations taking up every inch of the space. Jack-o-lanterns sat in an organized pile in the corners and bats dangled ominously from the ceiling as the Palace staff, all dressed up in elaborate costumes, celebrated the holiday. Some of the Omega servants had dressed up scantily and in the past hour, had pretended to drop things so they could bend over in front of him coyly, which Ivan rolled his eyes at. It was rather disgusting, and he wondered if they had any semblance of self-respect to be doing such a thing. Unfortunately, he couldn’t do anything but glare because Yao was in the room, and Ivan would be in a world of trouble if he so much as lifted a finger against the Palace Omegas.

                They must have mistaken his stuck smile for something else. How idiotic. Ivan didn’t have any respect for the servants of his Palace because they were cowards. They were so scared of the King that they ran away at the sight of him and his sisters because they wanted nothing to do with them, they didn’t want to be accused of helping them because they would be punished. Ivan knew that if at least one person had shown they cared, his mother wouldn’t have derailed into insanity. But no, they stayed clear out of their way. Even when Natalya, who had been a newborn, cried and cried for days because she was being starved, they did nothing. The only thing they did was look at them in pity.

                Ivan tested the durability of the teacup as his eyes roved the room, glowering at the servants who were dancing and eating food that they didn’t deserve. He hated them all.

                Sun-colored yellow flashed in his peripherals, and Ivan turned his head sharply. He deflated—out of relief for the heist or disappointment in general, he was unsure—when he realized that it was just the candle momentarily glowing brighter. Ivan stared into the flame, watching it flicker and decline but never extinguish. It reminded him of Alfred.

                A chuckle escaped him as he remembered what happened in his library. How furious and indignant and adorable he had been. A dark part of his mind had stirred at seeing him in handcuffs, and his lower regions twitched at the thought of those cuffs being on both hands and tied to his headboard instead.

                Now if there was someone Ivan wouldn’t mind bending over in front of him, it was Alfred. But he knew the Omega had too much dignity to do that, and he would never lower his head to Ivan in such a way. It was cute, and it just made him all the more desirable. After all, people always want what they cannot have.

                Just like these scantily dressed Omega servants. How delusional they must be if they think Ivan would even look at them twice, much less appreciate what they are trying to do. He detested having to breathe in the same air as them at all.

                Ivan knew that if there was someone who would have helped him in his childhood, it was Alfred. If the Omega had been working at the Palace earlier, his life might have been different. Alfred never hesitated to help someone even if it landed him in danger. It was admirable as much as it was exasperating. Even if the punishment was a million beatings, he would have snuck Natalya food. Even if it would earn him the death penalty, he would have led his sisters to the dungeons when his father threw him in there. Hell, he would have pulled Ivan out of the dungeon himself.

                If he had met Alfred earlier, his life could have been different.

                But at the same time, he was glad that they met this way. If Alfred had truly been in the Palace at that time, he would have been killed by the King. It was either a life without Alfred or a life without his family.

                And Ivan couldn’t possibly imagine a life like the former. He had been living like the latter all this time and he has been doing okay. In fact, he was doing good. Eventually, his sisters would marry and leave the Palace, and his mother would die of old age. Both would leave him alone at some point. But—if Ivan had his way—Alfred would stay with him until they grew old and they breathed their last breaths.

                Familial bonds were strong, but there was something more powerful about romantic ones. Perhaps it was the fact that a person could be bonded to someone so strongly through nothing but sentimental feelings. It fascinated Ivan how something as flimsy as emotions could be just as strong as familial blood. Before—before Alfred, that is—it stumped him how anyone could choose someone over their own family. Family is your own flesh and blood. How could you choose your spouse when there is nothing binding you but mere emotion? Emotions are easily changed and easily broken. They’re not as stable as blood. Blood is perpetual. No matter how much you fight it, the blood in your body will always bond you to your family.

                But after meeting Alfred, this perspective has changed. Family is not about blood, it has always been about emotion. Family is who you choose it to be. The King is his father, but Ivan had never once seen him as such. To him, Winter was his father. The General was the one who raised him, who had cared for and protected him over the years—and Ivan barely remembered his mother, so throughout his life, Yao had been his mother. The two of them, though dysfunctional, had filled the void that his parents left. He considered them his family.

                “You’re mine...I’m closer to you than family, but...no one knows what they’re talking about...”

                Ivan blinked rapidly when last night’s dream flashed before him, and he pressed his fingers into his eyes to clear away the headache that it had brought.

                Before he could think about it, the door burst open.

                “Who went into the server room?” the cutthroat voice of General Winter silenced the merry buzz that the room had previously been under. 

                “The— The server room, your Royal Ace?” one of the servants squeaked in the dead silence.

                “That is what I said, isn’t it?” Winter arched a brow at him coldly, making the servant wince. “I sensed something was off so I went inside, and I found that one of the server boxes was broken. Do you have any idea how important the servers are? They’re the ones supplying internet to the North, and most importantly, holding confidential information regarding the Palace. If any of that information has been permanently deleted because of this flimsy heist, I swear that all of you will be included in the punishment.”

                Ivan, who was the one that broke the server box in search of the crown, stayed reticent. He was rather enjoying the way the staff eyed each other fearfully. He missed it. They have been far too happy recently.

                Alfred groaned in frustration, thumping his forehead on the bookshelf once again. It had been seventeen times now, and his head was starting to throb. He had been locked in this room for an hour, but it seemed like an eternity! Ivan was probably reveling in his own smugness, knowing Alfred was trapped. 

                But what frustrated him most was the fact that he actually needed to pee now. The urgency was becoming overwhelming, making it difficult for him to concentrate on finding a way out of his predicament. He yanked on the cuffs again. Still no luck.

                “Ugh! Where did that bastard get tungsten anyway?” Alfred exclaimed, his frustration echoing throughout the room. “Did he just have these cuffs hidden somewhere all this time? What a pervert.”

                The room was dimly lit, with only the faint moonlight trickling in through the gaps in the curtains. As the moonlight shone across the room, it illuminated the cluttered table that Alfred and Ivan had sat at countless times before. And that’s when something caught Alfred’s eye—a glint of metal hidden under piles of paper near the edge of the table.

                A surge of hope welled up within Alfred. A key! He wanted to cry tears of joy as he felt the beams of hope shine down on him. With newfound determination, he kicked the table, careful to control his force so as not to send it flying across the room. The key slid off the edge, clattering onto the wooden floor. “Yes!” Alfred pumped his fist in triumph.

                Using his foot, he slid the key across the ground until it was within his reach. He hastily picked it up and jammed it into the lock. With a resounding click, the cuffs dropped to the floor, freeing Alfred from their grip. Relief flooded through him, “Finally, I’m free! Take that, Braginsky!”

                Without wasting another moment, Alfred bolted out of the library. His feet carried him swiftly down the decorated halls, sliding down the banisters as it was quicker than actually taking the stairs.

                He passed Winter’s office and burst into the room next to it. This room was the nerve center of the Palace's security, filled with monitors displaying the footage from all the surveillance cameras. Alfred’s eyes eagerly roamed the screens, searching for a glimpse of the wretched Alpha. After a few seconds, he caught sight of the familiar white scarf on one of the screens to his left. “There you are, you bastard,” Alfred exclaimed. He pressed a button on the control panel, allowing the audio from that specific screen to resound through the room.

                “Do you have any idea how important the servers are? They’re the ones supplying internet to the North, and most importantly, holding confidential information regarding the Palace. If any of that information has been permanently deleted because of this flimsy heist, I swear that all of you will be included in the punishment.”

                Alfred cringed. Yikes, Winter's scolding them. Wait a minute, the servers? Dammit, that means Ivan found the crown already. Alfred groaned, “Ugh, dammit! I can’t see his face, but he’s definitely smug. I’m going to punch him the first chance I get.”

                Movement on Ivan brought his attention back. The Prince was sitting in the corner of the screen, but Alfred could see his hand moving. He squinted and saw that Ivan was pressing a button on a tiny remote. Seconds later, Sputnik’s pixelated form came padding into sight with the golden headwear dangling from his jaws. Ivan discreetly leaned down to open the door of a small safe, and Sputnik dropped the crown inside before nudging the door closed.

                Alfred smirked, “Gotcha.”

                Ivan leisurely petted Sputnik, whose tail was swishing lazily as he lay on his lap. His cat had successfully slipped through the vents to bring him the crown. After finding it under the servers—he figured that Alfred would keep it in the place that he least expected Ivan to enter. Ivan famously avoided the server room because he was technologically illiterate, so that was the room that he searched first, and he was correct—he had kept the crown in his chamber. He was taking it out now because it was nearly midnight.

                Winter was nearing the end of his lecture when smoke began to hiss through the bottom of the entrance door. Ivan, alarmed, jumped to his feet as yells erupted through the room.

                “What’s happening?”

                “Is someone doing something?”

                “There’s smoke! Is there a fire?”

                The door swung open, and a line of tall, imposing Meka marched through. The servants clamored in panic, holding onto each other as the Meka began to pace the room in circular patterns, their heavy footsteps making the ground shake and the candles flicker.

                “What the—” Winter looked around wildly, “Why are there Meka in here? Your Highness!”

                “This is not me,” Ivan defended, “I have been in here the whole time. I cannot command the Meka like this.”

                “Alfred is usually the one on Meka duty. This is definitely his doing,” Yao called out through the noise, “They listen to him like he’s their mother.”

                “Stop!” Ivan’s sharp command cut through the racket, silencing the din and freezing the Meka. With an uncharacteristic glare, he approached a strange-looking Meka and ripped the head off, eliciting a short scream from the crowd before they saw a head of beautiful blonde hair.

                “Fredka,” Ivan looked down his nose at him.

                Alfred cocked his head, blinking innocently, but his grin gave him away, “Who?”

                Ivan turned to address the sentinels, “All of the Meka, out!”

                “Can’t command the Meka like this, you say?” Alfred raised a brow as he climbed out of the Meka suit and watched as the robots turned on their heels and stalked out of the room in an organized line. Ivan ignored him in favor of crossing his arms, “You figured out I had the crown in my safe, and you thought you could distract me and steal the key.”

                “I did think those things, yes,” Alfred dug through his pocket and held up a key, “and then, I did it.”

                Ivan scoffed. “Impossible. The key has been in my shoe the whole time.”

                “Okay, well,” Alfred’s smirk widened, “It’s almost midnight. Why don’t you try and use your key?”

                Ivan shot him a look before walking over to the desk. The crowd followed suit, crowding around the wooden table as Ivan knelt down to pull out the safe. Ivan slid the key into the lock with ease and turned to look at Alfred. “See, it fits. I knew you were lying, you are so predicta— why is it not turning?” he snapped his head toward the safe, jiggling the key.

                “Ha! Seems like I’m the one that’s a step ahead,” Alfred chuckled arrogantly, “And I also bet that none of you can predict what I’m about to do next.”

                “Use your key to open the safe and act like a dick about it?” Yao answered dryly.

                “Yeah, obviously that’s what I’m gonna do,” he stalked over to the safe. “If I may, Your Royal Loser,” he smirked, earning himself a cold glare as he knelt down.

                “Would you look at that, the key fits—and the lock is turning—and the safe is...empty?” he threw the door open only to find the interior completely devoid of anything, except for perhaps dust.

                “What?” Ivan jerked, leaning down to peer at it as well. “If it is not there, then where is it?”

                Alfred whipped out his phone. “Jokes on you, I put a tracker on the crown when I first stole it!” The crowd parted to make a wide berth as Alfred bolted out of the room, followed quickly by Ivan, judging by the thunderous footsteps that were even heavier than the Meka's.

                The servants, Yao, and Winter peered out of the doorway, watching as the two sprinted down the corridor.

                “I’ve never seen him like this,” Winter murmured about Ivan.

                “That’s because he’s having fun,” Yao answered, elbowing him sharply, “For the first time, thanks to you.”

                Winter merely pursed his lips, frowning as he watched them swerve into another hallway.

                Alfred looked around suspiciously before slipping past a door. He had led Ivan outside with the lie of following a tracker. Alfred managed to lose him in the garden and sneak back into the Palace while Ivan was probably running around outside like an idiot. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the mental image as he walked through the dimly lit storage, lined with box after box—

                “Hello, Fredka.”

                "Gah!” Alfred jumped, his hand flying to his chest. “Ivan! What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be looking for the crown? You know, outside?”

                Ivan crossed his arms. “You and I both know the crown never left the Palace.”

                “What do you mean? I don’t know that. Nobody knows that.”

                Ivan ignored Alfred’s awkward and rapid speech, looking upwards with a feigned thoughtful expression. “I kept thinking, how did he swap my key?” he dropped his gaze to meet Alfred’s eyes, “Then I realized you did not. You swapped the safe. One of your Meka, I am assuming the smallest one—”

                “Stan.”

                “...Stan,” he repeated, “took my safe, and then you deposited a lookalike one. So while we tried to figure out who had the real key, your Meka brought the safe in here and hid it in one of the boxes. My only question is, which box is it in?” Ivan’s eyes scanned the storage room curiously.

                “Ha, well, good luck figuring it out because the clock is tick-tick-tocking—”

                “This one,” Ivan lifted a box from the floor.

                Alfred stomped his foot in frustration. “No! How did you know? Ugh!”

                Ivan, wearing a victorious expression, dropped the box on top of a dusty table. “The dust on top of this box doesn’t match the others. You see, Fredka, I will always be one step ahead of you. I admit you are strong, but you are not smarter than I am. All the beauty and brawn, and none of the brain,” he taunted, “And it is midnight, so it seems that I am the amazing human slash genius.”

                “Yeah...although,” A smirk slowly curled Alfred's lips, “You might want to check the inside of the safe first.”

                Ivan’s expression dropped, suspicion written all over his face. “What? Why? What did you do?” He snapped his head towards the safe and flung the door open. His eyes widened in shock as he stared at its contents before wrenching it out.

                “A cardboard crown?” Ivan glared at it in disbelief.

                “Looks like I’m not quite as predictable as you thought,” Alfred chuckled haughtily. “Brawn and brains.”

                Ivan turned to Alfred, his frown deepening. “So, where is the real crown?”

                “Oh, it’s in the throne room,” Alfred smirked, his confidence radiating. “The official site of my coronation.”

                The entirety of the Palace staff was gathered in the throne room, watching the two figures standing atop the podium. They watched excitedly as Ivan held up the coveted crown, its intricate design gleaming under the flickering candlelight. The room was alive with anticipation as they waited for Ivan to say his part. 

                “All hail the crown of Halloween,” Ivan announced, his voice carrying over the ecstatic crowd. He turned towards the figure beside him, who was smiling ear to ear in a mischievous manner. “And all hail he who wears it,” Ivan gently placed the crown atop the sun-colored locks of the smug Omega standing next to him. “Alfred F. Jones, the true Queen of the Winter Palace.”

                The crowd erupted into cheers and applause, their excitement contagious as it reverberated through the magnificent chamber, accompanied by the jubilant cries of “We win the bet!”, “I knew he could do it!” and a few defeated groans.

                “I believe there is also something you have to say,” Alfred teased. His cheeks ached from smirking the entire night, but it was worth it.

                Ivan rolled his eyes, though his smile betrayed him. “Fine, fine,” he relented, his voice filled with mock defeat. “Alfred F. Jones is an amazing human slash genius."

                The cheer that erupted through the throne room shook the very foundations of the Palace. The flames of the candles flickered in rhythm with the applause, while the bat decorations threatened to detach from the tape holding them up as the walls trembled. After years of isolation, they were starved for entertainment. 

                Alfred’s smile grew even wider, beaming brighter than it ever had before. With both arms raised high, he enthusiastically waved to the adoring crowd. His eyes, as blue as the clearest skies, sparkled with a mix of pride and joy, unaware of the violet watching him fondly.

                “Let the party commence!”

                The atmosphere was electric, the celebration in full swing. Musicians had struck up a lively tune, filling the ballroom with an irresistible rhythm. The servants took to the dance floor, their movements a blend of grace and exuberance. Laughter echoed through the halls as people reveled in the success of the sunny bodyguard.

                As the party continued, Alfred found himself surrounded by well-wishers and admirers. Greetings and compliments were thrown his way, each one acknowledging his achievement. Yet in the midst of the celebrations, his eyes sought out a familiar pair of violet, which he couldn’t find.

                Frowning, he slipped out of the ballroom.

                He searched Ivan’s chamber and private library but didn’t find him. His frown deepened. As he left the library, he was greeted by Sputnik. The cat meowed and flicked his tail before turning around as if gesturing Alfred to follow him. The Omega did so, and soon found himself standing in the elevator of the tallest tower. The doors dinged open, and Alfred followed Sputnik up the remaining stairs and through a trapdoor in the ceiling.

                Sure enough, Ivan sat a foot away, leaning against the tower’s sharp spire, watching the Northern Lights shift serenely above him. The beautiful mix of blue and violet graced his handsomely sculpted face, the added moonlight making his hair shine like silver. It reminded him of yesterday when they were on the mountain path. Alfred felt his heartstrings twist again, the velvety tips of butterfly wings brushing at his heart insistently as if telling him to accept it already.

                His grip on the trapdoor tightened for a second before he let go to push himself up and climb out of the entrance. If he stared any longer his heartstrings might actually break, and he didn’t need a trip to the hospital wing. The creak of the door startled Ivan, jerking his head toward it in alarm.

                “Just me,” Alfred assured as he got to his feet, “What are you doing up here? Tired of hearing the well-wishes of my victory?” he teased as he walked over.

                “Ah, I did not expect you to be a poor winner,” Ivan arched an amused brow as Alfred plopped down next to him, “But then again, you are poor at everything.”

                Alfred shot him an unamused look, “You’re lucky I won today, otherwise I’d push you off this tower.”

                Ivan laughed, and Alfred’s anger subsided. “Speaking of, why are you not celebrating downstairs?” Ivan asked, “Got tired of hearing the well-wishes of your victory?” he mocked his tone.

                “Ha! Never. I could hear that rain of praises all day. Or, uh, all night.”

                “Then what are you doing up here?”

                Alfred shrugged, “I was worried about you.”

                When he saw Ivan’s eyes widen in his peripherals, he felt compelled to add, “It’s not as fun when your face isn’t there to rub my victory in, that’s why!”

                Ivan’s eyes softened for a moment before he smirked, “You really are strange, Fredka. You do not have to be shy about such things. You do not have to lie, either.”

                “I’m not lying!” Alfred bristled, embarrassed. He had answered too honestly—Ivan’s presence naturally mollified his skill of casual lying.

                “Sure, I believe you.”

                “One of these days, I’m really going to push you off the edge.”

                Ivan laughed once more, softening Alfred’s frown. When he opened his violet eyes, his gaze fell on the crown Alfred was still wearing. “It suits you.”

                Alfred blinked, “What suits me?”

                “The crown,” Ivan answered as if it were obvious, “You would fit right in with royalty. The title of Queen suits you nicely.”

                Alfred raised a brow at the last statement. Something about it felt loaded. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

                Ivan hummed, “Is it?”

                “Yeah. It’s like you mean something else.”

                “Ah, I see you have finally gained a wrinkle in your prefrontal cortex.”

                “Ha, ha,” Alfred responded dryly, “and it seems your CPU board has had a second Funny update.”

                Ivan chuckled in response. Alfred huffed as he leaned back against the spire, looking up at the sky. “The Aurora is so gorgeous,” he said after a moment, “It’s too bad we can only see it at night.”

                “Yes, what a shame. Luckily, I see something gorgeous twenty-four-seven.”

                Alfred raised a brow, “It’s not yourself, is it?”

                “No. Though it is a close second,” he chuckled, and Alfred rolled his eyes. “Actually, they are sitting next to me.”

                It took a moment, but for once, Alfred actually understood the comment. He punched Ivan’s arm playfully, “That’s a lame pick-up line. Overused.”

                “Just like you.”

                “Hey!” Alfred shoved him hard this time.

                Ivan chuckled, “I am joking. You are harder to get than that.”

                “You damn right I am,” Alfred huffed. There was a comfortable pause in the conversation before Ivan spoke again, “Fredka, why did you come to the Palace?”

                Alfred tensed for a second. “To work, of course.”

                “But you have had many other careers. I am sure if you had continued any of them, you would be on the path to success by now.”

                Alfred chuckled, “Well, it’s not that easy. And anyway, is there no higher honor than working for His Highness?” he teased with a smirk.

                Ivan’s cheeks flushed a bright pink, but he forced himself to talk, “That is strange, you have never flattered me before. It does not suit you.”

                Alfred laughed, then trailed off. He remembered what he had thought this morning. When he wondered why he had felt comfortable here. “I suppose it was to escape, in a way.”

                “Escape?”

                “Well, I accepted this job very hesitantly. Not because of you,” he added quickly, “I didn’t even know I would be working for you. It was too far away from home. Dangerous, and I wasn’t sure if I would come back alive. But, I came to some realizations.”

                Ivan tilted his head.

                “And it's that those things are exactly what I wanted. Life in Krasny is so dreadfully dull and boring, doing the same thing over and over and over again, with everything, including my jobs being the same. I never realized just how trapped I was until I came here. To this...beautiful North,” Alfred muttered as he stared at the Aurora, “I was convinced I would feel trapped here, working like a slave and being confined in these luxurious walls, but I’ve never felt more free. Especially when I’m with you.”

                “When you are with me?” Ivan blinked.

                “Yeah,” Alfred affirmed, “I know that you've been hiding behind a facade your entire life. I know that you keep secrets from me as well. But, somehow, I feel like you’re more honest when you’re with me, and it makes me feel better. I can be as annoying and pushy as I want, and you’d always balance me out. Like today, I kept dragging you around and forcing you to help me prepare the Halloween party, but you never complained. I thought it was because you were used to being ordered around, but whenever I looked at you, you had a genuine smile. You didn’t mind that I was dragging you around.”

                Ivan fidgeted with the tails of his scarf, secretly preening at his words. “That is correct. In fact, I rather enjoyed it.”

                Alfred turned to him with a rueful, but grateful smile, “Yet another weird trait of yours.”

                “I suppose it is weird to enjoy being forced to do things that you are completely unfamiliar with, but I am a strange person, after all. Though, I would not have enjoyed it if it was with anyone other than you.”

                “You’re saying you only enjoyed being pushed around because it was me who was doing the pushing?” Alfred repeated amusedly.

                Ivan nodded, “I felt honored that you would choose me to push around for today. You could have spent the day with anyone else, but you chose me. I enjoyed today, but what I enjoyed more was preparing it with you.”

                Alfred smiled, “Sounds like you just want to spend time with me.”

                Ivan chuckled, “What gave it away?”

                Alfred laughed, and Ivan’s heart fluttered in his chest. Somehow, this laugh felt more intimate. A genuine kind of laugh that only Ivan would hear.

                Yes, that’s it. This view, of Alfred laughing underneath the transient lights of the Aurora, his face scrunched up in cute happiness, belonged to Ivan. No one else would ever see this but him.

                “You really are weird,” Alfred wiped the happy tears from his eyes, “Most people would’ve gotten sick of me by now. We’ve spent the last four months being in each other’s constant presence. We spent yesterday together too. Wouldn’t you have tired of my face by now?”

                “Well, it is just as you said,” Ivan shrugged, “Every day is different when I am with you, so I am eager to wake up every morning, knowing that you will be the first face I see. I want to keep it that way.”

                “Keep it that way?” 

                “Yes. You said we have spent the last four months being in each other’s constant presence. I want to spend the coming years like that too.”

                Alfred is amused. “And how many years, exactly?”

                “Until my death of old age.”

                Alfred snorted, “So you mean to keep me with you forever, until the day you die?”

                “Yes,” Ivan responded immediately, and his tone sounded a little too serious. He stared at Alfred intensely, so intensely that the blonde felt a little unnerved. “More than anything, that is what I want.”

                “I’m not sure if I can work as your bodyguard forever,” Alfred joked in an attempt to keep the atmosphere light, “I’d have to be your mate to stay with you for that long. And I don’t have a pleasing face, acceptable wit, or refined manners.”

                Ivan bristled, “This again? That was months ago—“

                “But you meant it, didn’t you?” Alfred countered, “Those are your requirements for your Queen—for your wife. I’m not any of those things. I’m a commoner who had barely any education. I've lived as an outcast my entire life with no real accomplishments to speak of. I’m loud and aggressive and brutally honest. Trust me, you’ll find me annoying eventually.”

                Ivan sighed, “You are surprisingly self-deprecating for someone so confident.”

                “I’m only proud of my abilities, not my looks and personality.”

                “That is a bit admirable,” Ivan admitted, “But completely false. Why would you not honor your appearance, when you are the most beautiful Omega in the world?”

                Alfred snorted, “You haven’t even seen the Omegas of other Kingdoms, so how would you know?”

                “I just do. To me, you are just like the sun. Bright and warm, bringing joy to those who behold you—But when someone gets too close, you burn them without a second thought. That is why I feel as though I am special, in some way. Out of everyone else, I am the only one you are not burning. The only one you allow to touch you like this,” Ivan gently lifted Alfred’s hand in emphasis. He looked up at him through hooded eyes as he lifted the tanned knuckles to his lips with a gentle kiss, “And I can think of no greater honor.”

                Alfred blushed at his gaze and strangely intimate gesture. Somehow, it felt more significant than the times they had almost kissed. He abruptly averted his eyes, pulling his hand away, but Ivan took hold of it again as if rebelling against Alfred’s withdrawal. Alfred didn’t mind and watched as Ivan began to caress his hand with such gentleness as if he were the most precious jewel in the world.

                Alfred kept his face downcast as he said, “You talk about me so highly as if you’re not the Prince between the two of us.”

                “Titles are meaningless. It is the person who holds them that gives them their worth. You recall, too, that I said I only wanted the best? Well, to me, that is you.”

                Alfred snorted, “You think I’m the best? How honorable of you. But say what you want about titles—it doesn’t change the fact that you hold yours in high esteem. You value these royal labels. Being King is important to you. Wouldn’t you want a good Queen who will rule as efficiently as you?”

                “So far, you have done an excellent job by my side. All you have to do is continue. And you said yourself that you have been enjoying it, yes?”

                Alfred raised a brow. “You should be a lawyer. You sure know how to use someone’s words against them.”

                “And I am rather persuasive,” Ivan added. Alfred chuckled, shaking his head fondly until Ivan spoke again.

                “What I am trying to say, is that my requirements have changed. I no longer need an acceptable wit, or a pleasing face, or refined manners. What I need is you. What I want is you. You are so much better than any of that."

                Alfred pursed his lips, “But—"

                “You do not have to love me.”

                Alfred froze.

                “As long as you are next to me, as long as you are the first face I see every day, the person you choose above others, the one who means a little more to you than everyone else, I am fine with that. You do not have to love me,” he repeated, “As long as you stay by my side, that is more than enough.”

                Alfred stared at him in pain and bewilderment. By saying he didn't have to love him, it was as if Ivan was offering his whole being to Alfred, unconditionally. Staying by his side forever would mean being his mate. Didn't Ivan understand that? So why? Why was he saying this? What was happening? His mind went haywire as it tried to scramble together an explanation, an answer to his puzzlement, which only further overwhelmed him.

                Suddenly, a loud explosion pierced through the quiet night, and a new color shone down on them. Startled, Ivan looked up. “Ah, the fireworks. They finally released them,” he smiled in pleasant surprise before turning to Alfred. “Since you have been so busy organizing everyone else's Halloween, I arranged these fireworks just for you,” he explained, “I thought it would be a nice treat so you could experience the holiday properly.”

                While Ivan marveled at the colorful display of sparkles in the sky, Alfred couldn't tear his gaze away from him.

Chapter Text

                “Wake up! Wake up!” Sunflower jumped on the bed excitedly, shaking Ivan with such vigor that one would be confused whether he was trying to wake him up or strangle him. Ivan groaned and pulled the blanket over his head, turning over.

                "Nooo!” Sunflower whined, pulling on the covers, “That’s the opposite of what I’m telling you to do!”

                A long, low groan rumbled from underneath the lump. “What is it?”

                “It’s Christmas!”

                Ivan tensed. Christmas. Memories of giggling in dimly-lit rooms as poorly-wrapped gifts were exchanged and food stolen from the kitchens was shared momentarily flashed before him. His grip on the blankets tightened.

                “Hey, are you listening to me?”

                “Hm?”

                Sunflower’s cheeks puffed up in an angry pout, and Ivan felt the dark clouds of his memories recede as quickly as they had come. He sat up, smiling apologetically at his friend. “I’m sorry, Sunflower. I just got distracted. What were you saying?”

                Sunflower’s expression softened, but he still looked indignant as he plopped down to sit on his heels. “I was saying we should go down to the village and celebrate! You like going down there, right?”

                Ivan’s smile disappeared. “No. After last time, I don’t like it there anymore.”

                “Just because of the marriage thing? I thought you liked the village!”

                “The people there are terrible. How do you go down there every day and still come back cheery? I went there once, and my mood was down for days.”

                “You’re just too grumpy!” Sunflower tutted, wagging a finger at him, “Learn to see the good in things, and you won’t be down in the dumps so easily. That’s why I think we should go down to the village! So you can see how good they can be, and how much more fun Christmas is when celebrated to its fullest. Please?”

                Ivan couldn’t resist the smile that crept up on him. “Alright, let us go.” Sunflower’s cheers and the way he had hugged him so tightly in his excitement almost made agreeing seem worth it. After locking up the cottage, they made their way down the mountain. Ivan offered to carry him down, but Sunflower waved him off.

                “I can do it, no problem!”

                He had also refused Ivan’s offer of being carried. Ivan didn’t take it to heart, but he hadn’t missed the fear that flashed in Sunflower’s eyes before he smiled and shook his head, politely declining. Ivan had seen that expression too many times on his sisters. But for the sake of keeping the merry atmosphere, he said nothing. He merely followed Sunflower into the village silently, not saying anything even when Sunflower had insisted they not enter through the main gate and instead led them to a secret hole in the walls of the village.

                Was he afraid of being seen? That was strange. But the villagers didn’t treat Sunflower nicely, so it made sense.

                They navigated the dusty alleyways before arriving at the bustling square, where Sunflower’s wariness was long forgotten.

                The Christmas festival radiated a warm and festive glow, with the town square transformed to implement the holiday atmosphere. Twinkling lights adorned every surface and booths overflowed with seasonal treats, from spiced hot cocoa to fragrant roasted chestnuts, enticing visitors with their aromas. A towering Christmas tree stood proudly, its branches adorned with an array of ornaments and a star at its pinnacle. Laughter and music echoed through the air as families, wrapped in scarves and mittens, meandered through stalls adorned with handcrafted decorations and holiday gifts. It was a captivating blend.

                “Whoa, they really go all out, don’t they?” Sunflower turned to him with a bright-eyed smile. Ivan forced one of his own, “Ah, yes. Though, I’m not familiar with such things...”

                Sunflower giggled, “Good thing you’re with me, then! I’m an expert at having fun!” He slipped his hand in Ivan’s and pulled him toward the heart of the festival. Ivan blushed at the small hand squeezing his own; it was warm, but it wasn’t soft. It was slightly coarse, a testament to how much work Sunflower did. He thought it was sweet, yet unfair. No child of their age should be working so much.

                Ah, but he was the same, so he couldn’t talk without being a hypocrite.

                Practically buzzing with energy, Sunflower pulled him around the square, taking him from stall to stall, explaining everything as the aroma of roasting chestnuts and the sound of carolers filled the air. Christmas festivals weren’t like carnivals—they didn’t have free games that you could enjoy. So, with no money to spend, the two just wandered aimlessly, watching every stall and taking every free sample they could.

                “Ah, little sun!” the grocer waved cheerfully, standing next to his own stall. Sunflower smiled and led Ivan toward him. “Merry Christmas, mister!” he greeted brightly.

                The grocer laughed, leaning down to talk to them, “Merry Christmas! To you and your...” his eyes strayed to Ivan, the kindness in them disappearing. It was replaced with contempt and judgment. A cold, cold gaze that unnerved Ivan. “...friend.”

                Ivan stepped back, hiding behind Sunflower. He didn’t like this person, especially with the way he was eyeing Ivan so critically. As if he knew who he truly was.

                Sunflower might not be the brightest bulb, but he couldn't expect the rest of the villagers to be the same.

                The expression was gone in a second, and the grocer turned back to Alfred with his friendly smile, “Aren’t you supposed to spend Christmas with your family, little sun?”

                Ivan felt Sunflower’s hand tense in his hold. “Ah...well, they don’t go out of the house to celebrate. They just stay inside and...drink,” Sunflower laughed. Strained. “And I spend every Christmas with them. So this year, I wanted to spend it with my friend.”

                The grocer nodded, looking at Sunflower weirdly. It made Ivan narrow his eyes in suspicion. “I see. Well then,” he straightened up and lifted two steaming cups, “have some hot chocolate on the house. I know you don’t have any money to use on the festival, and I don’t want you to spend Christmas hungry.”

                Sunflower beamed with surprised delight, taking the cups happily, “Thank you so much!”

                “Of course, no problem!” he waved them off, watching as the two children walked away. Ivan looked back one last time to see an ominous shadow cast over the grocer’s smile, and his gut twisted. He had a bad feeling, but he couldn’t understand what it was.

                His brows creased until a bustling group of adults blocked his view. His frown deepened, but he was quickly distracted when he crashed into Sunflower, who had abruptly stopped.

                “Sunflower? Why did you stop so suddenly—”

                His answer was questioned when Sunflowers suddenly bounded toward the glass display of a toyshop, where an array of festive toys and decorations lay. “Check out these figurines! Aren’t they just the coolest?” Sunflower pointed eagerly.

                Ivan tilted his head as he approached. “Do you like superheroes?” he asked, eyeing the colorful models.

                “Of course, they’re the best! They’re cool and strong and always save the day. I want to be one when I grow up.”

                “You want to be a superhero when you’re older?”

                “Yep! What about you? What do you want to be?”

                Ivan’s gaze wandered from the muscular superheroes to a figure next to it: a figure that stood ramrod straight, with a sword held out with both hands and a crown perched atop its head. Even though it wasn’t boasting muscles and superpowers, or posing in a dynamic way, you could still feel that this figure was powerful. A true royal.

                Sunflower blinked at his silence. He followed his gaze to the toy he was staring at. “Oh, a King?”

                Ivan flinched, then tensed.

                “That’s great!”

                His violet eyes widened, and he turned to look at Sunflower, who was smiling brightly at him. “...It is?” But Kings are violent. The King of Spades has been corrupt all this time. Why do you think you are so poor? He is stealing all your money from you. The royal family, especially the Kings, corrupts its innocent offspring until they grow to be just as insane. It was a vicious cycle repeated over and over. Kings are terrible people—and my terrible fate, is what Ivan wanted to say.

                Sunflower nodded, turning to the regal figurine. “Kings are just like superheroes! Even though they don’t fly or shoot laser-beams out of their eyes, they’re strong and take care of their people. They lead by example, whether it’s by trying to stop a moving train before it crashes or by leading an army to victory. I think, out of everyone, Kings are the very symbol of selflessness. They sacrifice their whole lives just to ensure the well-being of their people. They’re using their lives to make the lives of others as good as possible. Just like superheroes. Good heroes, and good kings,” Both children stood there, staring at their respective figurines, “do whatever it takes to protect those they care for.”

                Sunflower turned to him with a smile, “So, when you become King, you can be our real-life hero, okay?”

                Ivan slowly faced him, staring at this bright sun as he felt one of his dark clouds dissolve completely. A burden being lifted. A question being answered. Unintentionally, he squeezed his hand, which he hadn’t realized he was still holding. He looked down at their interlocked fingers, and a pang hit him as he realized that Sunflower wasn’t wearing gloves despite the bitter cold, as he was too poor to afford them. “What about you?”

                Sunflower tilted his head.

                “If I become the real-life hero, then what will you be?”

                The sunny Omega grinned, “There’s always room for two heroes, isn’t there?”

                Ivan pursed his lips, then took hold of Sunflower’s other hand, making them face each other, “Well, i-if I become King...then what if you become Queen?”

                Sunflower blinked, “Queen? Me?”

                “Well, by your logic, Queens are heroes too, aren’t they?”

                Sunflower stared. He seemed confused, until the pieces fell into place, and his eyes closed into a bright, warm smile. So warm that the Christmas cold suddenly felt like nothing to Ivan. “If that’s what being Queen means, then okay, I’ll do it.”

                Ivan’s face brightened considerably, a mix of hope and surprise, “R-Really?!”

                Sunflower laughed, “Of course! Now, come on,” With both of his hands, he tugged on Ivan’s, pulling him away from the shop and toward the decorated square, “Let’s check out the rest of the festival!”

                Ivan rested his chin on his palm as he sat at his lounge table, humming away. It was morning, and the sun was at its all-time brightest. Well, the brightest that the Northern sun could be.

                Alfred raised a brow as he set down his breakfast. “You’re in a better mood than usual.”

                Ivan hummed, “I had a good dream.”

                “Really? What a coincidence, so did I. Spirit of Christmas, maybe.”

                “We celebrated Halloween just yesterday. You are talking about Christmas already?”

                “Of course! I’ve been ready for Christmas since last Christmas!”

                Ivan chuckled, picking up his utensils to start eating. Alfred sat down and watched him silently, observing the Prince in his entirety, and he felt his cheeks gradually turn warm.

                He had barely slept at all last night. He had paced the room over and over, replaying every moment, every word, every touch. Then he had another realization and it hit him so hard he spent the next few hours lying on his back, staring at the wooden canopy in a daze until the clock struck three.

                Ivan was in love with him. And Alfred had spent the rest of the night contemplating if he felt the same way.

                He supposed it had started after the Rebellion attack when Ivan had apologized and promised to catch the Rebels. He had gained a subconscious interest in him after that, but Alfred only felt that interest when Ivan had tended to his frostbite. After an entire day of being taken care of with the utmost patience, Alfred’s feelings were clawing their way to the surface, and Halloween had only amplified it. It was amplified by everything about that day: Ivan happily going along with his every whim, the heist, their moment at the tower, the fireworks. Alfred was freefalling into a pit.

                “Fredka?”

                Alfred snapped out of his thoughts. “Oh, uh, yeah?”

                Ivan tilted his head, and Alfred felt that interest flare again. When he had cocked his head, his fluffy, ashen bangs fell over his forehead, brushing over his eyebrows just the way Alfred liked it.

                Wait, he liked it? When did he start liking it? Agh!

                “You have been staring at me for a while.”

                Alfred snapped his head to the side, eyes wide after being caught. He felt like his face had just been set on fire. “S-Sorry.”

                Ivan raised an amused brow. “Have I become handsome to you now?”

                Alfred glanced at him. “I’ve never thought you were ugly.”

                Ivan’s eyes widened a fraction. He was used to Alfred getting embarrassed, so this was new, but not unwelcome. His smile stretched into a smirk. “Is that so? So you thought I was handsome all this time?”

                Alfred huffed, facing him properly with a fold of his arms, “I meant I never thought about your looks. I was more focused on your infuriating personality. That’s why I didn’t understand when other people, mostly Omegas, would fawn and fall over you.”

                Alfred wished Ivan would stop tilting his head because his heart just skipped an entire song when he did it again. “So, for you, personality affects a person’s attractiveness?”

                "Yeah. If someone were a jerk, I’d think they’re hideous even if other people think they’re handsome. And if someone was a good person, I’d think they’re beautiful even if others say they look like a troll. I hated you back then, so I was confused about why people considered you handsome or even liked you at all, but now I—”

                Alfred clamped his mouth shut, but Ivan’s widened eyes were a tell that he knew what he was about to say. Awkward, the Omega cleared his throat and brushed his bangs away. A nervous habit. “A-Anyway, are you done yet? We have a lot to get done today.”

                “A-Ah, yes...”

                What happened earlier had served to improve Ivan’s mood even more. He had been humming throughout the entire day and was looking significantly happier. Alfred had an inkling that it had something to do with him and wondered if Ivan had always been this easily affected by him.

                During the drills, he was nice to the soldiers. He would even clap them on the back and tell them to take a break. This only unsettled them further, and Alfred overheard them speculating if Ivan had been possessed by a demon or if the upcoming drills would be twice as hellish. When they were signing documents and overlooking reports, Ivan would sway to the rhythm of his own hum with a content smile. He did this when he was studying, too, apparently because a very concerned Yao had approached him later. Ivan had been in such high spirits all day. Was it just because Alfred had essentially confessed his attraction to him, or had Ivan always been this way, and Alfred simply failed to notice due to his subtlety?

                Ever since last night’s musings, Alfred wondered about that. But throughout the day, when he observed Ivan’s actions—the shameless flirting, the touches that linger longer than necessary, the stolen glances—he realized that no, he wasn’t being subtle and that Alfred was just dumb. He wondered if Ivan ever felt frustrated and if he did, Alfred commended his control. If it were him, he would have exploded into a mess of feelings by now.

                “You want to know what people who are in love act like?” Yao, who was in the middle of restocking his herbs, asked. They were in his study. “Is this about Sire? If you're wondering if he loves you, I can confidently confirm that he does. He has attempted to kiss you on several occasions, and the way he looks at you is straight out of a fairy tale. Toris was only here for a day, but even he noticed it immediately—yes, that’s right,” he said when Alfred’s brows shot upwards, “He told me. That’s how obvious he is. And how dumb you are.”

                Alfred groaned, palming his face with both hands, “Yeah, I’ve been watching him the whole day, and I can’t believe I never noticed. But what I wanted to ask you is if you think I feel the same way.”

                Yao raised a brow as he lifted a jar of astragalus root from the delivery box, “How would I know? I don’t know what you’re feeling.”

                “Just listen— okay, so, Ivan’s like really obvious about it, right? But I don’t feel the same urge to do the things he does, like trying to kiss me and flirting all the time. I feel embarrassed just thinking about it. But it’s not like I hate it when he does those things, I actually like it—if he stopped doing it I would probably be concerned. So I think I like him more than a friend ‘cause, y'know, people aren’t attracted to their friends or blush every time they get too close, right? But at the same time, I’ve never been in love with anyone, I’ve never even had a crush, so I can’t tell if what I’m feeling is just attraction or infatuation or if I’m actually in love with the guy. Plus, I only realized it yesterday, so is it even possible for me to fall in love without knowing what love even is?”

                Yao blinked at the rapid speech. He frowned as he tried to understand the few words that he picked up. “Okay, I’ll dissect that one by one. Firstly, yes, you're correct. If you viewed him solely as a friend, you wouldn't feel attracted to him or enjoy his flirting. Furthermore, people react differently when they are in love. Some are open about it, like Sire, while others are more reserved, like you. Given your personalities, I would have expected the opposite, but you two have always been contradictory, so it's not surprising. Falling in love without realizing it is very possible—actually, it's quite common. This occurs due to the natural chemistry between two people. There is a level of comfort and familiarity, and you become so accustomed to each other that you don't realize the progression of your emotions until one evening when you're simply enjoying each other's company, and it suddenly clicks.”

                Alfred pursed his lips. “So, you think I’m in love with him after all?”

                Yao shrugged, placing a jar of ginseng root onto the shelf. “Well, I can't be certain since I don't know what you're feeling, but all the signs point to yes.”

                Alfred blushed again, averting his gaze before speaking. “Do you think I should apologize for being so oblivious?”

                Yao shrugged once more. “It’s not your fault, and you said that he enjoyed your oblivious nature anyway. But I must say, I'm proud of you for realizing this on your own. And it only took you, what, three and a half months? Finally."

                “At least I realized it on my own," Alfred pouted, "Though, I don’t know what I would say if he confessed. I don’t even know how I feel. I know he’s more than a friend, but it’s still so confusing. I don’t want to make a move without being certain. I might have been mistaken after all, and it would only hurt him more.”

                Yao smiled warmly. “You’ve improved, Meiguo. You’re more considerate of emotions compared to when you first arrived here. I’m proud of you.”

                Alfred blinked. His chest squeezed for some unknown reason. He and his mommy issues, really—it always made him feel like this when an elder Omega was nice to him in some way. But nonetheless, he smiled, mirroring the warmth of Yao's. "Thanks. It's partly because of you, actually," he laughed, "And thanks for the advice too."

                Yao nodded. “Of course, you are welcome. And thank you for bringing my herbs here. Also, do you want to take your Heat suppressants for this month now?"

               Alfred shook his head. "It's too early. I'll take it next week."

               Yao frowned. "You know your Heats are irregular. What if it hits you next week? You'd have to be confined in the Kharlivka castle while we're celebrating the meetup."

               Alfred grinned. "Sounds like a win to me."

               "Aiya, you young people, seriously," Yao huffed, "Fine. I'll give it to you some other time."

               After bidding farewells, Alfred left the study. Ah, Yao was really the best. He couldn't fathom how he would have survived working here without Yao's support. He entered the private library, as Ivan was usually in there by this time. But, strangely, he wasn’t. Confused, Alfred checked his chamber. Still not there. He checked the rest of the Palace, he asked passing servants, he got the Meka to search the garden for him—still nothing.

               Alfred frowned. Did he just disappear? Where did he go?

             Standing at a tall window in the corridor, the Omega racked his brain for potential hiding places. The window, though tall and narrow, provided a clear view of the garden. Despite the evening hour, the Northern Lights illuminated the landscape, offering ample visibility. Alfred could see everything: the serene snow-covered acreage, the colossal mountains whose peaks were shrouded in mist, and the sinister forest swaying in the distance.

               Alfred perked up. That’s it.

               The night was quiet, the silence only broken by the sound of luminous sunflower petals brushing against each other with every breeze that blew by. Ivan sat at the trunk of the dead tree, gazing up at the Aurora as Kiev was roaming elsewhere.

               The orchestra created by nature—the buzzing of the fireflies, the rustle of the flower field, the whoosh of the wind—was peaceful and relaxing. Even as his fingers absentmindedly traced a tattered red ribbon, a reminder of the past, he was completely at ease. His soul had always been numb, but when it wasn’t, it was so terrifyingly painful that Ivan took it out on his bodyguards just to get it out of his system. Looking back on it, he shouldn’t have used them as his personal punching bags, but he hadn't been in the right state of mind. Now, however, his soul was no longer numb or painful. It was at peace. Finally, he could relax and reminisce without torturing himself.

               A rustle that sounded out of place caught his attention, but he didn’t panic. Only one other person knew of this area, after all.

               “Ivan,” Alfred greeted, perched atop his palomino steed as he emerged from the sea of yellow flora. Seeing them side by side, Ivan could see the similarities. Yellow petals like yellow hair and tanned centers like tanned skin. Another breeze gusted through, sweeping through Alfred’s golden locks as the sunflowers shone behind him, complementing his beautiful features.

               Ivan smiled at the sight. “Good evening, Fredka.”

               Alfred dismounted Captain, and the horse walked off to find Kiev. With a wave of his hand, Ivan froze a path on the pond so that Alfred could get to him while staying dry. “Thanks,” Alfred smiled, walking onto the ice. “You know, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice a mix of concern and relief.

               Ivan shrugged as Alfred sat down beside him. “Just wanted to be alone.”

               “Oh,” Alfred blinked, about to get up, “Do you want me to—”

               “Stay? Very much so.”

               A hint of a smile graced Alfred’s lips as he relaxed against the trunk again. They were quiet for a bit until Alfred spoke. "You know, I've always liked sunflowers," he said, staring at the luminous blossoms. "I never see them in Krasny, but somehow, I feel like they were significant to me in a past life."

               "Past life?" Ivan repeated, "I did not know you believed in such things."

               "I don't," Alfred shrugged, "But I can't think of another way to phrase the feeling."

               Ivan nodded, "I see. Perhaps you are connected to them in some way. You are much like the sun, after all. Look, they are even facing this way," he pointed out with a small laugh. "Strangely, I like them for the same reason as you."

               Alfred blinked at him, "Really? I thought it was because they were your sister's favorite or something."

               "That is an additional reason, yes," Ivan admitted, "But I had briefly forgotten my sisters back then due to the experiments, remember? I had forgotten that my sister liked sunflowers, but I still felt connected with them despite that. I felt as if they were significant to me in some way, just like you."

               “Maybe it means we're connected," Alfred chuckled. "I'm joking," he added when Ivan just stared at him. The Prince didn't respond further and turned back to the sunflowers. An awkward beat passed before Alfred asked, "Also, why did you want to be alone? I thought you liked being with me,” he teased.

               “Of course, I do,” Ivan responded rather quickly, “But while I was going through my chamber, I found this ribbon,” he held up the tattered satin, “And I wanted somewhere private and relaxing to think it over.”

               Alfred peered at the ribbon. It felt strangely familiar. “Why is it so tattered?”

               “I have had it since my childhood. All these years, it lay forgotten in secret, but after my dream, I suddenly remembered it.”

               Ah, so that’s why it has dust left on it. “Um, is that blood?” he pointed to the dark splotches. “It smells like iron, even though it’s dried.”

               Ivan traced the dark red splotches with his fingers. “Yes, blood...” he murmured, “How concerning, considering I was a child back then, and so was the person who gave this to me.”

               Alfred stared at him. Ivan raised a brow, “What is it?”

               “You’re telling me about yourself.”

               Ivan blinked. “Yes?" he tensed, "Do you not—”

               “No," Alfred assured quickly, "It’s just— it’s so rare. You pretty much never do it. I almost thought you didn’t...” he trailed off, then shook his head, “Never mind. Continue.”

               “Actually, that is as much as I was going to say about the subject. I do not remember anything else.”

               Alfred shot him an incredulous frown. He could tell Ivan wasn’t being honest. It was surprising because he was used to Alfred either blindly believing him or being confused. He squinted at him, leaning in close as he did so. Alfred, weirded out, leaned away.

               “What are you doing?”

               “You seem different.”

               Alfred raised his brow, “Different? How?”

               Ivan shrugged, leaning back, “You look more...knowing. Not oblivious anymore. It is like you changed overnight.”

               Alfred pouted. “It’s not that big of a change. I’m just more, um, aware of things,” he cleared his throat. “You’re right, though. I was thinking about a lot last night, and I came to some...realizations.”

               Ivan’s eyes grew wide. His heartbeat quickened as he observed Alfred’s reddening cheeks and averting eyes. Eyes that were no longer dense, but aware. “Wait...do you—”

               A notification pinged in Alfred’s pocket, his phone glowing through the material. Alfred fished it out, “Oh, Winter’s calling us back. Says we have a meeting. Strange, I didn’t see one in the schedule for today. Maybe it was organized last-minute.” He stuffed his phone back into his pocket, “Sorry, what were you about to say?”

               Ivan stared at him, his eyes still slightly wide. Alfred could see the hope and anticipation shimmering beneath the cool violets, his strong jaw flexing in a gulp. True to his look of such excitement, his voice was strained and barely-controlled. “...It was nothing.”

               "Next week, there will be a celebratory gathering at Kharlivka castle in the East," Winter's authoritative voice resonated, "This event is reminiscent of a Christmas party, but no gifts are necessary. It provides an opportunity for the Kingdom of Spades' political officials, CEOs, and royals to socialize. It is our first one in ten years, so I expect everyone to treat the preparations seriously. Alfred," he addressed, catching the attention of the Omega, "This gathering will take place outdoors, but it is not public knowledge. Only those who are invited will be aware of it, so there is no need to be on guard during the event."

               Alfred blinked, “So I won’t be working during the event?”

               “No.”

               One of the ministers spoke up, disdain coloring his tone, “Then what's the point of his presence? This gathering is exclusive to the elite."

               "He is a member of the Palace who is not a servant," Winter responded sternly, "As the Prince's guard, he holds the same status as the rest of you. So please, mind your tone."

               Alfred shifted to sit straighter, preening at Winter’s defense of him. He took pleasure in the way the minister seemed embarrassed. Good.

               "Your Highness, as you are aware, your coronation is in two years. We still need to find a suitable Queen for you, and it would be preferable if we do so promptly, considering the need to train the selected Omega to be a monarch."

               Ivan's happy mood vanished in a blink, the temperature dropping to negative levels. The ministers shivered, but Winter remained unfazed. “I do not see what that has to do with this.”

             "You are not foolish, so I'm certain you understand," Winter responded confidently. "With the presence of the executive officers, they will undoubtedly bring their families, as will our ministers. These families include their Omega children. The corporate figures in Spades are regarded akin to nobility, providing you with ample options to choose from for your future bride."

               Alfred wished he wasn’t in this room right now. Not only was the topic like a sledgehammer to the gut, but the ministers were sending him arrogant looks as if to say, Hear that, you lowly bodyguard? Our Omega child will be the one next to His Highness, not you.

               “I have no intention of doing such a thing.” Ivan’s tone could have frozen the glasses of water on the table.

               Winter's tone matched his. His eyes widened a fraction, unused to Ivan talking back, before narrowing. “I do not recall asking you to. It is an order.”

               In Alfred’s peripherals, he could see Ivan’s fists clench so tightly that the Omega was afraid he would break his own bones. Discreetly, he slid his hand under the table to pry open Ivan's fists, in case his nails stabbed into his palms again. He did so with surprising ease, as Ivan had relaxed instantly upon feeling his touch. Their eyes met briefly before Alfred looked away, not wanting to display such intimacy before the ministers. (Too late.)

               Ivan took a deep breath, regaining composure as he interlocked his fingers with Alfred's. “I will do no such thing,” he repeated with more certainty.

               “You do not have a choice. You need to find someone who will be our Queen.”

               “I already have.”

               Gasps rippled throughout the room, and Alfred cringed. He wasn’t the brightest bulb, but after his realizations, he had an idea of who this Omega Ivan had supposedly chosen was. Winter wasn’t surprised like the ministers were. His gaze bounced between him and Alfred, then to the Omega’s arm, which was crossing over into Ivan’s space. Alfred, who noticed so, yanked his hand back.

               Winter heaved out a long sigh. “Meeting dismissed. Everyone, leave. Now. I need to talk to the Prince.”

               Grumbles clamored in the room as the ministers stood up to leave, scraping their chairs back. A few of them shot dirty looks in Alfred’s direction, which the Omega wrinkled his nose at. Once the ministers had exited, Winter addressed him again, "You too, Alfred."

               "Ah," Alfred blinked, then rose from his seat, "Okay—"

               "Why should he leave?" Ivan questioned coldly, "He is my bodyguard. He must remain by my side at all times."

               "Alfred, leave."

               "Stay, Fredka."

               "Leave."

               "Stay."

               Alfred, lost on whom to obey, stood and sat multiple times, looking back and forth between them. Winter held up a hand to stop him.  "Alfred, you may work for the Prince, but I am your true employer. You will obey me. Leave, now."

               He cast Ivan an apologetic glance. "Sorry," he whispered, "I'll meet you outside." He patted Ivan's shoulder before exiting the frigid conference room, closing the door behind him with a click.

             Alfred yawned as he leaned back against the cold marble wall, his arms crossed tightly against his chest. The weariness of standing outside the room for what felt like an eternity was beginning to take its toll on him. However, despite his fatigue, he was determined not to leave in case Ivan needed him.

             Finally, the doors clicked open, and Alfred's weary eyes perked up. Winter emerged from the room. His eyes met Alfred's, and the Omega was surprised to see an expression of pity cross the General's features, one that said he was sorry for him for digging a hole too deep to crawl out of without breaking anyone in the process. It was an uncharacteristic look, one that twisted Alfred's gut, and Winter saw it on his face. But the General was already walking past him and down the hall. Alfred pursed his lips, but the next set of footsteps got his attention.

               Ivan paused to stand right in front of the doors. His body was tense: his shoulders were hiked up, his fists were clenched, and his head was hung low. The pressure in Alfred’s chest was quickly replaced with concern.

               “Ivan...?” Alfred approached tentatively, placing a hand on his shoulder. His touch seemed to have an instant effect, as if all the fight had suddenly been drained from Ivan's body. He slumped forward, his proud posture crumbling before straightening up again.

               He blinked when Ivan turned around with his blank smile. The smile that Alfred loathed for its coldness and insincerity. It made him frown, his worry deepening. "Ivan?" he repeated, hoping for some explanation.

               Ivan stepped forward. “Fredka...” he murmured, lethally soft, “Are you happy here?”

               Alfred gulped when the back of Ivan’s fingers began to brush down his cheek. “Yeah, I’m happy here...”

               “Do you like being with me?” The question was innocent, but his tone was eerie. Haunting.

               His hand switched to cupping his cheek, rubbing it with his thumb. “Yeah...” Alfred muttered, “I like being with you...”

               "And you want to stay here forever..." Ivan's words were supposed to be a question, but they sounded more like a statement, one that stalked your nightmares like a chilling whisper.

               Alfred’s brows creased slightly, his unease growing, “Why are you asking these things? The way you’re acting is kind of creepy...”

               It was as if Alfred’s words were like magic, once again. The manic in his shadowed gaze disappeared, his eyes widening with a brief flicker of realization. He took a step back, releasing Alfred from his touch, and placed a hand on his face to hide his shame. "Ah, I am sorry, Fredka, I..."

               He released a shaky exhale. Alfred didn’t hesitate to approach him again. “What’s wrong? What did you and Winter talk about?”

               With both hands, Ivan took hold of Alfred’s, pressing the back of it to his own cheek and closing his eyes as he did so,“...Nothing.”

               “Nothing?” Alfred repeated, his disbelief evident.

               “It is not important,” Ivan replied dismissively.

               “It seems important if it made you act like this,” Alfred countered, ripping his hand away. 

               “You do not need to know about it. I will fix things.”

               “Fix what?” Alfred repeated incredulously. 

               "As I said, it is nothing. Don't worry," he patted his head before walking away. Alfred stayed in place, bristling as he watched his retreating back.

               It was evening now, and Alfred sat on a bench in the garden, with Bucky poised on his lap. The fat feline was lying on its back, pawing at Alfred’s hand, which was trying to pet its stomach. "C'mon, Bucky. What’s the point of being a cat if you won’t let me pet you?" Alfred pouted. The cat meowed in response but didn’t stop pawing.

               Alfred sighed, “You really don’t change, huh? Just like that big guy up there,” he turned to look up at the Palace’s north wing. “Really, he’s so hard to understand. Right?” he addressed the cat. Bucky, who was busy rubbing its muzzle into Alfred’s hand, its limbs sprawled and stretching, didn’t respond.

               “What a great conversationalist you are,” Alfred chuckled, leaning down to rub his cheek against the top of the cat’s head, “It’s okay, at least you’re cute. Crazy how a cat is better than an entire human. But animals are better than us in general, so I guess that’s to be expected.” He sighed as he straightened up, lifting Bucky by his upper arms to hold him in the air. The Northern Lights were as bright as always, a beautifully transient backdrop to the furry feline.

               “I wish I could take you with me to the horse-riding meetup,” Alfred pouted, swaying Bucky side to side, “It’s going to be so boring. Winter forbade me from working during the event—he said I should rest, can you believe that?—so there’s nothing I can do there. And Ivan’s going to be flirting with the Omega children of the ministers and CEOs, so I can’t talk to him either. Maybe I’ll just roam the tracks with Captain. Way more fun than making pleasantries—I’m sure Winter and Yao will do everything in their power to keep me away from the guests anyway, in case I accidentally insult them.”

               He sighed, setting Bucky down again, “What am I going to do about Ivan? Should I confront him, or should I stay quiet about it? I mean, the poor guy probably has some trauma about opening up. He’s never forced me to talk, so I shouldn’t force him either. And I know it's hypocritical—I mean, I lie and keep secrets too. But mine is out of necessity, to keep people safe from danger. I'm honest about everything else. Do you think it's hypocritical?" he asked Bucky again. "It's reasonable to be upset, right? After spending so much time together, he still doesn't trust me or feel safe enough with me. Clearly, I've failed in some way. What should I do?”

               Alfred sighed for the second time. “Was I wrong? I mean, I know I don’t understand love, but I don’t think even I’m capable of making such a wrong assumption. It can’t be that I was seeing things that weren’t there, because he tried to kiss me multiple times. So why is he still holding me at arm’s length?”

               An ugly feeling twisted in Alfred’s chest, painful and vicious. “Maybe he thinks I’m useless. Whenever he redirects the conversation, he says it’s because my brain can’t handle it or I wouldn’t understand. I thought he was joking but...” his gut twisted more, “What if he was being serious? Haven’t I proved how useful I can be? I comforted him through his nightmares, I took care of him when he was sick, and I protected him from the Rebellion attack. Despite it all, does he still think I’m too stupid to be of any help?”

               Alfred sat silently on that bench, stewing in his hurt and confusion. The only thing keeping him from spiraling into self-deprecation was Bucky, who kept him busy with petting and trying to keep the cat from sliding off his lap due to how restless the furry creature was.

               No, I probably shouldn’t jump to conclusions, Alfred decided eventually. It would be unfair to Ivan if I started cold-shouldering him or treating him differently just because I assumed he thinks this way. Unless he gives me a true reason to consider all of my thoughts true, I won’t act any different.

               With that, Alfred set Bucky down on the ground and got up, dusting the snow off his backside and walking back to the Palace entrance with his cat trodding beside him. He thanked Theo and Michael as they opened the doors for him—he always did so, even though the Meka had no sense of gratitude or emotions. He still felt it wrong not to.

               Alfred sighed in contentment as he reentered the warmth of the Palace, allowing himself to relax. For a brief moment.

               Bucky suddenly perked up, then bolted away. “What the— Bucky!” Alarmed, Alfred chased his wretched cat as the feline bounded up the stairs, skidded over the carpeted floors, and banked sharp turns at the ends of the corridors. “Why are you always running off? Come back!”

               His rapid footsteps echoed off the luxurious walls as he ran after his pet for seemingly hours, even though it was actually only a few minutes. It had finally ended when Bucky screeched to a halt in front of a random door. Alfred panted as he reached him, resting his hands on his knees as he caught his breath. “What—pant—is—pant—your problem?”

               Bucky scratched at the door insistently, and Alfred frowned. He turned to look at the door and realized it was the same door that Bucky had pawed at during the Halloween heist. The daunting door that Alfred had nearly opened if it weren’t for Ivan luring Bucky away with a beef patty.

               The same sense of foreboding dawned on him as he stared at the door. It looked the same as it did in the heist, normal and ordinary, but Alfred’s sharp senses could tell there was something important behind this door.

               Without dwelling on it further, Alfred’s hand closed around the golden knob and turned.

               Ivan flipped through an abnormally large tome as he sat in his library. He had pulled this book out of the main library so he could find any law or loophole that would explain Winter’s resistance. 

               “What were you thinking, announcing something like that so abruptly?” Winter’s voice cut through the empty room, “Do you understand how important this is?”

               “I understand very well. Queens are critical to the Kingdom—that is why I am choosing Fredka.”

               Winter rubbed the bridge of his nose, “You cannot choose him.”

               The Prince rose to his feet like a spring, his chair toppling back. “Why not?” he challenged.

               Winter scowled, “When did you become so rebellious? You used to follow my every word with no complaint.”

               “Times have changed,” Ivan folded his arms, “As you said, I am becoming King.”

               Winter crossed his arms too. “You can’t choose Alfred,” he reiterated, “It’s not possible.”

               “You have not explained why.”

                “Your Highness, this decision involves more than personal preferences. Choosing a spouse is a matter of great importance, and to choose a Queen moreso.”

               “I know that, but what does it matter?” Ivan, unaccustomed to arguing with Winter, grew visibly frustrated. “It is not like he is unsuitable. I have never questioned your judgment, so why are you questioning mine?

               “It is not that he is unsuitable. It is just that there are many complications surrounding him that make it impossible for him to assume the role.”

               Ivan narrowed his eyes, “What complications?”

               Winter was undeterred, revealing nothing with his reticent face. “For legal reasons, I cannot tell you,” he responded coolly.

               Ivan’s fists shook as he was reaching for a patience he currently wasn’t capable of. “If you are going to oppose my decision, I at least deserve an explanation,” he ground out.

               “It is an explanation I am not permitted to give you,” there was a hint of regret in Winter’s tone. The General looked like he wasn’t enjoying this any more than Ivan was. “I am sorry, but you have to accept that there are situations out of your control.”

               “My whole life is out of my control,” Ivan was close to exploding, “I was born into this wretched family against my will, forced into this position I never wanted in the first place. Ever since I breathed my first breath, it has been nothing but suffering in the name of duty, and that will no doubt continue until my old age. With a lifetime of having no choice, can you not at least give me this?”

               Ivan saw the flash of guilt in Winter’s eyes, but the General did nothing but sigh. “Ivan,” he began. The Prince was taken aback at the use of his given name. “I am not needlessly callous. I would never interfere with your desires or personal life without a good reason. If it weren’t for Alfred’s circumstances, I would gladly accept him as your bride. But it is simply not possible. Due to circumstances we can’t control, Alfred cannot be Queen. Blame fate for it, if you want.”

               “There is no such thing,” Ivan said coldly, “Fate is nothing but a web woven by a myriad of our choices. And I will not make my fate be that of a loveless marriage in a lifetime of burden. No matter what you say, no matter what these circumstances are, I will marry Fredka.”

               He had considered asking Alfred himself, but Winter had mentioned that it was ‘legal reasons’ and if the General of all people couldn’t disclose it, then Alfred certainly couldn’t. So, instead, he was sitting in his library trying to search for the answer. But really, what could it even be?

               Alfred isn’t a servant, and Winter himself said that he was of the same rank as the ministers. That’s an even higher status than the bumbling bimbos that Winter was pushing him to choose from. He even admitted that Alfred wasn’t unsuitable, and if it weren’t for those circumstances he would happily accept him as the Queen. So why, then? What could these circumstances be? What are the complications surrounding him that make it impossible for them to be together?

               Whatever it was, Ivan would destroy it.

               He continued to flip through the tome until an uneasy feeling began to settle in his stomach. It gnawed at him—subtly at first, so initially Ivan had ignored it, until it became too prominent to be disregarded anymore. Frowning, Ivan put away the tome and left his library. He looked around suspiciously before walking down the hall, his feet carrying him of their own accord. He didn’t know where he was going, but it felt like an invisible string was pulling him somewhere, as he didn’t hesitate to turn at specific corridors and climb certain stairs.

               He walked and walked until he came across a corridor that he never entered, and for good reason. He even banned this corridor from the servants altogether and made a gruesome example of anyone who trespassed. His goal was to forget about his past, after all. There was a room here that carried too many memories.

               A room whose door, Ivan noticed as he neared, was ajar.