Butterfly Reign

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Fandom: | Remarried Empress (Visual Novel), Dream SMP, - |
Remarried Empress - Alpha Tart, Minecraft (Video Game)
Relationship: Ranboo & Wilbur Soot & Technoblade & Phil Watson, Sam |
Awesamdude & TommyInnit, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound &
Sapnap & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF)
Character: TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF),
Wilbur Soot, Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade (Video
Blogging RPF), Toby Smith | Tubbo, Clay | Dream (Video Blogging
RPF), GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Sapnap (Video
Blogging RPF), Sam | Awesamdude, Kristin Rosales Watson, Kit |
Wispexe, Floris | Fundy, Niki | Nihachu, Alexis | Quackity
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Royalty,
Sleepy Bois Inc as Family, Heavy Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending,
Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Found Family, Prince TommyInnit (Video Blogging
RPF), Prince Wilbur Soot, Prince Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF),
Emperor Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Neglectful Parent Phil
Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot and Technoblade and
TommyInnit are Siblings, Older Sibling Clay | Dream (Video Blogging
RPF), Child Neglect, Parent-Child Relationship, Whump, BAMF
TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Parental Sam | Awesamdude,
Politics, Protective Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Protective Sam
| Awesamdude, Unreliable Narrator, Animal Death, Misunderstandings,
Animal Transformation, Shapeshifter Clay | Dream (Video Blogging
RPF), It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Bad Parent Phil Watson
(Video Blogging RPF), Morally Ambiguous Character, Dissociation,
Blood and Injury, Slavery, Self-Harm, Ambigiously described ptsd,
Unhealthy Relationships, Suicidal Thoughts, Near Death Experiences,
Dysfunctional Family, Torture, Emotional Manipulation, Drowning,
Character Death, Suicide Attempt, Child abuse for Ranboo, Underage
Drinking, Needles
Series: Part 1 of The curse of being young
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Stats: Published: 2021-10-26 Updated: 2022-06-25 Chapters: 23/40 Words:
160254

Butterfly Reign
by SilentTeyz

Summary

The royal family of Antarctic empire isn’t exactly close.

Emperor Philza is always occupied; Tommy hasn’t seen Techno in months, and even if
Wilbur is here, their relationship can be described to be strained at best.

The royal family doesn’t need to be close, however, it only needs to be balanced, like the
pillars holding the country above their heads – as long as they are strong and steady, the
Empire will be too. It’s the principle that held Tommy’s back straight and his shoulders
broad through the years of hardships and trials of errors; through yet another formal
meeting where his father’s gaze would look past him and where his brother’s words would
be filled with poison that makes the deepest parts of his soul ache.

At that time, Tommy couldn't know that his family would find a replacement for him in the
face of a commoner boy named Ranboo.

~ ~

Tommy's family has replaced him. It's only fair that he gets to do the same.
***

Fantasy story inspired by Remarried Empress, where Tommy is a neglected crown prince
and sbi are a dysfunctional family, featuring big brother Dream and Awesamdad.

Notes
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See the end of the work for more notes

 Golden throne
Chapter Notes

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If you wish to read it in the default black-and-white scheme or in dark mode, go to the
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At the young tender age of eleven, kneeling solemnly in front of his father as the golden crown was
placed on his head, Tommy knew that one day, he was going to be an emperor.

For over six years, he has been the perfect crown-prince. Rumors spread out of the country, about a
boy, a spitting image of the current ruler of the Antarctic empire, who holds control over the royal
palace and has an influence around the whole thirteen regions. When his time comes , people talk
on the streets and markets , the true era of prosperity will start .

Tommy would be flattered if he had the time to listen to these stories. Between the endless
meetings, trading agreements and constant flow of paperwork he barely sleeps and eats. He isn't
complaining, though – it's the fate he chose for himself, even if he didn’t know at the time that the
position of the crown-prince is possibly the loneliest there is in the entire empire.

Matters worthy only of the emperor’s hands kept His Majesty busy; Tommy hasn’t seen Techno
ever since he left to train their armies in the North, and even if Wilbur was here, in the capital, their
relationship could be described to be strained at best.

The royal family doesn’t need to be close, it only needs to be balanced, like the pillars holding their
country above their heads – as long as they are strong and steady, the Empire will be too. It’s a
principle that held Tommy’s back straight and his shoulders broad through the years of hardships
and trials of errors; through yet another formal meeting where his father’s gaze would look past
him and where his brother’s words would be filled with poison that makes the deepest parts of his
soul ache. In the end, it made him who he is: the future of the country, the heir to the Imperial
throne.

At the time, Tommy didn’t know that his family would replace him with a commoner named
Ranboo.

***

The day that would eventually lead to his doom doesn’t start with a sinister sign or a lingering rain.
After a long night spent with a quill in his hand and a tower of documents to look over, Tommy
wakes up to a shuffle of someone’s steps in his bedroom. As his eyelids flutter open, he sees Tubbo
drawing the curtains tighter to block off a sharp ray of sunlight sipping through.

“Don’t bother,” Tommy says. “I’m already awake.”

Tubbo spins on his heels, not in the slightest bothered by Tommy’s sharp tone, and bows. “Your
Highness.”

“Morning,” Tommy echoes, blinking. “What time is it now?”

“I’d say it isn't morning anymore, Your Highness.”

Tommy pushes himself up on his hands. His head pounds, and his mouth is drier than the
Badlands’ deserts in the boiling summer months. “My schedule- “

“-Is emptied for the first half of this day.”

Tommy frowns. “You have no right to do that.”

“I don’t,” Tubbo agrees. He offers the prince a glass of water. Tommy takes a sip, savoring the
honey-sweet taste that immediately soothes his throat. Tubbo continues, “But his Majesty has. He
returned from his trip last night, and when I informed him that you’re working, he ordered not to
disturb you till today’s evening.”

Tommy is fully awake now. He stands up, running a hand through the mess his hair had turned
into overnight, trying to think of the past few weeks and whether there was anything he did that
might’ve angered the Emperor. Meetings went fruitfully, reports were sent by letters and
secretaries in time – then where did the sudden change in his behavior come from?

In search of a clue, Tommy glances at Tubbo. They grew up together, sons of an Emperor and the
Captain of Royal guards, and even if it’s arguable who in-between them two is better at
maintaining their emotions, Tubbo is first to look away and wrinkle his nose. Something did
happen, then.

“What’s the matter?” Tommy asks.

"His Majesty wasn't alone,” Tubbo confesses. “He brought a boy with himself. I wasn't able to get
a good look, but the gossips are that he is a commoner."

As soon as Tubbo finishes speaking, Tommy’s worry settles down. "His Majesty is merciful and
kind," he says, as a matter-of-factly.

The Emperor is known to take pity on orphans and poor, and the crown-prince usually learns of
another of his generous donations after painstaking hours of checking and recounting expenses
together with his secretaries.

It's not the first time the Emperor brings commoners into the palace, either: a lot of them end up
getting employed, making for the most loyal and grateful workers. He might ask his father about
this guest later, but prior to that - the empire's matters.

A few years ago, separation with any member of his family felt like a torture to Tommy.
Nowadays, Phil's trips take anywhere between a week and two months, and the first thing they do
upon his return is get over all the necessary reports. There were times where Tommy expected a
hug after it, or some sort of praise - that was the attitude of a child, and he is crown-prince. It's his
job and his duty, and he doesn't need to be rewarded for it any other way than with satisfaction of
serving the empire well.

***

There is a custom running in the empire that the current ruler grants a wish to their heir upon the
official coronation. When Tommy’s father asked him if there was anything he wanted, the prince
dipped his head and in a wavering voice told that he would like to take over the Eastern wing.

There are four wings in the palace. The separation is not explicit; the only real difference is in what
function each of them serves. Living chambers of the royal family were typically placed in the
Northern wing, so his request was met with careful curiosity – but not an outward refusal. Tommy
hung on to that opportunity with a pounding heart and reasoned that he would like to be closer to
document archives and secretary parlors.

Emperor Philza never got married again after Empress Kristin's death, so a lot of the work usually
performed by the ruler's wife – control over the palace budget in particular – was passed onto
Tommy’s shoulders. The dedication he seemingly has shown towards his duties earned him a
proud smile and a quick hair ruffle, and his wish was granted the next day.

Truth to be told, there was another reason why Tommy was so eager to move: the lush gardens
lying in-between the palace and the outer fortress walls. In just a few months, the emerald-green
scenery will turn into a dying sunset of yellow and red. For the most part of the year, the Antarctic
empire is covered in snow that only melts with the help of western currents flowing from
Badlands. There is a celebration dedicated to typically the hottest days of the season, one that
neighboring royals and nobles always participate in.

Tommy still needs to finish the invitations sometime this week. Right now, however, he lingers a
little longer on each step through the blooming gardens. His today’s court consists of only a few
people: Tubbo, one guard – the head of his personal security, Sir Wisp – and a half a dozen
servants trailing the procession.

Tommy spaces out, letting his legs carry him down the familiar path to the Northern wing, and
only tunes back in when Wisp’s steps falter, and he says, “Your Highness, look.”

His gaze follows the direction Wisp points at, and he sees a boy standing between two bushes
trimmed into bird-like shapes. With how often Tommy manages the placing of guests and court
members, he might as well be the owner of the Imperial Palace, and yet he doesn't remember ever
seeing this face.

With the obviously expensive clothing, and a group of servants surrounding him, the boy couldn't
be just some cook or a secretary, either – anyone less than a baron wouldn’t be allowed into the
Palace gardens in the first place.

Perhaps the prince has missed more than his father's return, and one of the high-ranking nobles has
invited their son or brother to the court without prior notice. In that case, by the rules of hospitality,
he must acquaint them as soon as possible.

Tommy makes his way towards the stranger, and the closer he comes, the better he can his face.
The boy, he notes, not without an internal wince, is much taller than him. The most notable part of
his appearance, however, are his eyes: dual-colored, green and red, they are impossible to skim
through.

The moment the servants notice Tommy approaching, the buzzing noise of their voices turn into
panicked whispers. They practically bend in half, their gazes locked on the ground underneath
them. The boy, however, only blinks and looks at them in confusion, and only after a servant’s
approving nod does he hesitantly bow down.

What kind of noble doesn’t know how to greet a prince?

"Introduce yourself,” Tommy says.

Although Tommy keeps his voice steady and even, the stranger still flinches and brings his hands
together in front of himself. People say that the crown-prince’s tone might seem sinister or harsh
upon first meeting, so he tries to soothe down the effect with a smile that would work better if it
reached his eyes.

"Uh. My name is Ranboo,” the boy finally says.

No house name, no title, and completely no explanation for what he is doing here. Tommy feels
himself growing impatient. “What are you doing in my gardens?” he asks sharply.

“I was just- looking around, I guess.”

Looking around . As if Tommy’s gardens are a public property. He narrows his eyes, and Wisp
picks up on the change of mood immediately; he takes a step forward, ready to follow the prince’s
order to escort the stranger out of here.

"I apologize for interfering, Your Highness," one of the servants behind the boy says. "Ranboo is
here by the mercy of His Imperial Majesty."

Ah.

Ranboo is the stray that the Emperor had brought, then.

Now that Tommy looks at Ranboo closer he wonders how he didn't guess it right away. Although
the jacket he is wearing is lined with silver chains and sapphire buttons, the sleeves are too short,
and his wrists and hands are sticking awkwardly out of them.

Awkward would be the word for him in general, with the way he holds himself and shuffles in one
place. Ranboo clearly doesn’t feel like he belongs in here – good, because he doesn’t. Tommy
takes in this pitiful picture all at once and turns around sharply - he already wasted enough of his
time on this commoner.

"Wait!"

Tommy stops. If anything, it's just instinctual. Or perhaps it's the rules and principles engraved in
his mind by his teachers, reminding of hospitality and politeness. It's his Majesty's guest, after all,
and Tommy wouldn’t want to make his father upset.

As Ranboo pauses and braces himself, Tommy waits with his back still turned. "You're Theseus,
right? Phil's youngest son? He told me a lot about you."

The deadly silence that settles speaks for itself. Tommy straightens, hands locked behind himself
and gripping each other tighter. Only the members of the royal family are allowed to casually call
him Theseus, and nobody in the kingdom ever calls the Emperor by his name without including the
title. Not even Tommy himself has addressed his father as anything but Your Majesty for years
now.

As he slowly turns around, the servants hovering around Ranboo don't dare to raise their gazes.
One of them manages to quickly whisper something into his ear, and the boy’s eyes widen in fear
and regret.

"It's Your Imperial Highness to you," Tommy coldly says.

"I'm sorry," Ranboo quickly stutters out. "I'll be sure to address you correctly next time-"
"There won't be a next time." And as the servants around them start to whisper and exchange
glances, Tommy adds, "You're overstaying your visit. I'll be sure to talk to His Majesty about it."

"Talk to me about what?" A voice behind Tommy says.

Perhaps Wisp was trying to warn Tommy, with a gesture or a quick word, that the Emperor was
coming, but he didn’t notice that with how deeply he was involved with the conversation. He feels
a lighting of cold running down his spine as he whips around and sees the blue eyes staring at him
intently.

"Your Majesty," he says, dipping his head in a bow. "I didn't know you were here."

Tommy has long since overgrown his father. The difference in height, for some reason, doesn't
stop the Emperor from looking absolutely terrifying. It's like there is a shadow of something much
more powerful trailing his every move and word. Tommy knows people think of him as sinister
and cold, but it will be years and years of ruling till he'll reach that impactful demeanor himself,
and even twice as much time he’d have to learn to hide it.

The Emperor hums. "That's why you were threatening my guest?"

The shift in the mood is an instant as the Emperor makes his way to Ranboo. A hand gets placed
on the boy's shoulder - in a reassuring, calming sort of way that it hasn't touched Tommy in years.

Tommy’s chest burns. After the two weeks his father has been away for, the first words he hears
are accusing. Tommy didn’t even do anything wrong; no laws or rules of etiquette require him to
be patient with commoners disrespectful of the royal family. The fact that Ranboo was allowed
into the gardens without his permission is already a heavy insult on its own - and the Emperor,
better than anyone else, knows it.

Ranboo shifts from foot to foot. Tommy is still in a bow, just low enough to be considered
acceptable but not low enough that he wouldn't see his father’s face if he was to look forward. At
this point, he should already be allowed to straighten up, but the Emperor is clearly not letting him
do that until he explains himself.

Tommy never had been scolded in front of a commoner before; with all the servants and Emperor’s
guards around him, it’s beyond humiliating.

"Please accept my sincere apologies,” he says, voice steady. “My intentions were not to insult you
but to protect your honor.”

Finally, after the Emperor's gesture, Tommy straightens up. His face burns; perhaps with shame, or
anger, or a mix of both, even as he maintains a neutral expression. Tommy avoids looking at
Ranboo even from the corner of his vision; he thinks he might lose his control if he did.

The Emperor's anger, to the crown prince’s great relief, turns to mercy. "I believe this acquaintance
started on the wrong foot," he says. "How about we clear our misunderstandings during lunch
today? Wilbur and Fundy probably would like to join us as well."

"The Foreign Minister and I had some matters to discuss this afternoon," Tommy says, very
carefully. Testing his waters, trying to sound casual and calm. Surely the Emperor understands that
after getting insulted publicly like that, the last thing he'd want is to have lunch together with the
brother that openly despises him.

"The minister can wait for another few hours," the man cuts, and just like that, it's settled. Tommy
might be a prince, but he is the Emperor's subject before he is the heir of the throne. He's an
 example to his people, and Tommy would not make a fool out of himself twice today by making a
scene over something as simple as a lunch.

"As you wish, Your Majesty," is all he says.

Chapter End Notes

Don't forget to give a kudo & subscribe if you're enjoying this so far! Comments are
also very welcomed and boost my motivation for writing more.

"I would feel the same if my child were to bring someone else in as their foster parent,
I would feel upset if my parents took another child and favored them, and I would feel
upset if my best friend brought someone else in and was more friendly to them." -
Countess Eliza (Remarried empress, chapter 2).

With my years-long craving for books with medieval/royal setting it was only a matter
of time before I started writing one myself. Finally now I have the inspiration and
plans to do so. This fic is vaguely estimated to be around 15-20 chapters, i have half of
them planned out already, so the updates should be quiet frequent.
 Are you here, are you listening
Chapter Summary

“Forgive my brother,” honey-sweet voice croons from behind. “Theseus is not at fault
that he grew up in this luxury and, consequently, doesn’t have enough appreciation for
it.”

The second oldest son of the Emperor – though only a few minutes younger than his
twin brother Techno – is, frankly, a bastard, but he is a well-mannered bastard, and it
makes matters ten times worse.

Like a fae from the tales they used to listen to as children, he rarely lies, but twists the
truth to serve his own purposes, and his current purpose is mostly trying to make
Tommy slip. At every step of the path the crown-prince walks, Wilbur is there to
throw him off: at this point, the mere sight of unreadable dark eyes makes him tense.

Tommy can’t even talk back to him. It’s not because Wilbur is older – age means very
little in this empire, and prince Theseus is a living proof of it – but because any word
that leaves his mouth might be used against him later, and there is a limited number of
things that Tommy cares more about than royal family’s reputation.

Chapter Notes

Thank you for your support on the first chapter! I am very excited to write this story,
so it makes me really happy that you're enjoying it as well!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

In a span of seven years, Tommy and his father’s relationship has gone through a full cycle.

It’s not that he wasn’t loved by the Emperor as a child; he remembers the hugs, the kisses, the
mountains and mountains of gifts he’d find in his room for no occasion in particular. It’s the fact
that to his father’s passing-by, eventful but rare visits Tommy much preferred his mother’s
constant presence.

Things have changed a lot after the Empress passed away. The very event that broke the royal
family brought the prince and the Emperor together. Like a butterfly stammering in the darkness,
Tommy was searching for his light, and he found it in the face of his father; he admired him in
every way, wanted to be like him, wanted to make him proud .

It is true that his initial interest in empire’s matters came not from his love for his country but to
his family. Over the years, as he turned from an obnoxious ten-year-old to a noble young man,
more and more duties were put on his shoulders. Weekly activities that Tommy and his father did
together – hunting, walks in the garden, long nights where they would whisper of the country they
would build together – turned more and more rare, until there was none at all.
It was fair.

It was expected.

The Emperor was a ruler before he was a father, and it's not like he wasn’t present in Tommy’s life
at all. His reports were looked over; corrected, if that was necessary. The fact that there were no
complaints about the quality of his work meant that the Emperor was pleased with him.

And yet… sometimes, lying in his bed and staring at the ceiling, Tommy wonders at which point
did he turn from the Emperor’s son to his colleague.

The other day he was passing by Fundy’s chambers, and through the open door he got a glance of
him and Wilbur laughing and smiling over a letter, probably from Lady Sally; it made something
deep within him ache, and he ran before either could notice him.

Seeing this stranger next to his father stirs up similar feelings in Tommy’s chest. More so when the
Emperor asks Ranboo to join them at lunch. Tommy doesn’t understand the reason for this special
treatment. Yes, the Emperor has brought commoners to the Imperial palace before, but never have
ever any of them been invited to eat at the same table as the royal family. It’s an honor not every
noble is found to be deserving of, and the only thing Ranboo did so far was anger Tommy and get
him in trouble.

As a crown-prince, Tommy was taught not to doubt the Emperor’s decisions. Doubt leads to
defying and disobedience, and disobedience – to chaos. Shame of the accident in the garden is still
hot in his bloodstream, and Tommy holds onto that feeling of resilience and anger and squeezes it
until it’s nothing but pitiful embers.

Tommy keeps silent as they reach the open doors and Phil nudges Ranboo forward into the dining
room. It’s one of the casual ones that is used outside of events and celebrations, when it’s just
them, the royal family. Decorated in warm colors and with sunlight flowing in freely through a
giant yellow-tinted window, it seems like the walls are made of pure gold.

Ranboo’s mouth falls agape, and he freezes in the entrance, Tommy almost bumping into him from
behind.

“Move,” Tommy says.

“I’m sorry-” Ranboo quickly whips around. “I just never saw anything like this before.”

“You’ve never seen a dining room?”

He is careful to keep out the displease out of his tone, but still stumbles into a disapproving look
from the Emperor. If there is someone that his rude demeanor surprises today the most, it’s
Tommy himself. Usually, he is better at keeping himself put; perhaps it’s the tiredness finally
taking a toll on him.

The hardest part hasn’t even come up yet. He needs to concentrate. Tommy doesn’t like
postponing his duties and wasting time on unnecessary breaks, but if Wilbur does show up at the
lunch, he knows that he is going to need some real rest afterwards.

And as the saying goes, it’s just the moment that Wilbur chooses to appear.

“Forgive my brother,” honey-sweet voice croons from behind. “Theseus is not at fault that he grew
up in this luxury and, consequently, doesn’t have enough appreciation for it.”
The second oldest son of the Emperor – though only a few minutes younger than his twin brother
Techno – is, frankly, a bastard, but he is a well-mannered bastard, and it makes matters ten times
worse.

Like a fae from the tales they used to listen to as children, he rarely lies, but twists the truth to serve
his own purposes, and his current purpose is mostly trying to make Tommy slip. At every step of
the path the crown-prince walks, Wilbur is there to throw him off: at this point, the mere sight of
unreadable dark eyes makes him tense.

Tommy can’t even talk back to him. It’s not because Wilbur is older – age means very little in this
empire, and prince Theseus is a living proof of it – but because any word that leaves his mouth
might be used against him later, and there is a limited number of things that Tommy cares more
about than the royal family’s reputation.

Not even a muscle twitches on Tommy’s face as he slowly turns around to face his brother. “Good
afternoon, Wilbur. I assume you haven’t greeted His Majesty yet?”

Wilbur narrows his eyes – a silent admission of his defeat – and as if nothing has happened, he
turns to the Emperor, “Father, I’m happy to see you in good health.”

The Emperor nods back at him. “Wilbur, meet my guest, Ranboo.”

Ranboo comes to his senses at that. He bows clumsily under the prince’s long, studying look.

“Ah, you must be Ranboo,” Wilbur puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder and leads him back into a
standing position. “No need for such formalities. My father’s friend is my friend.”

“Thank you but- how do you know my name?”

“The whole palace is buzzing with gossip about a visitor with differently colored eyes. I must
admit, that is quite an unusual sight to see.”

Wilbur’s smile looks very welcoming and warm. It’s enough to fool anyone but Tommy. He still
remembers what his brother’s actual smile looks like, and it used to be so much more than a curtain
to hide the calculated look in his eyes; one of a predator thinking of the best way to tear someone
apart. At times like this he wishes he could take a peek into Wilbur’s thoughts and see the world in
his eyes, with every person’s weak points laid out before him – just squeeze hard enough and they
will break.

“Is Fundy going to join us today?” he asks, breaking the exchange of pleasantries and turning
everyone’s attention to himself.

Wilbur tilts his head, “I believe he is still attending his lessons.”

“I see no reason why we’re still not starting our meal, then.”

Finally, with the Emperor’s approval, they start to settle around the table.

Tommy usually finds himself too busy for a proper lunch like this, and more often than not Tubbo
orders the servants to bring a simple meal to his chambers or the garden arbor. When the royal
family’s schedules do align with each other, Wilbur sits to the Emperor’s right and Tommy on the
opposite end of the table. The left seat – where Techno is supposed to be – is always left empty.
Tommy never asked if he could occupy it out of respect for his oldest brother, and it’s not like the
Emperor ever asked if he’d want to – so he almost chokes on air when he holds it out for Ranboo.
“What’s the matter, Theseus?” Wilbur says mockingly.

Tommy recollects himself. The Emperor is just being polite and kind, like a true ruler is supposed
to be.

“Just thought of something,” the crown-prince replies, averting his gaze. One of the servants holds
out the chair for him, so he sits down and absently reaches for a glass full of water. “Is Techno
going to return to the capital for the Summer Solstice celebrations?”

“Indeed,” the Emperor replies. “Speaking of which, how are the invitations to foreign guests
going?”

“Crown-prince Dream of Esempi and queen Nikachu of Drywaters have confirmed their
attendance, and I’m yet to send out the letters to the dukes of Badlands.”

The Emperor clearly doesn't see anything wrong in the fact that they are discussing state matters in
front of a stranger. Tommy picks up the casual conversation, and while his tone is steady, his mind
races back and forth, and he resists the urge to tap his foot against the floor. Ranboo’s struggle with
utensils keeps him distracted: it’s irritating, more than anything, with all the extra sounds and
movements that he does around the table.

Clang.

A glass falls on the floor. Ranboo stares at the shattered pieces with wide eyes. Instead of scolding
him for breaking an expensive object, the Emperor leans closer and asks, in a worried voice, “Did
you get hurt?”

“No,” Ranboo says, his shoulders spiking up to his ears. “I’m sorry, I’m just- I don’t think I should
be here.”

No , Tommy agrees, glancing up and then lowering his gaze back down and pretending to be
extremely interested in a piece of sweet bread on his plate. When was the last time the Emperor
sounded so caring about him?

A distinct feeling of being watched prickles the back of Tommy’s neck. Wilbur doesn’t even try to
hide his interest, propping his chin up on his hands with an expression of a person watching a show
performed specifically for him. From that look alone, Tommy knows that he has made a mistake.
He doesn’t yet himself understand the emotions swirling in his chest, and Wilbur already took a
note of them – and how they can be used against the crown-prince in the future.

Tommy swallows down his worry. Meanwhile, the Emperor reassures Ranboo. “It’s okay. Would
you rather have a meal in your room?”

The boy nods. Tommy can’t help but feel a certain degree of relief at that. A couple of servants
come in, summoned by a ring of a bell on the table. One of them escorts Ranboo and will probably
show him the way to the guest rooms, the other cleans up the broken glass. The table is at silence,
and only when the servants leave and close the door behind themselves, Wilbur clears his throat.

“So,” he says, lightly touching the corner of his lips with a napkin. “Ranboo.”

The Emperor chuckles, “Quite an endearing young man, isn’t he?”

“He is. Though not everyone at this table might agree with that.” A pointed look is thrown at
Tommy. “I heard Ranboo had an unpleasant encounter with Theseus today.”
Winter winds come fast, but the rumors in the palace spread faster. Tommy puts his fork down,
perhaps a little bit louder than he should have. “That was a simple misunderstanding,” he says.

“It was, though from now on, I expect you to be more considerate with him,” the Emperor hums.

Tommy’s heart sinks into his stomach. “From now on?”

“Ranboo has some memory issues. When one of my guards found him in the forest near the
borders, he couldn’t remember anything except his name. I offered to let him stay at the palace for
as long as it takes to find his family.”

“Oh,” is all Tommy manages to say. “I see.”

“I understand that this is an unusual situation,” the Emperor adds. “But you shouldn’t look down
upon Ranboo just because he is not from a noble family. Perhaps getting to know him better will
be a good experience for you as a crown-prince.”

Tommy couldn’t believe his ears. “Pardon me, Your Majesty, if I’m interpreting your words wrong
but- do you want me to befriend Ranboo?”

“Do you deem that above yourself?”

The prince’s gaze, previously trailing down to his own hands, snaps back up. The frown on the
Emperor’s face couldn’t mean anything good, even if his tone was more thoughtful and
questioning rather than angry.

“Father, I don’t think that Theseus’ hesitation is related to arrogance,” Wilbur cuts in.

The Emperor raises a brow, “Is that so?”

Tommy clears his throat. “I’m just not quite sure I’ll be having enough time for our guest now that
I’m busy with the Summer Solstice preparations.”

Momentary surprise, brought by Wilbur’s interference, is quickly brushed away. Tommy uses this
opportunity even though he knows that his brother didn’t bail him out of the kindness of his heart.
For a moment, their eyes meet – Tommy sees his own stern expression reflected in black pupils. It
feels like his entire soul is exposed to this knowing, deep gaze.

Wilbur smiles. Whatever he was looking for, he had found it. “I just got a brilliant idea,” he says.
“How about we transfer Ranboo into one of the guest rooms in the eastern wing?”

Tommy closes his eyes and inhales slowly. If Ranboo will live in the eastern wing, Tommy will,
no matter how hard he'd try to avoid it, see him at least a few times a day. Not to mention that all
the nobles will not be happy once they learn of Ranboo’s origin. The current members of the royal
family might not be so arrogant - but some of these dukes and duchesses will take it as offense if
they'd be forced to socialize with a commoner.

“It’s a very small favor to ask for, and I’m sure that Theseus would do anything to please you,”
Wilbur adds. “But of course, it’s up to him to decide.”

No it’s not , Tommy wants to say, not when Wilbur words it like this and practically shoves the
only possible solution in his face.

Once Tommy opens his eyes, there is not a trace of any emotion in them. Only collected and
prudent ice. “It would be my pleasure,” he says.
 ***

Later, when the meal finishes, the Emperor dismisses them both. "What was that about?" Tommy
asks once he and Wilbur are behind the door and out of the range of their father's hearing.

"I could ask you the same thing," Wilbur laughs. "Ranboo hasn't been here even one full day - and
you're already jealous?"

The burning feeling in Tommy's chest echoes, as if responding to its name. He swallows it down,
and his nails dig into his palm behind his back.

"You're being unreasonable, Wilbur," he replies, blinking too slowly for it to be relaxed.

“We’ll see about that,” his brother hums.

For the first time in a long while, Tommy wants to argue with him. But as if on cue, the servants
appear. Tommy doesn’t want to deal with rumors on top of everything else, especially now that the
responsibility for Ranboo’s stay at the palace was practically transferred onto him, so he watches
his brother smirk and leave in tensed silence.

Wilbur’s teasing him, waving a red fabric in front of a caged bull, challenging him to try and break
out. Tommy’s not an animal. He is patient, and reserved, and an example for others to follow. He
knows he has made a mistake by showing a weakness in front of Wilbur, and Wilbur’s stubborn to
an obsessive degree – he's not going to stop until he finds a way to break him through it.

It's fine. Tommy has been in far worse situations in less than ideal circumstances. His brother's
provoking behavior is nothing in relation to some things that he has been through. Tommy can
shield himself away, like he always does, behind steady steel walls, and whatever Wilbur is
planning, is not going to work.

Right?

Chapter End Notes

The Imperial family joins at a lunch. Tommy is unhappy that Ranboo is let at the
table. Prince Wilbur comes. He is described as sly and manipulative; he watches
Tommy closely.

Ranboo feels uncomfortable and is excused to leave the table. Philza says that Ranboo
has memory problems and doesn't know where he is from. He is told to stay at the
palace for now. Philza wants Tommy to befriend Ranboo; Tommy doesn't like that
idea. Philza seems upset with his disagreement. Wilbur helps him out of the situation
only to worsen it be suggesting that Ranboo lives in Tommy’s part of the palace.
Tommy has no other choice but to comply.

When the two of them are alone, Tommy asks why Wilbur did it. Wilbur points out
that Tommy is feeling of his father. Tommy suspects that Wilbur might be plotting
something against him.
 It's shallow
Chapter Summary

“Do you have anything else to say, Theseus?” The Emperor asks.

Tommy straightens and forces himself to look into the man’s eyes. “Recently, I took
an interest in learning Ender, and I’m having some troubles with the phonetics. I know
very few people, even in the palace, who are fluent in speaking the language so I
thought- that you could, perhaps, assist me.”

It feels as the world stops as Tommy waits for an answer, and it crashes on him full-
force when the Emperor throws him an incredulous look. It hurts, but he has no one
but himself to blame. Tommy knew his request was ridiculous, and selfish, and over-
demanding- and still went forward with it.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to make any room for a break in my schedule,” the
Emperor says. Tommy is already backing away mentally, and the only thing that’s left
was to get to the doors and rush away.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he all but mutters. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Chapter Notes

Just so you know, this chapter was not written in advance, it's my excitement and
autumn break activating my speedrunning engines :D

See the end of the chapter for more notes

It has been over a week since Ranboo first arrived at the palace, and Tommy isn’t doing really well
in terms of befriending him.

Tommy is the pinnacle of kindness whenever they encounter each other by accident, but that’s
about it. Ranboo had tried to make a conversation with him one time; Tommy listened to him
stutter and apologize after almost every word for around five minutes before he got tired and left in
a hurry under the excuse that he had to fill some paperwork.

He isn’t sure what annoys him more: the aura of awkwardness that turns every conversation with
Ranboo into a torture, or his terrible lack of respect and manners. Tommy had to correct him a few
more times before he stopped using first names, and showed him the section in the library where
they had books on etiquette.

This had, unexpectedly, brought a whole new problem – Ranboo doesn’t know how to read. The
literacy rates in the Antarctic empire were not nearly close to one hundred percent, and advanced
academies were only affordable for children of wealthy merchants or with sponsorship from a
noble family. Father of the current Emperor put an effort to make schools with basic education
available both in cities and larger villages, but it was clearly not the case for whatever wretched
hole Ranboo had crawled out of.

Tommy tells this to the Emperor during one of their meetings – without the hole-crawling part, of
course. He half-expects that he’ll be tasked with finding the boy a teacher, and feels almost happy
that it never happens, and goes on with the reports. Once they are done, and the Emperor dismisses
him for the day, he does what he hasn’t done in literal years – he lingers, nervously cramming a
handkerchief in his fist.

“Do you have anything else to say, Theseus?” The Emperor asks.

Tommy straightens and forces himself to look into the man’s eyes. “Recently, I took an interest in
learning Ender, and I’m having some troubles with the phonetics. I know very few people, even in
the palace, who are fluent in speaking the language so I thought- that you could, perhaps, assist
me.”

It feels as if the world stops as Tommy waits for an answer, and it crashes on him full-force when
the Emperor throws him an incredulous look. It hurts. Tommy knows that he has no one but
himself to blame. His request was ridiculous, and selfish, and over-demanding- and he still went
forward with it.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to make any room for a break in my schedule,” the Emperor says.
Tommy is already backing away mentally, and the only thing that’s left was to get to the doors and
rush away.

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he all but mutters. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

Less than an hour later, Tommy finds himself passing near Ranboo’s room. He wouldn’t have
stopped if there wasn’t a voice coming from inside, one that he recognizes as the Emperor’s, and if
the doors weren’t left open just wide enough for somebody to peek in.

It brings back memories of the times when five-year-old Tommy would come to bother his father.
Standing behind heavy wooden doors, he never knew who he would find inside: Dad, who will
greet him with a happy exclamation, pick him up and press a kiss to his forehead, or Emperor
Philza, who would only rub a thumb between the creased eyebrows and ask a governess to take the
young prince away.

Last time Tommy had seen his Dad, he was eleven years old, and his mother was still alive. Where
he didn't expect to meet him again would be next to Ranboo, sitting behind a desk, as the boy
hunches over it with a quill in hand. What Ranboo writes on a piece of paper looks more like
scribbled characters from one’s fuzzy nightmare than actual words.

“For your first time, you’re doing great,” the Emperor says.

“You think so?” Ranboo perks up. “I still don’t know how to write my own name, though.”

“Here, let me help you.”

The Emperor puts a hand over Ranboo’s and carefully guides it over the paper. Tommy watches,
his fingers clenching into a fist to the point his knuckles appear white. He can’t bring himself to
look away even though he knows that it would take only one stray glance up for the Emperor to
notice two blue eyes watching them through a narrow slit.

Tommy feels empty. He isn’t sure what is gnawing at him from inside: the fear of being caught
eavesdropping or the fact that the Emperor could find some time in his schedule to spend with
Ranboo and not with him.
Ranboo stares at the piece of paper in amazement, like his name, scribbled in toddler-like
handwriting, is something akin to a miracle. The Emperor looks both amused and proud. “I almost
forgot that I have a present for you.”

He produces a notebook out of his pocket, or perhaps it’s a diary – covered in embossed leather
and with a wide strap across keeping it shut. “So you could write down your memories,” the
Emperor explains.

Tommy could buy himself a thousand diaries like this and cover them in liquid gold, yet he still
bites his lip so hard that he tastes blood. Deep down, he knows that it's not the gift itself that makes
anger bubble in his veins, it's the fact that the Emperor had cared enough to pick and bring it for
Ranboo.

On the surface, however, he just wants that book to light on fire. Preferably, still in Ranboo’s
hands.

His steps are quiet as he retreats, but the door creaks when he lets go of the handle. Tommy
wonders how different his expression must look from his usual stoic frown that it makes a maid
passing by jump out of his way with wide eyes.

Inside the room, Ranboo looks up, words of gratitude dying on his tongue. What he thinks he sees
is a flash of something gold behind the door. “Did you hear that?”

When the Emperor stands up and peeks into the corridor, it is already empty, save for a confused-
looking maid dipping her head in a bow.

“Must’ve been your imagination,” the Emperor says.

***

In a gap in the crown-prince’s schedule for today, he and Tubbo found a brief moment to relax in
the deep part of the gardens. Tommy probably will regret it later when his dirt-covered pants will
earn weird glances from the ministers, but for now he flops down on the grass and stares into the
afternoon sky.

Puffy white clouds drag lazily across the bright blue void. They reach the horizon and disappear
over the mountain peaks, travelling far, far south, where the ocean waves crash with graveled
shores. Between Tubbo humming a simple melody and the wind quietly playing with the leaves on
the trees, it’s a perfect balance between silence and noise to make thoughts flow in Tommy’s mind.

The last few days were full of meetings and preparations for the arrival of foreign guests, and
perhaps it’s the reason why he’s more stressed and less in control of his tongue.

“Tubbo?”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“You know that I don’t see my father a lot, and usually it’s completely fine – he has much more
important matters to take care of but-” Tommy takes a deep breath, “Is it wrong that I feel upset
because the Emperor finds time to spend with Ranboo and not with me?”

Tubbo falls silent. Tommy doesn’t realize how long it’s been since he had voiced any of his
emotions aloud until he turns his head and sees the lost expression on his friend’s face.

“Perhaps you could try and talk to His Majesty about it,” Tubbo answers after a painfully long
pause.

Grass tickles Tommy’s cheek. He looks away again, feeling a knot tightening in his chest. Tommy
should’ve expected such an answer from someone who is in good relationship with his father: not
once or twice did he hear Tubbo talk about Captain Sparklez with chest-puffing pride.

As a child, Tommy used to sneak into the barracks a lot, and he had seen Tubbo a few times
without actually indulging into a conversation. Truth to be told, the curious nimble prince – not the
crown-prince yet, nor he’d be until he turns eleven – sneaked into a lot of places. Like that one time
he was supposed to wait for Techno for their horse-riding lessons, and instead he tiptoed behind
the stableman’s back and pulled himself up on the back of the first saddled stallion he found.

It didn’t go well. Tommy had a fair chance of falling off and breaking his neck. Tubbo appeared
seemingly out of nowhere, a tiny boy with a determined frown, jumping up to the rearing horse and
grabbing the reins. He held it off until it calmed down and Tommy, shaking like a rattling snake,
was able to get down.

“Are you dumb?” Tubbo had asked him as soon as his feet touched the ground.

“Uh-huh,” Tommy shook his head. “You’re supposed to say, ‘Are you dumb, Your Highness?’”

Tubbo glared at him. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re fucking cool,” Tommy grinned back. “I think we should be friends.”

The boy didn’t get to answer then. The adults arrived and Tommy got a reprimand of a lifetime
from his family. What they didn’t know is that Tubbo is extremely skilled in climbing balconies,
and the days the prince was supposed to spend locked up in his room, repenting about his
irresponsible behavior, the newfound best friends played table games and giggled over obscene
pictures they drew on the floor under Tommy’s bed.

One night, the two were sitting in a dark room, the flickering light of a single candle picking out
their stone-serious faces and the glint of a silver dagger. Tommy pressed the sharp blade to his
palm through a hiss of pain.

“Brothers by soul,” Tommy said.

He passed the dagger to Tubbo, and once he copied his action, they clenched thier bleeding hands
together tightly.

“Brothers by blood,” Tubbo echoed.

If there was a person who was affected the most when Theseus was announced a crown-prince, it
would be Tubbo. He could’ve followed in his father’s footsteps and gone through extensive
training to become a royal guard – but instead, he chose to stay by his friend’s side.

It was only months later that Tommy started to think that Tubbo might’ve regretted that decision.
When the crown-prince asked Tubbo to be his chamberlain once he becomes an emperor, the boy
looked away and said that he’d have to think about it. It felt like the previously steady ground
beneath Tommy started to crumble, and he didn’t press the topic for the fear that a single crack
could turn into a ravine.

Something green flashes in front of Tommy’s eyes, snapping him out of his memories. A feather
slowly descends to his nose, making him sneeze and shoot up into a sitting position.
A bird perches on a tree nearby. From the tip of its tail to the curved beak, it’s almost Tommy's
arm's length. The color of the feathers, otherwise as green as the grass between the prince’s fingers,
is white along the primaries and down from its neck to its belly.

The crown-prince stands up and approaches. He extends a hand towards the bird carefully. Instead
of biting or scratching, it closes off the short distance between them and hops over onto Tommy’s
arm, and they come face-to-beak, sapphire-blue eyes to emerald-green.

"Tubbo, do you know what bird this is?"

"Looks like a parrot to me."

The Antarctic Empire, even towards its southern borders, is too cold for a bird obviously belonging
to warm climate. "Has to be some noble's pet, then."

The bird recoils and puffs up its neck feathers. It lets out a squawk that sounds so similar to a
person yelping out an offended ‘What?’ that Tommy’s lips tug into a smile against his will. “Are
you saying I am wrong?”

His finger gets bitten. More like nibbled, really, as the bird's sharp beak doesn't put enough
pressure on his skin for it to break or really hurt. "Okay-okay, point taken. You are a big bird and
not a pet."

Tommy taps on its beak. The bird lets him go. The look of surprise on its face is so vivid that
Tommy can't help but laugh - genuinely, unlike the withdrawn chuckles that he politely responds
with to the Foreign minister's poor attempts at joking. The bird bumps its head against his arm in
response with a soft coo. .

"It seems to take a liking to you, Your Highness," Tubbo points out. And then, once he comes
closer, “Look, there is a note!”

Tommy lowers his gaze and sees a piece of paper tied up to the bird's leg. He takes it off carefully
under its curious gaze.

I am a guest from abroad

who will soon arrive for the

Summer Solstice celebrations.

And I write this note while drunk.

Tubbo, peeking from behind Tommy's shoulder, snorts at the same time as he does. “For a drunk
person, the handwriting is quite neat.”

“Half of the documents in our archives would be unreadable if one of the Emperor’s secretaries
couldn’t sign them while he’s drunk. I swear, I never see that man without a bottle in hand.”

Tubbo giggles. The bird shakes a bit, letting out a gurgling sound akin to a chuckle.

"You should write a reply!" Tubbo exclaims.

"You think so?" Tommy asks, already knowing that he will. In the span of the last week, a lot of
unusual things have happened to him, but this is the first positive and truly intriguing one.

Tubbo presses a quill and a sealed bottle of ink to his hand. The bird moves up Tommy’s arm,
carefully of its claws, and sits down on his shoulder. There is a lantern with a flat top sticking out
of the grass nearby - after the sunset, a servant comes to light the candle inside, but for now it
makes for an acceptable surface to write on.

Your bird has safely found its

way to me. I shall be relieved

if it returns safely for that it means

that it is cleverer than its

drunk owner.

As soon as Tommy folds the piece of paper and ties it up to the bird’s leg, it spreads its wings and
takes to the skies. He and Tubbo both watch it fly higher and higher until it becomes nothing but a
dot quickly nearing the horizon.

“I wonder if it’s going to return,” Tubbo says, and even if Tommy doesn’t voice it, he really, really
hopes that it does.

“Who’s going to return?” Wilbur asks.

Tommy doesn’t hear him coming, and he flinches as he turns to face his brother. Here Wilbur is,
leaning against a tree, almost merging one with its shadow, his stance akin to a curious fox lurking
around a chicken scoop.

An absent smile on the crown-prince’s face momentarily turns into a moderate frown, not deep
enough for an angry glare but deep enough to make it apparent to Wilbur that his presence is not
welcome. “Did you want something, Wilbur?” Tommy asks coldly.

The older prince makes a ‘tut-tut’ sound, straightening up and dusting off his deep-blue tunic. “So
aggressive,” he says accusingly. “And just as I wanted to invite you to join us on our trip around
the town.”

“Us?”

“Me and Ranboo, of course. The boy gets so excited over the simplest of things that I wanted to see
his reaction to some of the places we liked to visit as children.” Tommy’s face twitches. Wilbur
smirks, continuing, “Remember the Rainbow fountains? Or that alley where people play music in
the evenings? It was your all-time favorite spot. “

Only because you would join the musicians, Tommy wants to say. But that wouldn’t be the case
anymore, would it?

He keeps these words shut behind sealed lips. As satisfying as it would be to win against Wilbur in
his own game, it still would be too low of a blow to remind him that he stopped playing music after
their mother’s death.

“Well, what a shame that I’m too occupied to accompany you today,” Tommy settles on instead.

“I’m sure that a short break is acceptable-”

“I just said that I’m too occupied- “

“-if not for you, then for Tubbo.”

Tommy blinks, confused. Tubbo, who stood as a silent shadow behind the prince’s shoulder since
the start of the conversation, glances up in surprise. “Me?”

Wilbur hums. “Ranboo is still very shy around me. I assume it could be something to do with the
difference in titles and age. Perhaps having Tubbo with us could help him relax a bit.”

The sheer audacity of the act almost makes Tommy choke. Wilbur shows up just to bother him,
and not only he rubs his fake friendliness towards Ranboo in his face but he also suggests that he
sends Tubbo – his best friend and his main escort throughout the day – to follow around a
commoner?

“I think somebody might be forgetting his place,” Tommy grits out through his teeth.

“Somebody certainly does,” Wilbur agrees. “And I might be looking that person in the face at this
very moment. Didn’t you promise Father that you’d be on your best behavior with Ranboo?”

“What does it have to do with now?”

“You’re avoiding Ranboo.” Wilbur doesn’t ask, he states. “At least by sending Tubbo, you could
make it look like you’re making an effort.”

The anger feels like it might take over Tommy at any moment and burn his bones and skin to ash.
In a state like this, it’s hard to keep his voice straight, and he can barely hear his own thoughts over
the racing thump-thump-thump of his heart. Before he has a chance to collect himself and answer,
Tubbo suddenly steps in, “I’ll go.”

“What?” Tommy falters.

“All your remaining duties for the day don’t require my attendance. I’d be honored to join His
Highness and His Majesty’s guest on their trip.”

“See?” Wilbur puts a hand on Tubbo’s shoulder, but it’s Tommy who shudders and snarls. “Tubbo
isn’t your guard dog, you shouldn’t keep him glued to your side.”

“I’m not-” Tommy starts, but Tubbo dips his chin – just slightly – and his eyes are looking straight
at him, telling him that it’s okay. Tommy’s jaw clicks shut. “Fine, let it be your way. But if Tubbo
wants to go back at any point-”

“I’ll send him to the palace on the first transport I can find,” Wilbur says.

Tommy nods through the strain in his neck. Wilbur smirks with triumph and leads Tubbo away,
and a half an hour later, the crown-prince watches a carriage riding out of the main palace gates, his
head put on top of his folded arms.

***

Miles and miles away, in a different country and a different palace, two men waste time in a
spacious room decorated with gold. One of them bends over a desk, making notes on a large map,
black goggles discarded aside. The other one hangs over a couch head-down, and yawns loudly in
boredom. Staring out of the open balcony doors, he is first to notice a large bird landing on the
railings.

“George, look who’s back,” he says, pulling himself up.

Before George has a chance to look away from the map, the bird disappears, and a white cat with
 green eyes darts across the floor and behind the curtains at the far side of the room. A minute later,
a man walks out of there, a smiling porcelain mask in his hand.

“How did your trip go, Dream?” Sapnap asks.

Prince Dream, the first in line for the throne of the kingdom of Esempi, drops himself on the couch
and stares at the mask with a thoughtful look on his face. “I’ve met a very interesting person
today,” he says.

Chapter End Notes

Chapter full summary:

A week passes. Ranboo makes attempts to talk to Tommy, but he avoids him. Tommy
asks Phil to help him with something, and the Emperor refuses, saying that he is too
busy. Later that day, Tommy accidentally eavesdrops on Phil and Ranboo's
conversation. Phil helps Ranboo to learn writing, and gifts him a journal to write down
his memories in. Tommy feels hurt because Phil has found time to spend on a stranger
but not on him, and escapes before either can spot him.

Tommy and Tubbo are in the gardens. The backstory of their friendship is told.
Tommy and Tuboo used to be very close, but not as much in the latest years. They see
a large green bird, resembling a parrot. It acts friendly towards Tommy. Tommy sees
a note tied up to its leg. The bird's owner, a foreign guest that is soon to visit the
palace, wrote it while they were drunk. Tommy writes a reply out of curiosity.

Wilbur appears. He says that he is going to take Ranboo downtown to show him
places that he and Tommy liked as children. Tommy refuses to join them. Wilbur asks
him to let Tubbo come instead. Tommy doesn't want to, but Wilbur reminds him that
he needs to be friendly with Ranboo if he doesn't want to get in trouble with Phil.
Tommy begrudgingly agrees.

In another country, Sapnap and George are waiting for something. The parrot comes
flying in. The parrot turns out to be a shapeshifer, who is also the crown-prince Dream
of Esempi.
 What you think you are doing?
Chapter Summary

“But you are the Emperor,” Ranboo blinks. “You can do anything you want, can you
not?”

Phil looks at him with amusement and just a slightest tone of sadness. “That’s not
exactly how it works, mate. As a ruler, my priority is, above anything else, to take care
of the Empire and its citizens.”

Ranboo knows very little about how royalty works, but from what he has seen this far,
what they mostly do is participate in long, boring meetings, and read through tons and
tons of paperwork. “Prince Theseus seems to be doing just fine on his own,” he says,
crossing his arms and looking away. He then mumbles, mostly to himself, “Besides,
he doesn’t appreciate your company as much as I do.”

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

Prince Theseus hates him.

That is the conclusion Ranboo comes to a few days into his life at the Imperial palace.

Phil – His Imperial Majesty, as Theseus insists – told him a lot about his sons during the week they
spent on their way back to the capital. From the heartwarming tales of a nostalgic parent, Ranboo’s
imagination painted a sunny picture of a happy family. He was especially thrilled to meet Theseus,
who was said to be the youngest of the three, and thus the closest to Ranboo’s age – theoretically,
at least, since he still can’t remember his own birth date.

“Theseus is a bit on the hardworking side,” Phil had warned him. “And might be... let’s say, quite a
handful at times.”

Ranboo was too optimistic at the time to pay proper attention to the Emperor’s words. Even the
sour expression on the face of a knight who accidentally overheard their conversation couldn’t
discourage him enough. Ranboo likes Phil, and if Theseus was anything like his father, he was sure
that they would get along great.

Here’s the deal, however – Theseus is nothing like Phil. When the Emperor smiles, his eyes are a
warm summer sky, but the crown-prince’s stare is always a cold northern ocean. Ranboo tries to
get on Theseus’ good side, he really does. But no matter how much effort he puts, the crown-
prince doesn’t see him as anything more than dirt stuck under his nails.

In the end, Ranboo drops all his attempts to get Theseus to like him. In his Memory book, he writes
down the crown-prince’s name, along with the words like ‘emotionless’ and ‘cruel’. Ranboo is
sure that he’s not going to forget Theseus’ treatment either way, so it’s more of an act of
resentment than anything else.

There is one good deed that the crown-prince had done for him, however, even if it wasn’t entirely
purposeful. Ever since Theseus had shown him the way to the library, Ranboo couldn't stop
thinking about the endless rows of books in thick leather covers. He comes here often, to pick a
random folio, take in the smell of old ink, tinted with vanilla and underlying tones of mustiness.
Rustling with the old, yellowish pages, and running a finger down the unfamiliar words, Ranboo
patiently practices his reading skills.

He puts Phil’s writing lessons to use as well. At nights, instead of shaking and gasping after waking
up from another nightmare, Ranboo reaches for his Memory book and sloppily writes down every
detail that he can recall. Smell of salt and sweat. Suffocating dark space. Monotonous sway of the
world around him as he struggles to swallow down the lump in his throat. This and many other
things don’t make sense in retrospect, like pieces of a puzzle yet to be solved.

During their week’s long carriage trip, Phil used to comfort him after the worst of his nightmares.
Apologies spilling from Ranboo’s mouth faster than they register in his mind and the thundering
beat of his own heart both slow down with the Emperor’s reassuring words and careful touch. Even
when the wakefulness comes, and the nightmares fade away, Ranboo doesn't want to leave Phil’s
side.

The palace has its own rules, unfortunately. Here, Phil is almost always busy and can’t free more
than a few hours of his time for him.

“But you are the Emperor,” Ranboo blinks. “You can do anything you want, can you not?”

Phil looks at him with amusement and just a slightest tone of sadness. “That’s not exactly how it
works, mate. As a ruler, my priority is, above anything else, to take care of the Empire and its
citizens.”

Ranboo knows very little about how royalty works, but from what he has seen so far, what they
mostly do is participate in long, boring meetings, and read through tons and tons of paperwork.
“Prince Theseus seems to be doing just fine on his own,” he says, crossing his arms and looking
away. He then mumbles, mostly to himself, “Besides, he doesn’t appreciate your company as
much as I do.”

The Emperor frowns – in less of an angry, more of a bitter way. Ranboo’s chest still pangs with
guilt. “Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

On an urge, Ranboo reaches out and hugs him. Phil stiffens. Nervousness buzzes in the back of
Ranboo’s mind. Did he do something wrong again? Most of the rules in the palace don’t make any
sense to Ranboo, but breaking them makes him feel both afraid and shameful.

Then a hand settles on the back of Ranboo’s neck, and Phil hugs him back. “I’ll tell you what,” he
says. “I think Theseus won’t mind taking over some of the trading discussions later this week. We
can have a picnic in the gardens, or I could show you the royal hunting grounds.”

“Really?” Ranboo perks up.

“You can take it as a promise,” Phil reassures him. “But for now, would you mind taking lessons
together with prince Fundy?”

Ranboo doesn’t mind, and he is introduced to Fundy the next day. A strand of fluffy ginger hair
falling over the young prince’s face did little to cover his yellow-brown eyes, far too clever for a
five-year-old. Fundy bats it away with his hand and flashes him a fox-like grin of white teeth,
saying that he’d love to have some company except for ‘that old ugly chicken’, who later turns out
to be his governess.
Unlike Ranboo, who takes up the lessons eagerly and absorbs knowledge like a sponge, Fundy
avoids them at all costs. It doesn’t surprise when he sees the prince slipping through a half-opened
door a few minutes before they were supposed to start. Ranboo is about to wave at him when he
notices a second person beside Fundy – one sight of whom makes him jump up to the closest
corner and hide.

“Dad’s not going to be happy if he learns that I skipped the lessons again,” Fundy says.

Judging by the lack of a reaction, Ranboo wasn’t noticed. Curiosity overtakes – he peeks behind
the corner, and sure enough, crown-prince Theseus stands there, next to his nephew.

“Don’t worry about it. If anybody snitches on us, you tell Wilbur that I’ve abducted you, and I
shall deal with him myself.”

“You can’t order to execute him.”

“Theoretically, no. But then again, I could always just take a knife and-”

Theseus makes a motion that looks like he’s stabbing someone, chatting casually, like he is not
talking about trying to murder prince Wilbur in front of Wilbur’s own son.

“Uh-huh,” Fundy says. “You’re a bad influence. Why would I make my own hands dirty if I can
just hire somebody instead?”

An impossible thing happens – Theseus laughs. The crinkle of his eyes and the way his lips stretch
– it’s an alien expression on the crown-prince’s face and yet it fits , in a way that it fits for a flower
to bloom and for the skies to shine. “That’s why you’re my favorite nephew,” Theseus says.

Fundy looks unimpressed. “I’m your only nephew.”

They continue to joke around, Theseus’ taking the young prince’s hand and walking to the opposite
side of where Ranboo hides. He only blinks confusedly as the two disappear down the far corridor.

Later that day, Ranboo is in his room, preparing for sleep. He walks out to the balcony for some
fresh air when he sees Theseus and Fundy sitting under a weeping willow.

The crown-prince has a book on his lap. He looks… Different. Relaxed, his shoulders hunched
comfortably as opposed to his usual too-straight stance that makes Ranboo’s back hurt just by
looking at it. Fundy leans on his shoulder sleepily, and once Theseus notices, he puts the book
aside and closes it.

“Come on,” he says, “Let’s get you to bed.”

“I don’t want to sleep-” Fundy mumbles, his words interrupted by a wild yawn. Theseus smirks,
and he turns his back to the boy. Fundy wraps his arms around the crown-prince’s neck and puts
his cheek on his shoulder.

Theseus stands up, and hoisting up Fundy on his back, makes his way back to the palace. A minute
later – or perhaps two, or five, or ten – somebody knocks on Ranboo’s door.

“Good evening, Ranboo,” prince Wilbur says, grinning, “Do you remember saying that you
wanted to see the capital?”

***
When Tubbo returns, it’s late evening already. He shifts from his toes to his heels in the doorway,
clenches and unclenches his fists. The energy inside him, bursting and overwhelming, shines in his
eyes and stretches his lips into a smile.

Tommy expected Tubbo to be irritated – for that their trip to the capital was nothing but a waste of
time – and relieved with the fact that he is finally back to his duties at the palace. Instead, he looks
simply happy.

“Your Highness!”

Loud . Too loud. Tommy winces. His headache, barely soothed down to weak poundings, spikes
again in leaping waves. With Tubbo’s appearance, the darkness of the parlor recoils away, and so
does Tommy; he wants to shield away from this light, bright and irritating, and sink deeper into the
armchair he sits on.

“As far as I can judge, you had a great time,” Tommy remarks dryly.

If Tubbo was a burning flame, Tommy’s words are a bucket of ice-cold water. He halts, his upbeat
mood swept away by a harsh slap of northern winds. A part of Tommy, the wicked, ugly thing,
feels satisfied to see it gone: if he feels miserable, then Tubbo doesn’t have a right not to.

“I suppose one could say so.”

“Well,” Tommy stands up from his armchair and walks over to the balcony, where he stops with
his back turned to Tubbo. “I’m glad that you did, because I was going to ask you if you could keep
Ranboo some company tomorrow as well.”

“I- what?”

Tommy throws a glance behind his shoulder. It doesn’t slip past the crown-prince that for a
moment, his eyes lit up with hope. Maybe Tubbo didn't expect this question, but he was certainly
excited about it. He recollects himself and says, “Your Highness. May I ask… Could there be a
certain reason for this request?”

For a moment, Tommy is silent. The thoughts that haunted him throughout the past few hours
come flooding again. Wilbur might be a thorn in his side with his sudden and ridiculous requests,
but there is one thing that Tommy can learn from his older brother: regardless of how bad a
situation might seem, it always has a side that can be exploited.

“It’s no secret to you that I find it difficult to tolerate Ranboo’s presence,” Tommy says, “But
somebody does need to keep an eye on him to make sure that he is enjoying his stay at the palace
and doesn’t get in any trouble because of his own incompetence. Best for that role would be fit
someone of my close circle, and since you’ve already acquainted yourselves-”

“Do you want me to spy on Ranboo?”

Tubbo sounds incredulous. Disturbed, even. Tommy clearly underestimated how well his friend
knows him. Tubbo isn’t going to be tricked with long twisted sentences, so Tommy cuts the part
where he would otherwise continue talking about his good intentions and turns away from the
balcony. “I do. So what?”

Elbows pressed to his sides, hands gripped in front of himself – Tubbo isn’t necessarily afraid, but
he is wary, in a way that a timid deer would be facing a wolf from across a grass field. “I don’t
know… It just seems too far.”
“Are you doubting my orders?” Tommy asks coldly.

Deep down, he hates the way that his voice sounds. It reminds him too much of the tone the
Emperor has used on him during the eventful lunch on the first day of Ranboo’s arrival at the
palace. Tubbo doesn’t deserve this treatment, with his unwavering loyalty through the worst
periods of Tommy’s life. There were times when they only called each other by their first names,
throwing away the ridiculous mouthful of titles and formalities and yet –

These times are long gone. Just like Tommy is the Emperor’s subject before he is his son, Tubbo is
his subordinate before he is his friend. When the silence stretches without an answer, Tommy
breaks it with a scoff, “Didn’t think so.”

Dark brown eyes refuse to meet the stern blue ones. “My apologies, Your Highness,” Tubbo says.
Tommy could swear he hears disappointment and resentment in his tone. “It’s not going to happen
again.”

***

The closer Ranboo gets to know Tubbo, the more he is convinced that he has some sadistic
tendencies. Seemingly very shy and reserved, the boy turned into a monster when Ranboo jokingly
refused to share the fried chicken wing Wilbur had bought for him at the town fair. Tubbo grabbed
him by the back of his shirt and threatened to drop him into the fountain unless he gave up all his
snacks.

Today Tubbo laughed when Ranboo climbed onto a horse the wrong way round, and refused to
help him down for almost half an hour. Too afraid of falling off, he only gripped the reins tighter
to the sound of giggles in the background. Still, Ranboo’s lips were tugging into a smile – Tubbo’s
laughter was too contagious not to join him.

“This is the most fun I had in years,” Tubbo says when they are on their way back to Ranboo’s
room. Ahead of them are giant stairs, leading up to the upper floors. Ranboo is the first to step up.
He looks down at Tubbo incredulously.

“You’re the crown-prince’s best friend. I’m sure you two get in all sorts of amusement together.”

Tubbo’s smile drops into something uncomfortable and bitter. “That’s not exactly – accurate to
reality,” he says, his shoulders spiking up to his ears.

“What do you mean?”

Tubbo doesn’t answer right away. For a while, they walk up the stairs in utter silence, the echoes
of their steps swallowed by the soft lush carpet.

“We were very close when we were younger,” Tubbo says quietly. “It was me and him against the
world. And nowadays… He keeps his distance from everyone, even me, and I can’t help but feel
like Theseus is determined to face the world alone whilst I’m somewhere in the background,
picking up papers for him.”

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s a great honor to be in the court of the prince himself-” Tubbo says, “But
I miss the way it used to be. I miss my best friend.”

Ranboo can’t help but remember what he saw a few days ago, Theseus and Fundy’s conversation,
the way the crown-prince laughed and smiled, the way his eyes turned from ice to warm summer
sky. Getting deep into his own thoughts, Ranboo doesn’t notice how they reach the top of the
stairs. His foot gets caught on the last step, sending him flying forward.
 His elbow hurts upon the impact, and he rolls over to his side with a hiss. His Memory book slides
out of his pocket and across the floor, where it stops, opened wide, next to a polished leather shoe.
Ranboo looks up. He freezes, his bones momentarily encased in ice, as Theseus looms over him
with his hands behind his back. It’s late in the evening, and the lanterns lit along the closest wall
throw a dark, flickering shadow over the prince’s face.

Only now does Ranboo realize that Theseus is not alone. A small group of men and women,
dressed in a way that screams of wealth and status, are whispering to each other, their voices
merging into buzzing background noise.

Ranboo knows that he had become a topic of rumors inside the palace. Phil had said that it’s just
harmless curiosity, and that the nobles will get used to his presence soon enough. It doesn’t feel
like curiosity when they look down at Ranboo with disdainful, mocking expressions. Peasant , he
picks out someone saying , street rat .

Ranboo feels blood rushing to his face, and he wants nothing more than to simply disappear. Like a
cornered animal, he searches for an escape, for a rescue. Against the instincts screaming at Ranboo
to scramble away and apologize, his eyes flicker over to Theseus.

In a moment that feels both the shortest and the longest in his life, the crown-prince’s gaze falls on
the book on the floor. Theseus stares at it with a storm inside his eyes, raging and twirling, that
makes Ranboo shudder with his entire existence.

“Your Highness-” Tubbo says, somewhere behind Ranboo.

Theseus’ anger is gone as quick as it appeared. Back at him stares an impassive, half-hearted
frown. “Watch where you go, you filthy rat,” he scoffs.

There are chuckles and approving murmurs, and Ranboo ducks his head, his face burning. Theseus
steps over the book, and not sparing either of them another glance, strides down the corridor.

Chapter End Notes

I'm not entirely happy with how this chapter turned out. Ranboo's POV, although
interesting at times, shifts focus from the main plot of the fic too much, and there are
far too many lurking details and subplots in his scenes that I don't think I should've
introduced just yet. But oh well, at least I got it over with :D

Probably important points of this chapter:

A) The fact that Tommy is neglected is not outwardly obvious, at least not to Ranboo
B) Ranboo does not mean to replace Tommy. He is just here because he was scared
and lost, and Phil offered help
C) Hence to Ranboo and partially to Tubbo Tommy looks like an arrogant jerk
 It's crazy what we've been through, but now you're solo
Chapter Summary

It's something just in-between them, something special. Maybe because Wilbur never
shows up at this part of the palace. Or maybe, the opposite - because when the music
flows and Tommy closes his eyes, for a moment, it's Wilbur's delicate fingers pressing
the piano keys; each and every note and passion put into them is dedicated to him, to
the boy who loves his brother more than anything in the entire world.

Maybe it's because in these moments, Tommy feels like a child himself again.

Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

After the night of his and Tubbo’s argument, sleep doesn’t come to Tommy easily. He wakes up as
exhausted as he was the day prior, and not his best friend’s cheerful greeting but to one of his
attendants eerily knocking on the door. Upon his irritated ‘ come in ,’ the crown-prince gets
informed that Tubbo has left to give Ranboo a full tour around the Imperial palace.

That’s when Tommy starts to second-guess yesterday's decision. He remembers how Tubbo
whirled around and scuttled out of his chambers, that terrible hurt look on his face. Tommy feels
like the words he said then have returned back into his mouth and rotted on his tongue.

Maybe there was a different way to go about this, not requiring him to be as firm, maybe he
should’ve been more considerate of Tubbo’s feelings, maybe he really needs to leave Ranboo alone
and ignore his existence altogether – it’s an endless sequence of ‘maybe’s and ‘perhaps’’ that’s not
going to change anything, so Tommy swallows down the bitter taste of regret and goes on with his
day.

Troubling thoughts don't truly leave Tommy's mind until later that day, when a secretary comes to
his chambers with a pile of papers.

“His Majesty has put you in charge of the trading discussions between the Antarctic empire and
Badlands,” she says, “You’ll need to look over these documents immediately, and I’ll also have
someone deliver account books and reports for the past few years.”

By the time the secretary finishes speaking, Tommy's heart hammers against his chest, his fingers
curling and uncurling around the fabric of his shirt. Only when he dismisses her, and the door
clicks shut, does he allow his excitement to show.

Badlands adjoins the Antarctic empire’s southern borders, stretching for over two thousand miles.
For the longest time, it used to be considered a backward country, up until the last century, when
vast deposits of gold were discovered under deserted hills. Badlands has been blooming since then.
It may not possess the same level of threat over the Empire as the kingdom of Esempi does, but it
makes for a valuable trading partner.

Ever since Grand Duke Samuel came to ruling and took it as his goal to expand cities in Badlands,
the demand for stone, wood and other building materials had been growing particularly rapidly.
The topic of increasing exports is one of many that are planned to be discussed with the Grand
Duke after he visits the Empire’s Solstice celebrations – to say that these trading discussions are
important would be a catastrophic understatement.

Never has Tommy been tasked with something as important before. He hasn’t expected this trust
on the Emperor’s behalf, especially with how tense their relationship has been as of lately.

“Perhaps it’s Father’s way to apologize for being too harsh with me,” Tommy mumbles. Calling
the Emperor ‘Father’, like Wilbur does, feels wrong – he’d clasp a hand over his own mouth, but
the secretary was long gone by now and there was nobody to call him out on his slip.

***

That evening, from a mirror standing on the opposite wall, Tommy gets a quick look at himself.
Bags under his eyes are almost unnoticeable from the glint of determination in them. With how fast
he jumps up to grab one paper or another, his sleeves splattered with ink, it might seem like he had
gone crazy.

Well, only to a person who has never seen someone truly engulfed by what they are good at, who
never has heard the soft thrums of Wilbur’s guitar, or never quivered watching a lightning-fast
swipe of Techno’s sword. An instrument is an extension of a musician, a weapon – of a warrior. A
ruler rarely gets separated with a quill, and not with a scepter as one may think, and Tommy speaks
of that from experience. With one sign on a piece of paper, wars can be started, an heir of the
throne might be chosen, or a noble might be executed for treason.

Tommy’s blood still feels too hot in his veins from a meeting with the Foreign Affairs minister
earlier. Thoughts swirling in his mind, Tommy bites on the other side of the quill – he knows it's
gross, but it gets energy out of his system and that’s what matters.

“We could try and cut the path here- no, no, the plateau in the way,” he mumbles under his nose.
“Instead, how about we-”

The crown-prince is so focused on scanning the map spread on the desk that he doesn’t notice
something moving on the balcony until he hears a pointed knock. His head snaps up, and he finds
himself staring into two curious green eyes.

Tommy leaps to his feet, almost falling over from how sore his legs feel, “Tubbo, look, the bird is
back!” he whirls around on his heels, only to be faced with an empty room.

Right. Tubbo is with Ranboo, because that’s where the crown-prince has sent him. Tommy shoves
the disappointment to the deeper parts of his mind and throws the balcony door open.

“Did you fly all the way here?” Tommy asks, smiling.

The parrot squawks back and paces around the desk with his wings outstretched funnily. That and
an expression he bears, surprisingly similar to a pout, makes it look like he is lamenting on his
exhaustion.

Tommy chuckles out on surprise – he has never seen a bird this expressive before. He grabs a cup
from a coffee table, filling it with fresh water from a jug, and puts it in front of the bird. The parrot
drops his head and starts gulping greedily. Tommy gets bold and pats him, receiving another
squawk – this time, a disgruntled one – and the bird knocks the cup over.

Tommy makes a noise – the younger him might have cursed out loud right now, but prince Theseus
has long since stopped using vulgar language, so it turns out to be a strangled yelp instead. With
the trajectory the water got spilled at, the map gets soaked in a more or less straightforward line,
dripping from one corner.

Like a river.

“ A river , of course!” he yells out. The bird jumps up into the air, startled, and Tommy raises his
hands in defense with an apologetic look, “Sorry, sorry, got a bit over-excited here.”

With the bird calming down and folding his wings, Tommy notices a note tied up to his leg, just
like the last time.

I’m sobering up now. I like to think

that I’m smarter than a bird.

Tommy giggles. For no reason in particular, just because he feels like it. Now that it has become
clear that somebody has seriously sent the previous note, and it wasn’t just an odd joke, it makes
Tommy wonder which of the foreign guests could be the bird’s owner.

On the other hand- there is something especially fun about exchanging letters with a complete
stranger.

“Should I reply?” he asks – nobody, or himself – but it’s the bird who answers, by nuzzling his
head against Tommy’s hand. The crown-prince, against his best efforts, can’t help a stupid smile
crawling its way onto his face.

“Okay, okay,” he says, taking a smaller piece of paper and a quill.

It looks like you’re not completely

Awake yet. What’s the bird’s name?

“Be careful and don’t lose your way,” Tommy says, tying up the note to the bird’s leg. The parrot
coos in agreement, and flies through the open balcony. This time Tommy ended his letter with a
question – he wonders if the stranger is going to reply again.

He likes to believe so.

***

Heartless.

Cruel.

Arrogant.

These words keep swirling in Tommy’s mind, over and over again. He feels like he is about to go
mad – and because of whom? A filthy rat that somehow has wriggled its way into the Imperial
Palace.

At this point, everybody knows of a commoner living in the palace at the Emperor’s favor.
Stumbling upon Ranboo discussing Tommy behind his back with his closest subordinate was not
the way he wanted them to learn that the rumors are true.

Tommy skips the dinner under the excuse of feeling unwell. It’s not a complete lie – he has been
tired before, and it feels like the irritation is the only thing still fueling his steps. As he goes down
the corridor, it burns out as well – leaving the empty shell that Tommy’s body is at the moment.

In his chambers, the servants have already prepared a bath for him – he dismisses everybody and
lets himself sink down to his chin in hot water, his breathing echoing from the marble walls and
floor. The true exhaustion of a long day becomes apparent as a dull throb spreads in a wave
through his muscles; he doesn’t have strength to feel anything at all.

Well, at least that’s what Tommy thought. As soon as his eyelids fall shut, Ranboo’s face,
distressed and with tears prickling the corner of his eyes, floats in his vision, making his chest feel
oddly heavy with something suspiciously close to regret.

("It's not your fault, Theseus," Wilbur says to the younger, weeping Tommy, rubbing comforting
circles into his back. “Mom’s sick and Dad has a lot going on right now. He didn’t mean to yell at
you. He was just tired, that’s all.")

Tommy doesn't usually lash out on other people. Always in-control of his emotions, he acts
indifferent in reaction to most things. Tommy was perfectly capable of turning a blind eye on the
commoner in the palace. His Majesty's guest is his guest - and past polite hospitality, the crown-
prince doesn't have anything to do with him. That was the way it was supposed to go, until Wilbur
started purposefully clashing him with Ranboo.

Today, Tommy was supposed to meet Fundy in the music room. Despite his young age, it has
become apparent that the young prince had inherited his parents' musical talents. No matter how
busy Tommy is, once a week, he finds time to listen to him play the piano. Fundy even dresses up
on these days, as a joke, and passing through the hall ceremoniously, sits down in front of the
instrument.

It's something just in-between them, something special. Maybe because Wilbur never shows up at
this part of the palace. Or maybe, the opposite - because when the music flows and Tommy closes
his eyes, for a moment, it's Wilbur's delicate fingers pressing the piano keys; each and every note
and passion put into them is dedicated to him, to the boy who loves his brother more than anything
in the entire world.

(Maybe it's because in these moments, Tommy feels like a child himself again.)

When Tommy ran into Ranboo earlier, the empty room with an instrument came back into his
mind, dead in its silence, and an attendant who informed him that prince Wilbur had taken his son
to a horse ride with His Majesty’s guest. Thinking back of it now, Tommy understands that he has
misdirected his anger.

Perhaps a part of him felt pitiful towards Ranboo. Wilbur only spends time with him to get on
Tommy’s nerves, and knowing what his older brother’s affection is like, how sweet are his
attention and approval, losing it would be equal to taking a poisoned dagger to one’s chest. At least
from a weapon, the wound is small, and the death comes too quick for the pain to register, unlike
the giant empty hole Wilbur had been carving out inside him with a rusty spoon.
Tommy doesn't like Ranboo. His presence is a nuisance and a lot of additional work for him - but
the crown-prince, with a fair amount of bitterness, admits himself wrong. Reputation is everything
for the Imperial family. Ranboo’s status is well below Tommy's – a public apology would bring
him down in the eyes of other nobles, but he could organize a small tea party for him instead.

Everyone wants to win over the favor of the crown-prince. People who spread rumors of his hostile
encounter with Ranboo will start taking back their words, murmuring about bad memory and
untrustworthy sources, if it will be openly shown that he is in Tommy's good graces. After all,
what is a brief argument in comparison with a whole party hosted by the crown-prince?

***

"There are eighteen rivers that have their sources in the Empire’s mountains, and, crossing borders,
flows into the territory of Badlands. Three of them are wide and deep enough for ships to pass
through. If we establish transfer of building materials through the rivers, me might cut the delivery
time from three months to just two weeks-"

Endless conversations with different experts that Tommy has invited to the palace are finally
showing their results. His idea gets approval from the ministers, but preliminary calculations of
expenses are yet to be done before the arrival - and following discussions - with the Grand Duke.

By the end of the meeting, Tommy practically runs out of the heavy wooden doors. Wisp's armor
clangs quietly as the knight catches up to his pace. Tommy is getting late - the tea party was
supposed to start already, and it's considered bad manners for the host to arrive after the guests.

From afar, he sees that the garden pavilion is already half-full of people. The guests from the list
that Tommy made – prime gossipers, social butterflies that he knows wouldn't refuse the
invitations despite how late they were sent - are chattering with each other, their voices merging
into a buzz that reminds him of bees.

At the head of the table, Tommy sees Ranboo. He looks nervous, shoulders close to his ears.
Tubbo is to the right side of him, gripping his hand under the table reassuringly – Tommy wouldn’t
notice if his friend hasn’t done the same for him countless times before.

Both notice the crown-prince stopping at the edge of the pavilion, and instead of smiling or
welcoming him in any way, both tense and exchange wary looks. Tommy barely has the time to
feel confused before he runs into someone who was definitely not on the guest list.

"What are you doing here, Wilbur?" Tommy frowns.

Wilbur smiles, and that smile, all teeth and no warmth, doesn't promise anything good, "Hosting a
tea party, apparently.”

"…Excuse me?"

A girl approaches, dipping her knees in a curtsy. Tommy recognizes her as a viscountess making
her debut this season – and trades his frown for a more neutral expression.

“Thank you for your invitation, Your Highness,” she says, looking at Wilbur. Not at Tommy.

The older prince replies politely, but Tommy doesn’t hear it over his own heartbeat suddenly
spiking up. The Viscountess turns around, her dress whirling, and the crown-prince simply stares as
she sits down with the other guests. Tommy can’t mutter out anything but a stunned, “ what ?”

"Ah," Wilbur sighs softly, in a sweet-slow voice, like he is explaining something to an incompetent
child. "There has been a misunderstanding, you see. When Ranboo was informed that His
Highness is hosting a party for him, he got a little confused. I was confused, too, when he came
knocking to personally express his gratitude. I couldn't bring myself to disappoint the poor boy –
so I had the party invitations rewritten to my name."

Tommy chokes on air. He feels lava bursting in his chest, overflowing all the possible borders and
burning his insides to crisp. The only thing preventing him from barking out a thundering 'You
bastard !' is the proximity of the guests.

A few curious gazes already lock onto two princes. Tommy forces himself to relax, but the words
he grits out through his teeth are nothing if not poisonous, “Taking credit for my initiative- that’s a
new low, even for you, dear brother .”

Wilbur is relaxed. He simply stands, his hands gripped behind his back, casting a bored glance into
the distance. “If you want to call me out on my lie, go ahead,” Wilbur turns his head briefly
towards Tommy, and tilts his head with a glint in his eyes, “But you’re not going to, are you?”

Tommy’s mouth goes dry.

He could expose Wilbur in front of the crowd. His secretary and a few servants know the truth and
will be able to back him up – there is no doubt that Tommy can prove that he was the one to
organize the party. Some nobles might get offended that they had been tricked. Wilbur will be the
talk of the court for the next few days or weeks, and another ugly stain will add up onto the older
prince’s reputation.

Some people are still not letting go of the fact that Wilbur got married to a commoner. According
to the High Order, to gain crown inheritance rights, at least half of one’s blood should be from a
parent who is part of the current ruling family. And yet, disagreements rumbled through the county
when the Emperor had announced Fundy to be the fourth in line to the throne after Tommy and his
twin brothers.

Anything that tarnishes Wilbur’s reputation affects his son as well. The whispers of nobles, their
open mockery wouldn’t be understood by a five-year-old child – by every other one except for
Fundy. Tommy still can’t forget the one time that his nephew came crying to him, angry tears
spilling over his puffed up cheeks, telling him that some duchess had insulted his mother.

Wilbur hums. It’s a smug demonstration of the truth that they both know. Tommy can’t stand
looking into that expression. He should stay and join other guests, pretending like nothing has
happened at all – but he can’t . Not when he has already reached his limit and feels like exploding
at any moment.

Before he can mutter out a reasonable excuse to leave, the guests suddenly go silent. Tommy all
but freezes, recognizing the pattern of the steps – slightly limping, slow but confident.

While the crown-prince stands unmoving, Wilbur briefly whispers to his ear, “Father seems upset.
I wonder if it could be about the petty conflict you had with Ranboo the other day?”

Tommy turns around, clenching his fists. He wants to ask Wilbur where did he learn that from- but
the expression on the Emperor’s face makes his entire body go rigid and cold.

“Theseus,” his father says, voice as harsh as a whip, “A private word, now .”
Chapter End Notes

Thank you for your overwhelming support on the other chapter, I really loved reading
the comments and the theories, they are a very cool thing to wake up to in the
mornings :D

It turned out that a lot of you have read Remarried Empress (and some did it because
of this fic, which I find very funny), so in the fic notes below, I added which characters
from this fic correspond to whom from that novel/webtoon. It's not a full list, mind
you, just some that I think will not spoil the future plot points too much. For
understandable reasons, this fic's events differ a lot from Remarried Empress', so I
think I might surprise even those of you who are familiar with it.
 Follow through with your promises
Chapter Summary

“I’ve told you everything that I wanted to,” he says, taking a measured step, "By the
end of this walk, I expect you to return to Wilbur’s party and to publicly apologize to
Ranboo-"

“No.”

The Emperor stops. He turns around half-way back, frowning, “No?”

Tommy tilts his chin up. His eyes, narrowed down to sharp slits, stare at the Emperor
with stubborn defiance. "I will not make myself a laughingstock for Your Majesty's
whim."

"It's an order. And as a prince, you are obliged to comply."

"The crown-prince has no obligation to apologize to a lowborn pest,” Tommy cuts in,
“and he is not someone to be disrespected, even by His Majesty.”

Chapter Notes

Long chapter pog

See the end of the chapter for more notes

With his cold tone that the crown-prince couldn’t rival in his best efforts, and an expression on his
face that looks like it had been carved out on the surface of never-melting ice, the Emperor might
look calm to an outside observer, but every child can sense their parent’s anger, and prince Theseus
is not an exception. Back and shoulders tense to prevent him from outwardly flinching, he
obediently ducks his head and says: “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Following the Emperor deeper into the gardens, Tommy feels eyes watching his every step. Where
Wilbur outwardly sneers him, shoving his hands into his pockets with a smirk, the noble guests are
more discreet about it. Glances from behind folding fans, whispers and murmurs briefly exchanged
ear-to-ear – Tommy is used to these like to the gold tilt of furniture in the palace and howl of the
winds in winter chimneys, so Tubbo’s green eyes anxiously flickering over to him stands out in
stark contrast.

For a second, Tubbo looks guilty. His hands grip the table cloth as if trying to prevent him from
leaping to his feet. Tommy wonders what Tubbo could be feeling guilty of, but then they round a
line of trees and the pavilion hides away from their sight, and he is abruptly shoved back to reality.

The Emperor keeps walking. Every step he takes on a gravel path is a painful stab to Tommy’s
ears. The crown-prince does not dare to stop, however, keeping up with his father’s pace despite
how dread threatens to make him freeze.
"I heard about the incident that happened the other day,” the Emperor says. “Do you have an
explanation for your behavior?”

Tommy’s hands, kept firmly to his sides, clench hard, nails digging into his palms. He doesn’t have
an explanation – not the one that would satisfy the Emperor, at least. If only Wilbur didn’t take
credit for his tea party, he could’ve said that he was trying to make up for insulting Ranboo- but
Wilbur did, and Tommy has no other choice but to quiver weakly from anger surging in his veins.

"Don't we have anything more important to talk about, Your Majesty?” he says, irritation sipping
into his voice.

“Do not change the topic, Theseus,” the Emperor says. The way he pronounces Tommy’s name
makes his heart sink into his stomach. “I made it crystal-clear to you that Ranboo is under my
protection. The only thing I requested is that you be kind and patient with him. Now I see that it
was too much to ask of you.”

Tommy grits his teeth. “I'm trying my hardest.”

“No, you’re not,” the Emperor snaps. “You could’ve just ignored Ranboo, if it was that hard for
you to keep your pride in check. Instead, you publicly humiliated him and brought him to the verge
of tears.”

The guilt, curled up deep inside Tommy’s chest, stirs up uncomfortably. “I didn’t mean to, but I
can’t fulfill my duties if you and Wilbur constantly bring Ranboo up-”

The Emperor turns around suddenly. Tommy fights the urge to physically recoil from the glare
thrown his way. "I wouldn't have to bring him up if you could be compassionate for once!”

Tommy shrinks back. “Compassionate?” he asks weakly.

“You’re the crown-prince, and Ranboo is just a poor boy with no parents or friends to fend for him.
Don’t you have the slightest ounce of sympathy?”

Tommy falters. He never has seen his father this furious before. The Emperor has snapped at him a
few times in the past, but he doesn’t remember ever outwardly getting shouted at. His father’s
ignorance is a coin of two sides: Tommy never got praised, but he never got scolded, either.

Tommy could put up with Wilbur’s occasional naggings, could pretend not to see Tubbo’s strained
behavior and concerned gazes. The Emperor’s indifference was a bliss – for that it means that he’s
good , that his father has nothing to rebuke him for. Tommy was happy , until Ranboo had
wriggled his way into the Imperial palace.

It’s unfair. That Tommy got yelled at – and that this argument was the longest his father had
spoken to him in the last month. He can handle the loneliness scraping him inside out, but this
feeling, burning and tight and overwhelming – is completely new. Just remembering Ranboo’s face
makes Tommy shudder with anger, and his jaw, clenched shut tightly, is the only thing preventing
a growl escaping from his throat.

‘Don’t you have the slightest ounce of sympathy?’, the Emperor’s voice echoes in his mind. In that
moment, it’s as though lightning strikes Tommy, and he knows that the answer is a firm, outward
no .

Tommy drops his head, keeping his gaze trained firmly on the ground. They are alone in this part
of the gardens, save for the guards keeping respectful distance and motionless as stone statues. Not
far away is an arched entrance to the Northern wing. The Emperor interprets the crown-prince’s
long pause as repentance, and turns around, as if preparing to leave.

“I’ve told you everything that I wanted to,” he says, taking a measured step, "By the end of this
walk, I expect you to return to Wilbur’s party and to publicly apologize to Ranboo-"

“No.”

The Emperor stops. He turns around half-way back, frowning, “No?”

Tommy tilts his chin up. His eyes, narrowed down to sharp slits, stare at the Emperor with
stubborn defiance. "I will not make myself a laughingstock for Your Majesty's whim."

"It's an order. And as a prince, you are obliged to comply."

"The crown-prince has no obligation to apologize to a lowborn pest,” Tommy cuts in, “and he is
not someone to be disrespected, even by His Majesty.”

Normally, Tommy would’ve backed away at this point – or never spoke back to his father in the
first place. He feels like he had stepped on a brittle bridge – but the fear isn’t enough to fight off
his anger, one that twists his lips into a snarl and tightens his throat until the air gets in and out in
harsh whistles.

Two pairs of blue eyes lock on each other. Tommy refuses to be the first one to look away, and
watches the expression on the Emperor’s face morph from irritation to surprise and to something
grim and complicated. His father looks like a person who was bitten by their docile, loyal dog: not
angry, not yet, but the deep teeth mark on their hand make them question, for the first time, if the
animal they had taken in was as harmless as they thought it is.

"Why did you change so much?” the Emperor says.

He stays right where he is, yet Tommy feels like a slap lands on his face. Just like that, all of his
anger and courage is gone, and all that is left of him is his trembling, weak form, and stinging in
his eyes.

Tears are a weakness, and not to be spilled in front of other people, so Tommy whirls around on his
heels and runs.

***

Deep in the palace gardens, there is a section that Tommy never brings other people to, hidden
away from a stray glance with high walls of woven branches. Thorny shrubs, splattered with dull
green leaves, seem to soften and part slightly to let the crown-prince through.

In the clearing, a small building stands. It’s an orangery made from dull, white-tinted glass that
looks almost orange in the light of the evening sun. Tommy has been visiting this place almost
every other day for over six years now, but never has it become less painful to see a silhouette of a
person moving inside. Straight, elegant stature, splendid dark curls and black pearls of a woman’s
eyes all seem real, up until he opens the door and finds the orangery empty.

Empress Kristin has commissioned the build. Tommy isn’t sure if even the Emperor is aware of its
existence, but as long as he remembers, he was the only one Mother ever brought here. Tommy
liked it that way; to have a little secret between them that Wilbur and Techno weren’t included into.
Over the years, Tommy will grow to have many secrets from his siblings, and they will no longer
be fun to keep, but at the time it made him feel special.
The orangery used to bloom beautifully, a piece of a rainforest encased in glass, with a fountain in
the very center. Even in the harshest of winters, a complex pipe system with hot water, cleverly
hidden under the ground and between the trees, keeps the plants warm. Among giant green leaves
and vines, colorful wings flutter. Blue morpho butterflies were the first one in the orangery, but
throughout the years, several other species were added, and Tommy was taught how to care and
look after each one.

He once asked Mother why she loves butterflies so much. The question had taken her by a surprise.
A big orange monarch sitting on her index finger was carefully placed back on a flower. Picking
up her robes, she sat down with Tommy on the ledge of the fountain and pulled him into a careful
hug.

“You’re my favorite butterfly,” she smiled, brushing a hand through his soft curls.

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“I don’t think I look like a butterfly.”

Tommy squirmed, trying to get comfortable, and settled down with his cheek pressed to Mother’s
neck, his head tucked under her chin. He was ten at the time, but he felt like a toddler again,
wrapped up safely in her warm arms: nothing else in the world mattered as he closed his eyes and
concentrated on slow rises and falls of her chest.

“They remind me of home,” she then added, so quiet that the boy wouldn’t hear it if her lips
weren’t just above his ear. Tommy knew for a fact that none of these butterflies inhabited the
Empire, but it was when the Empress was already not in good health, always pale and tired, so he
wrote it off as the haziness of her mind.

The memory of them sitting together, in a comfortable silence interrupted only by the murmur of
the fountain and flutter of butterfly wings, was one of the last happy ones that Tommy had. The
Empress soon had become too weak to move around the palace on her own, and was always either
sleeping or resting in her bedroom.

Sometimes, the three princes were allowed to visit: Techno would bring a book to read to her
aloud, or Wilbur strummed his guitar to help her fall asleep on the days when the chest pains got
the worst. On that fateful day, the Emperor had come to escort them personally. The terrible
helplessness in his eyes would haunt Tommy’s nightmares for years to come – it was the
expression of a man knowing that his children would be left without a mother.

All four of them entered the bedroom tenderly. The heavy blue curtains were closed, and in the
darkness only stirred by the trembling light of candles, they saw a woman lying amongst soft
pillows. The Empress looked so weak that it seemed like she would dissolve into sea foam at any
moment, but to Tommy, she was the most beautiful person in the world.

They approached. Wilbur and Techno, pale as the bedsheets the Empress was wrapped in,
squeezed each other’s hands as she gently stroked their cheeks.

It was then Tommy’s turn to approach. Despite her weakness, with the Emperor’s help, she was
able to push herself up into a half-sitting position. Mother pressed a kiss to Tommy’s head and
murmured, quiet enough for him to be the only one to hear, “The garden is yours now. Can you
promise me to take good care of it, butterfly?”
His voice wavering, and lips trembling, Tommy said, “I promise.”

The Empress passed away that night, and the first few days after, Tommy spent in a weird haze. It
was both a blessing and a curse that he couldn’t remember anything from the funeral, except for a
one brief second where his gaze focused on Wilbur’s face.

Empty and pained, it made something twist in Tommy’s guts. He always knew when something
wasn’t right with Wilbur, and that internal voice was screaming his ears off. At the time, Tommy
thought that his brother was scared of his newfound responsibilities – Wilbur was the crown-
prince, after all, and with the Empress’ death, the empire and their father would need him more
than ever.

That night, Wilbur ran from the palace, nothing but a bag of coins in his pocket. He bought a horse
in the capital outskirts and left the city before dawn came. In two days, he reached the closest
seaport, found a ship that was about to sail to a different continent, and convinced the captain to
take him aboard.

The ship never reached its destination, however, and was caught in a storm several days later. No-
one from the crew survived the crash except for Wilbur, and his weak, but still breathing body
washed up to the shores of L’manburg, the southernmost town in the Empire, where it was found
by a young woman named Sally. The story of how a runaway prince fell in love with a musician
will inspire a lot of ballads, true and not so much, that will be sung in the taverns and shared in
front of traveler campfires.

None of it will happen for a long while, however. At the time, the only thing that people knew was
that in the span of three days, the Empire lost both its Empress and its crown-prince. Techno
wouldn’t stop searching for Wilbur for years to come, but the Emperor couldn’t afford the luxury
of believing in the best outcome. The Empire needed an heir.

Tommy turned fourteen, and was the crown-prince for a total of three years, when Wilbur returned
to the capital, a woman with bright red hair by his side and a toddler in his arms. He had expected a
teary welcome, a tight hug and forgiveness – and he received it, from every remaining member of
his family except for prince Theseus. When they finally met, the boy might as well have been an
ice wall.

“I’m glad that you’re alive, brother,” Tommy said, dipping his chin in greeting, and left it at that.

For the few months following his return, Wilbur wouldn’t leave Tommy alone. Trying to talk to
him, interfering with his duties.

“You’re different, Theseus,” Wilbur said, staring at the crown-prince as he wordlessly signed
another document.

“You weren't like this before,” he snapped, when Tommy refused to have dinner with him.

“Why did you change so much ?” Wilbur raised his voice.

All that he saw was Tommy’s indifferent expression, and then the door was closed right in front of
his face. What he didn’t see was the tears glinting in the crown-prince’s eyes, and how he waited,
biting on his hand to stifle out the sobs, until Wilbur stomped away, before he allowed himself to
break down in an empty room.

***

And then something wakes Tommy up.

It takes a minute of slowly blinking for him to start making sense of where he is. Marble under his
arms is cold and sucking out the remains of warmth in his body, and his limbs feel stiff from where
he fell asleep, leaning on the fountain. Tommy merely moves his legs, stretching them to one side,
and his muscles already scream at him to stop.

Tommy isn’t sure how long he has been sitting here before he fell asleep. It couldn’t have
happened so long ago – when he touches his cheek, a fresh tear stains his fingers. Unless he started
crying in his sleep, which becomes more and more likely as he throws his head back and sees a
starry night sky.

Huh.

It’s been at least three or four hours since Tommy’s fight with the Emperor. Wisp must be looking
for him right now, along with servants and secretaries. A good decision would be for Tommy to
get himself together and return to the palace – but he hasn’t been making a lot of good decisions
today, and he isn’t planning on starting now.

A part of the crown-prince’s mind is already scolding him for talking back to the Emperor, and
shames him for crying because of something as stupid as a single phrase. But slumping down the
fountain until he almost lies on the ground, Tommy can’t bring himself to care.

He is tired. Diving into memories like that always exhausts him like no paperwork can. Tommy
looks around the orangery; it’s pitiful in comparison with the images of its previous glory. Half of
the plants either withered away or are in the process of it, and the ones that survived look sluggish
and dull, their leaves shrinking and huddling close.

The thing about butterflies, they don’t live very long. In the orangery, caterpillars hatch, turn into
pupas, and then winged beauties emerge from the cocoons, all in the span of a few days, weeks, or
– in best case – few months. Tommy knows how long each of the species is supposed to live, and
he inevitably notices when he finds more insect bodies that he is supposed to.

Butterflies died all the time ever since Tommy started caring for them. On the day of Wilbur’s
disappearance, he cried both with fear for his brother and over the motionless bodies. (After his
coronation, there were more dead butterflies in the orangery than there were alive.)

In the summers, Mother used to let some of the insects out of the orangery. They would scatter
around the palace and bring smiles and laughs to servants and nobles alike. Nowadays, Tommy is
too afraid to go for such a risk, for as long as there is at least a single butterfly alive, he doesn’t
break his promise.

Tap-tap , glass echoes dully. Someone is knocking on the door. It’s the same sound that woke up
Tommy in the first place. For a second, his chest wrenches in fear. Then, his gaze focuses, and an
already familiar green bird tilts his head at him from outside the orangery.

Tommy breathes out. Everything’s fine, nobody has found him. He stands up on his shaky legs and
drags himself across the orangery.

“Hey,” he says softly, kneeling and putting his palm against the glass. “How are you so good at
finding me?”

The parrot squawks and taps on the door with his beak again. Tommy puts his hand on the handle,
but doesn’t twist it yet. “I can let you in, but only if you promise not to try and eat any of my
butterflies.”
He said it without really expecting the bird to understand. To his surprise, the parrot stares at him
and nods. Tommy doesn’t think that their bloodline had any mad people, but maybe he will be the
first one – because against better judgement, he opens the door.

The bird hops on Tommy’s arm. He is heavy, and the crown-prince has to shift his weight a bit so
that they don’t both end up toppling to the ground. Tommy walks back to the fountain and sits
down on the ledge.

The parrot jumps to his lap. Tommy rubs his head and smiles, “Thanks for coming to see me.”

As the last two times, there is a note tied up to the parrot’s leg. Tommy struggles to unfurl it with
his unbending fingers, and has the time to remember that in his last letter, he had asked for the
bird’s name.

Does it need a name?

You can give one if you want to.

“Guess it’s up to me to decide, then,” Tommy chuckles. The crown-prince studies the parrot
closely, but green eyes have already beat him to it, peering up at him close. It’s not the dumb look
of beady bird eyes Tommy is used to see, but a penetrating gaze of an intelligent creature that, for
somewhat reason, seems sad.

“Did… Did you notice I have been crying?” Tommy asks.

The bird coos and presses his head to Tommy’s cheek. His feathers are softer than silk, but at the
same time so warm that it makes him shudder.

Tommy can’t handle it’. He bites his lip and pulls away. “Stop it, you’re going to make me cry
again.”

The parrot scoots closer and presses himself to Tommy’s chest. The crown-prince freezes, unable
to breathe. The bird only snuggles closer, spreading his large wings over his shoulders with an
encouraging trill.

Slowly, Tommy relaxes. He puts down a hand on the parrot's back, and when he doesn’t protest,
wraps his arms around him carefully. Green and white feathers are so fluffy and soft to the touch
that Tommy has to physically stop himself from burying his nose into them.

“This is my secret place,” he admits in a low murmur. “I come here from time to time to cry my
feelings out. Nobody knows about it, and I’d like to keep it that way, alright?”

The bird coos. They sit like this for a little longer, until Tommy gets afraid that he might be
irritating the bird. He pulls away, and the parrot picks on the note crumpled in his hand.

Tommy is grateful for his habit of carrying a quill and ink in a sealed bottle with him at all times.
He takes the old note and turns it the other way around and puts it down on the fountain ledge. A
name for a green bird with haunting intelligent eyes. Tommy would have suggested something
simple and predictable, like Emerald, but he wants to somehow thank the parrot for comforting
him.

A simple hug didn’t fix all of Tommy’s problems, but it feels like a great weight has been lifted
from his chest, and the perspective of leaving the orangery and facing the Emperor doesn’t seem as
scary anymore . Tommy won’t apologize – he meant every word that he said then, and he won’t
take them back now.
 The Emperor is right about one thing, however. Tommy is the crown-prince, and no-one can
replace him at that – not Wilbur, not Techno, and especially not Ranboo .

Tommy grips the quill tighter and writes,

The bird’s name shall be Prince.

Chapter End Notes

Tommy gets a hug! From a bird, but it's still counts, right? :D

I think most of your answers regarding Wilbur's backstory are answered in this chapter.
It was written with huge gaps on purpose; there is much more to Tommy's and sbi
backstory in general that you guys are not quite ready to see yet, and that is planned to
be slowly revealed as we go.

Congratulation to those of you who guessed that Tommy is going to name bird!Dream
Prince. There is something uniquely fun about writing a fanfiction that is so close plot-
wise to the source material - people correctly guess one things and completely miss the
others. For now, I'm keeping it close to how Remarried Empress was in the begging,
but as more characters and subplots are introduced you will see some stark differences.

I'm also trying this strange thing called healthy sleep schedule. Not working out for me
this far as I am writing this at almost 2 am but oh well, I'm trying. This and exams
coming soon intervene with my fic-writing life, so I might have to drop updates from 2
to 1 time a week. I will try to compensate it with longer chapters like this, so don't you
worry ;)

And to those of you who made it this far into the end notes, a little reward/hint for
what will be in the next chapter: bedrock brothers and discduo enjoyers are going to
have a field day :D
 I'll be waiting for an answer
Chapter Summary

Five minutes, Tommy thinks, rubbing his eyelids. I can allow myself a quick break.

If Tommy sat down, he would probably end up falling asleep for good, so he finds a
tree to lean against instead. Closing his eyes and throwing his head back, he relishes in
the feeling of sunlight gently brushing his skin.

He doesn’t get to enjoy his rest for more than a minute when his instincts suddenly
burst screaming that something is wrong. Tommy’s eyes snap back open and scan the
area in search of what could’ve set off his senses. A bee lazily buzzes by, and a dry
leaf crunches in his hands as he squeezes it subconsciously - but other than that, it’s
quiet. Too quiet.

Tommy leaps away from the tree. He doesn’t make it a foot away before a strong arm
pins him to someone’s chest, and something cold pressed to his throat.

Chapter Notes

This chapter is sponsored by my discord server. Get your bedrock brother content,
boys.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The guests started arriving at the palace, and Tommy never has been as busy.

Summer Solstice is one of the biggest events of the entire year. Annually, apart from nobles in the
Empire itself, delegations from neighboring countries are invited to take part in the celebrations,
including a few royals. With all the advisors, secretaries, servants and other close subordinates, the
number of people in each court can go up to half a hundred individuals. Needless to say, trying to
fit this crowd into the palace without accidentally offending someone or causing any discomfort is
a huge headache for Tommy – he almost went mad trying to assign chambers for Queen Niki’s
ladies-in-waiting.

One of these days, Tommy works in his office, when a secretary comes bowing and puts
something on his desk. Dimply, his gaze focuses on a white envelope. It smells of roses, and the
handwriting is too familiar for him not to recognize, all neat lines and an occasional tiny swirl.
Before Tommy knows it, he is already opening the envelope and carefully pulling out the letter
inside.

I’ll be home tomorrow.

One line, four words, but to Tommy, they feel like everything. Techno’s coming, Techno will be
home , his mind cheers. He feels like bouncing back and forth on his feet from excitement, until he
remembers where he is, and that the secretary’s eyes are still on him. Tommy presses his lips into a
thin line. “Thank you for delivering me the pleasant news.”

Hours have been ticking by very slowly since then. Suddenly all these months Tommy and Techno
spent apart turn into nothing in comparison with a single day. Fortunately, or not-so, the crown-
prince has too much work to think about often. Even to his walk in the gardens the next noon,
Tommy brings a pile of documents. In the end, all his efforts are in vain, because no matter how
much he stares at them, pinned to a bench with random stones he found in the grass, the words
continue to dance around the page and don’t make any sense to his fog-clogged brain.

Five minutes , Tommy thinks, rubbing his eyelids. I can allow myself a quick break.

If Tommy sat down, he would probably end up falling asleep for good, so he finds a tree to lean
against instead. Closing his eyes and throwing his head back, he relishes in the feeling of sunlight
gently brushing his skin.

He doesn’t get to enjoy his rest for more than a minute when his instincts suddenly burst
screaming that something is wrong. Tommy’s eyes snap back open and scan the area in search of
what could’ve set off his senses. A bee lazily buzzes by, and a dry leaf crunches in his hands as he
squeezes it subconsciously - but other than that, it’s quiet. Too quiet.

Tommy leaps away from the tree. He doesn’t make it a foot away before a strong arm pins him to
someone’s chest, and something cold pressed to his throat . A dagger, Tommy breath hitches.

Everything that comes next Tommy does on pure instinct. He grabs at the hand holding the blade
and jerks it abruptly with all the force he can muster. The arm slips away as he twists his way
around the hold. Tommy tries to pin the attacker’s arm to their back, but is swiped along when they
duck into a roll.

The knife glints sharply past him. Tommy, still flying forward, grabs at his own belt. Colors burst
in front of his eyes as they land, and he blindly throws his weapon forward.

A strong hand grabs his wrist. When Tommy can finally see clearly, he finds himself on the
ground, the knife in his hands inches away from the attacker’s throat. His breathing is heavy;
adrenaline kicks in lately, burning his veins and speeding up his heart uselessly while the other
person’s chest rises and falls in an even, calm rhythm. With the attacker’s face so close to his own,
Tommy can see each minuscule feature despite the long shadow of a hood – and what he sees is not
aggression, not fear, but a bizarre combination of curiosity and boredom, an expression that only
one person in the world could bear.

“You’re dead,” Tommy says.

Unlike what most people think, Techno’s eyes are not red, but a very light shade of blue,
surrounded by a thin ring of darker color. Depending on the lighting, its tone can vary from pink to
crimson. “Are you sure about that?” Techno says, and as he raises a brow, his eyes have a dull
purple glint.

Tommy looks at his own chest. There, pressed perfectly between his two ribs, is a delicate thin
stiletto. Techno holds it still, halted abruptly a flick of a moment before it could plunge into his
beating, living heart.

That's one way to start their first conversation in almost half a year. Any other person would have
panicked, or started screaming by now, but all Tommy does is let his head fall back on the grass,
silently admitting his defeat.
Internally, Tommy is happy. To see Techno, that is, not to get tossed around like a ragdoll, but it’s
an obligatory extension that comes with having General Technoblade as his older brother.

There is an understandable concern rising within any country whenever twins are born into the
ruling family. History has shown that the closer siblings are, the bloodier they’re going to fight for
the throne. Power struggles rarely end well; while the heirs are busy trying to tear each other’s
throats, they fail to notice how the country goes up in crimson flames.

Tommy’s older brothers were spared from that fate. Techno never showed any interest towards
politics and diplomacy and practically any part of a prince’s daily routine. While Wilbur eagerly
participated in every social event held in the palace, Techno was ready to lock himself into a tower
and throw the key out of the window if it meant he wouldn’t have to talk to another person in his
life again. Between them two, it was obvious who Emperor Philza chose as his heir.

It wasn’t until the twin princes started their physical training that Techno found his true talent.
Talent is nothing without hard work, and no effort can compensate for a lack of talent; Techno,
however, has a scary amount of both. It’d be easier to move a mountain than to stop him when he
decides on a new goal – stubborn and competitive, it’s like he breathes and lives with a single
purpose – to conquer, to improve and to perfect .

The stiletto pressing into his ribs disappears. Tommy didn’t even blink, and Techno already hid it
away to- where? His sleeve, belt, boot – Tommy wouldn’t know. If he had to place a bet, he’d say
that there are three different weapons hidden somewhere on Techno’s body.

“That’s unfair,” Tommy says, sheathing his own weapon. “My knives are for throwing, not for
close-combat defense.”

Techno straightens up and offers Tommy a hand. “The problem isn’t in your weapon but in your
reflexes. You’re just too slow. If there’ll ever be another assassination attempt, you’ll be dead
before you realize what attacked you.”

“It’s been three years,” Tommy says.

Majority of the countries on the continent have a certain symbol to represent them. For Esempi, it’s
a dragon, for Kinoko kingdom – a white rabbit; historically, Antarctic Empire was associated with
a blue-eyed crow.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” Looking upon the flapping flag, Techno squeezed eleven-year-old Tommy’s hand
tighter. “We’re the rotting body now, and everybody else is a hungry crow.”

Problems started arising in the Empire less than a week after Wilbur’s disappearance. Everybody
felt the shudder of the imperial family, a crack that ran through the very heart of the country.
Unwavering, formidable Emperor Philza suddenly turned into a simple man, broken with the loss
of his wife and his child. Every rat lurking in the shadows took its chance to strike; two conflicting
barons burned each other’s villages down, other kingdoms challenged their rights for border
territories, and bandits huddled up together in organized structures, terrorizing traders on smaller
roads.

Techno took his sword and left the capital to reestablish order in the Empire. He couldn’t have
predicted that enemies would wriggle their way into the palace. If Tommy didn’t burst into the
Emperor’s office that fateful day, the country could’ve been left without a ruler: the mercenary –
Punz, as they later learned – got distracted by the prince’s appearance, and instead of plunging a
knife to Philza’s heart, threw him out of the closed windows.
Tommy still remembers it vividly. The explosion of colored glass and a scream full of horror –
Tommy’s own scream. By the time he ran up to the broken window, Father was already on the
ground outside, his eyes closed, and the grass beneath him quickly turning red.

He- he doesn’t like to remember that very much. Tommy closes his eyes, chasing the image away,
and takes Techno’s hand.

Techno pulls him into a quick hug. It’s a greeting and an apology all the same. Despite a heavy
stink of sweat from Techno’s clothes, Tommy lets himself tuck his head under his brother’s chin,
relishing in the feeling of security and safety – Techno’s here now, and nothing can threaten him
anymore.

Tommy pulls away as soon as he hears steps on the gravel path – affection, even between family
members, is only acceptable in private. A servant strides up to them, opening an umbrella in the
process.

“I’ll be taking that,” Tommy says. “You’re dismissed.”

The servant looks like they’re about to protest, but one synchronized glare from Tommy and
Techno, and it’s like they never have been here in the first place. Tommy holds out the umbrella
over his brother’s head. Techno nods gratefully and throws his hood down.

As a child, Techno was nicknamed the Snow Prince. It’s hard to find a country more fitting for a
prince with albinism to be born into than Antarctic empire. When he walks through the curtain of
light snowstorms, Techno looks like an illusion, a mirage of Winter itself. Most of their childhood,
Tommy remembers his skin not as white but red, from the constant burns that littered every inch of
his skin that was exposed to the sun for too long.

“You’re usually not this terrible,” Techno says. Tommy would’ve winced; but coming from
Techno, it can almost count as a compliment. “How many hours of sleep did you get last night?”

“Eight.”

A lie, and a very bold one at that. Tommy feels almost guilty as Techno eyes him critically.
“Theseus, I’ve seen corpses that look more alive than you do. I need a truthful answer.”

“Five?” Tommy tries.

“ Theseus .”

Sometimes, Tommy feels as though Techno came up with his name just for the sole purpose of
scolding him like this. “Fine, three,” Tommy sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose, “But I’m
feeling okay. Besides, I wanted to talk to you about the state of border walls. Did you manage to-”

Techno’s sheathed sword swipes Tommy’s legs from under him. He doesn’t have the time to do as
much as yelp as he loses his balance and falls. Techno grabs Tommy’s arm before he could hit the
ground and yanks him back to his feet.

“No work talk for you until you get some rest,” Techno declares, wrestling the umbrella out of
Tommy’s fingers, “and that is final.”

Tommy sways. His head won’t stop spinning. He takes a few deep breaths and wipes away the
sweat on his forehead. “I’m afraid that won't happen. The delegacy from Esempi is arriving in
about an hour. I have to greet them personally.”
“You do that, and I’ll go talk to Father in the meantime,” Techno hums. “And as soon as you’re
finished, you’ll take a nap. Am I understood?”

“Deal,” Tommy says.

***

Kingdom of Esempi is the second biggest country on the continent after the Antarctic empire. Like
a rare flower of far, far north, it bloomed despite all hardships and odds – including, but not limited
to, ten years of King Schlatt’s tyrannical rule. He was dethroned in the result of a rebellion and a
civil war. His sister, Queen Caroline, took the throne and quickly built the kingdom back from its
ruins. Tommy faintly remembers seeing her once, when he was younger, but the larger part of his
life Esempi was ruled by her first son, Foolish, who continued to strengthen the country after his
mother’s death.

King Foolish wasn’t married, and neither he had any children – meaning that his younger brother
Dream is the next in line for the throne. This year will be the first time the crown-prince of Esempi
visits the Empire. As a procession of carriages and armored knights’ marches through the front
gates of the palace, Tommy fidgets with a button of his shirt from nervousness and curiosity alike.

Esempi is a seaside country, with the third of its territory split between far-away islands, but its
national colors are green and gold. A richly decorated carriage with a flag flapping in the wind
stops right in front of the stairs.

The first person to exit it is a black-haired man in his twenties. He jumps out of the carriage with
cat-like agility, stretching his shoulders with visible delight. Somebody less informed would’ve
been confused about the man’s identity, but Tommy has done his research and recognized Sir
Sapnap from the molten amber of his eyes. He is said to be Dream’s personal knight and closest
friend who the prince never leaves his estate without.

Sapnap’s eyes fall on Tommy, scanning and analyzing and curious. Tommy got weaned from
people staring at him so openly, but doesn’t cower and glares back with a lofty frown. Sapnap
looks away and bows, “Your Imperial Highness, greet prince Dream from the kingdom of
Esempi.”

The carriage sways slightly as another figure steps out it. For a second, Tommy gets blinded by a
flash of reflected sunlight. When he finally blinks away the colored spots, he comes face-to-face
with Dream.

There are a lot of different rumors going on around about the crown-prince. People describe him as
sinister and ruthless – a person who can plunge a weapon to your heart with a smile on his face.
Anybody who crosses Dream’s way, ends up dying in odd circumstances; they say that his latest
victim was a marquise who supposedly plotted against King Foolish’s rule, and died shortly after
his servants found him under a heavy rain, covered in severe burns.

A strange case indeed, and Tommy isn’t the one to blindly believe in rumors, but now he sorts of
understands where they could be coming from. A mask stares at him. Thin black curve of a smile
drawn under two dotty eyes, smooth and covering over Dream's entire face, sends a shiver down
his spine.

Tommy knew that the crown-prince will come wearing a mask; it's a custom for members of royal
family of Esempi, and king Foolish always had one on during his visits to the Empire. Made
entirely out of gold, it was a purposefully rough and too-symmetric depiction of a face with giant
emeralds where a normal person's eyes would be. Admittedly, Tommy expected Dream's mask to
be as pompous, and the simplicity of a porcelain oval the prince wears had taken him by surprise.

Nevertheless, he dips his head, "Prince Dream. It's a great honor for the Empire to welcome you on
its land."

“It’s an honor to meet you as well, prince Theseus,” Dream says.

His voice sounds clear and loud despite the mask. Tommy tries not to stare, keeping his gaze
locked politely at around Dream’s chin level. “I’m sure that you’ll find the Imperial palace to your
liking. Now, let me show you the way to your chambers-”

Tommy spins around and walks up the stairs. Prince Dream and his knight exchange a quick
glance and follow him into the palace.

***

Tommy mastered every single aspect of noble life except for small talk. He always manages to
make it awkward, trying to fill uncomfortable silences with rapid rants about the first thing that
comes to his mind. While Empress was still alive, it was considered endearing, but after that, the
nobles made it more than clear that his habit is annoying.

Nowadays, Tommy prefers not to open his mouth at all, only passively agreeing or nodding when
other people talk, unless a discussion is called for. He and Dream briefly exchange a few words
about the current state of trades between the Antarctic empire and Esempi, but after that, it’s almost
utter silence interrupted only by the sound of their steps. Tommy leads them to the very doors of
guest chambers when Tubbo suddenly appears, rounding the corner, “Your Highness!”

Dream and Sapnap’s faces snap to Tubbo. With both men’s rich clothing, green and gold, and a
mask on Dream’s face, it’s nearly impossible not to guess who they could be. Tubbo freezes and
bends in half, “Please forgive me for interrupting, Your Highnesses.”

“What’s the matter?” Tommy asks, not without a tone of annoyance.

Tubbo straightens up and, keeping his head down, throws him a timid glance. “His Majesty wants
to see you in his office.”

Tommy’s heart skips a beat. The only reason he refrains from letting out an alarmed ‘why?’ is the
fact that the prince of Esempi is still standing there, listening to their exchange with his head tilted
like a curious bird.

“I believe that we can find our way from here,” Dream says, gesturing at the door. “Thank you for
your help, prince Theseus.”

“Please enjoy your rest before the Solstice ceremony,” Tommy replies, relieved.

As soon as Tommy disappears from prince Dream’s view, any thoughts that he might have had
vanish all at once. Tubbo barely can keep up with him as he strides along the corridor with worry
worming its way into his guts.

It’s been almost a week since their argument in the gardens, and Tommy hasn't been hearing
anything from his father at all. Usually, The Emperor was firmly set on having both his sons and
grandson joined together at a table at least twice a week. The sentiment of family dinners was long
lost for Tommy; it’s fine if It’s just him and Fundy, chatting and jokingly tossing a grape or two at
each other, but under Wilbur’s hawk gaze, the sound of a finger tapping on a glass pounding in his
temples – no .
Tommy doesn’t feel comfortable turning his back on Wilbur, let alone relax in his presence. If it
came down to a fight between two brothers, he wouldn’t want Fundy to get caught in the crossfire.
This week, Tommy wasn’t called to any of the meals, however, and he doesn’t feel even slightly
relieved about it, especially when Tubbo tells him that Ranboo dines either with Wilbur or the
Emperor every day.

The Emperor is busy discussing something with his secretary when Tommy enters. They both
falter as soon as they see the crown-prince, and the echo of their voices bounces off the high
ceiling. Despite how big the room is, and the scatter of comfortable armchairs and couches around
the corners, Tommy feels like the walls are about to close on him at any moment. It’s as if he is
eleven all over again – unsure and small and terribly out-of-place wherever he goes. His hand stays
on the door handle a little longer – cold metal under his fingers grounds him as his heartbeat spikes
up.

“Did you call for me, Your Majesty?” he says.

The Emperor flicks his hand, and the secretary shuffles away wordlessly. The sound of the door
clicking shut almost has Tommy sighing from envy – what wouldn’t he do to be in that man’s
place. He forces himself to walk up to his father and freeze in front of his desk, head ducked – it’s
not polite to look into the Emperor’s eyes, but more so it’s simply scary.

“How are our guests? Did everything go smoothly?” The Emperor asks.

“I believe so,” Tommy replies. “They seem to be tired from the long journey. I showed Prince
Dream the way to his chambers.”

“Good,” the Emperor says. His praise, as small as it is, is a precious gem that Tommy stores away
carefully. “I believe you understand how important these guests are.”

Tommy feels tension melting away from his muscles as he nods to the Emperor’s words. He was
called to discuss business, and nothing more. Tommy was afraid that his father would bring up
Ranboo again; afraid of emotions that are too strong for him to simply shove into a corner and
forget about, but this – this is something that he can deal with.

“Prince Dream is said not to leave his home very often. Having him as a guest is a great
opportunity for building diplomatic relationships,” he says. “It would be a huge waste for us not to
use it.”

The Emperor nods. He leans back on his chair, face softening, just a bit, and through the simmered
curtain Tommy sees a different person – with a kind smile and warm eyes. He blinks, but the
stranger doesn’t go away. “I heard you’ve been working very hard as of lately.”

“It’s always this way when the Summer Solstice comes,” Tommy answers, because he doesn’t
know what else he can say. Liar , his mind whispers traitorously. It’s always this way, celebrations
or not. Tommy bites his lips and tells it to shut up, because the Emperor looks at him closely now.

“Are you feeling well, Theseus?” the Emperor asks, and he sounds like he actually cares . Is this
some sort of test, or is he interpreting the Emperor’s tone wrong? His gaze flickers in search of an
anchor, and when he doesn’t find anything more suitable, it settles on his trembling hands.

“It’s quite alright,” Tommy murmurs. “Nothing could make me happier than serving the Empire
and the crown.”

“Still. It’s important that you take good care of your own health. I’ve thought about it for a while
and decided to assign Wilbur to help you with organizing the celebrations.”

Tommy’s heart sinks to his stomach. He considers arguing, considers protesting- the perspective of
spending several hours a day with Wilbur makes him want to howl his throat raw.

But Tommy still remembers how the Emperor reacted when he questioned his request about
Ranboo. Is he going to be as angry if the crown-prince tries to turn Wilbur’s help down?

The Emperor is still watching Tommy. His expression is genuine, his arms resting on the top of the
desk and eyes locked on Tommy’s face. Father’s initiative comes from good intentions of relieving
some pressure off him. He didn’t have to- these were Tommy’s regular duties, and he never
complained about feeling tired, but it feels nice to think that the Emperor thought about him. That
he cares about his well-being.

(Or cares about him at all)

With praise and concern so rare in the Emperor’s words, Tommy doesn’t want them tio turn into
disappointment. He hides his bitter wince with a polite smile. “Thank you for your consideration,
Your Majesty,” he says.

***

Despite what Tommy had told Techno, he doesn’t raise his head from the desk until late in the
evening, desperate to finish all work today on his own so that he wouldn’t have to meet Wilbur
tomorrow. It’s an honorable attempt – and an unsuccessful one, too, because at some point the
candlelight starts to hurt his eyes, forcing him to drop the quill and leave the office.

Wisp, a loyal shadow, follows him more closely than usual; he probably thinks that Tommy is
about to collapse at any moment. To be fair, it did happen before, and not just a single time.
Tommy is secretly thankful to his knight when he sways on his feet and an arm is wordlessly
offered to him for support.

Prince is already waiting for him. One of the servants must have left the window open to let in
some fresh air. Tommy shuts the door as soon as he sees the bird, perched on a chair, his eyes
closed and chest rising up and falling down slowly.

Prince looks adorable, with his feathers all-fluffed up and snorting softly. Tommy sneaks through
the room and kneels beside the chair. “Hi there,” he all but murmurs, and the bird opens his
emerald eyes and blinks. “I’m so sorry for making you wait.”

Prince yawns. Here it is, that stupid smile again. Tommy can’t help it; his lips tug up and stretch
on their own. He was keeping the smile reserved and firm on habit, but it turns into a wild grin
when Prince trills at him and nudges his head into his hand. Tommy rubs him gently, his neck and
his head, and suddenly doesn’t feel as tired as before.

“Do you have another letter for me?”

The parrot nods and eagerly stretches his leg. Tommy takes the letter, and still petting Prince with
one hand, uses the other to unroll the piece of paper.

As your per request, the

Bird’s name shall be Prince.

“I think it fits you a lot,” Tommy mumbles, looking over the parrot. The crown-prince has seen a
lot of birds, and they keep a handful of them in the royal aviary: crows, mostly, for carrying letters,
and hawks for hunting, but never parrots or any other exotic birds. Not only Prince’s feathers are a
bright, summer-warm shade of green, but they shine and look carefully cared of. The whole bird’s
stance is straight, chest puffed up, wings folded comfortably – by all criteria, a regal creature.

“If you were a human, I bet you’d be a prince,” Tommy says, “or a king.”

Prince squawks out an agreement and glances at the letter, his wings hovering a few inches from
his body, encouraging Tommy to keep reading.

I’ve arrived at the palace.

Can you guess who I am?

Tommy blinks. In the midst of everything, he almost forgot that Prince’s owner is a foreign guest.
They could be anyone: one of Queen Niki’s ladies-in-waiting, born and raised on rich soils of
Drywaters, a knight from the west who doesn’t know anything but the weight of the sword in their
hands, or an old advisor of Grand Duke Sam.

I don't know who you are, Tommy writes, and then pauses as a sudden realization strikes him.
Prince’s owner could be a simple commoner, too; a well-paid servant who can afford to buy and
raise such a beautiful bird. This assumption, strangely, doesn’t bring any disgust or irritation within
Tommy like thinking about Ranboo does. And that is… odd. Tommy hates Ranboo because of his
low birth – because he doesn’t belong in the palace, and his presence alone is an insult to their
predecessors. That’s it- that’s the only reason, right?

The quill quivers in his hand, leaving an ink blob at the end of the last word. Tommy huffs,
reaching to grab a new piece of paper, but Prince bats his hand away.

“Right, this is not a document,” Tommy chuckles. “It’s a letter to my pen pal- No? Why are you
shaking your head?”

Prince lets out a disapproving squawk. Tommy is left to stare in confusion as the bird tilts his head
with an expectant look in his narrowed eyes.

“Anonymous messenger,” Tommy tries again. “My faceless acquaintance or- my letter friend,
perhaps?”

Prince nods eagerly, flapping his wings. The parrot’s flight feathers smack Tommy’s cheek on
accident, and he lets out a yelp of surprise. Prince freezes instantly, eyes wide and apologetic, and
Tommy bursts laughing.

Whoever raised a bird this smart and empathetic, can’t be a bad person. “I don't know about that
one. We’ve only sent each other, like, three or four letters? I know nothing about them, and they
know nothing about me-” Tommy falters, frowning. “At least I don’t think so.”

He is just one of the hundreds and hundreds of people living in the palace. Even Tommy doesn’t
know every attendant and cook by their faces, and he is the one responsible for paying their
salaries. He could’ve met Prince’s owner today, talked to them – but neither would’ve recognized
each other from a few short letters with no distinct features but their handwriting and choice of
words.

If Tommy stares at the letter long enough, he can imagine the hand that wrote it. His own dim
reflection on the polished wood of the desk shifts and changes until it turns into an undecipherable
figure. Tommy clenches the quill tighter, but doesn’t put it down; the reflection, however, raises its
hand. Half-transparent, as if made from the fog blanketing the Antarctic Empire in early springs, it
slides across the paper – an echo of other person’s presence, a bridge to their soul.

Tommy puts his hand on the desk. The stranger pauses, putting the quill aside, and presses his
fingers against his. A shudder runs through Tommy’s body – and he recoils, thrown out of his
strange trance.

Prince bumps his head into his arm. “Sorry. I’m feeling a bit floaty today,” Tommy shakes his
head, and takes the quill again.

Do you know who I am?

***

The Antarctic empire truly lives up to its name. Even Dream’s feathers are not enough to shield
him from the evening chill as he glides. If this is how the capital is in the summers, he doesn’t
even want to think about how cold the northernmost parts of the Empire can get in the winters.

Dream hits the floor of his chambers, shifting into his human form, and instantly regrets not
landing straight into the bed. “ Fuck ,” he grits out, “It’s freezing!”

He could’ve turned into a wolf- or a fox, or into whatever animal has fur thick enough to keep him
warm, but shifting takes a lot of energy and he is already feeling terribly sleepy. Sapnap peeks in.
He throws one look at his shivering form, and not even in the slightest surprised, tosses him a pile
of clothes. “You went to the Imperial prince, again.”

Sapnap leans his back against a wall, arms crossed, while Dream pulls his shirt on. Both of his best
friends know that he is exchanging letters with prince Theseus. Sapnap took it lightly, but George
didn’t approve of the idea.

You’re playing a dangerous game , he said back in the Esempi. If someone suspects you, all of our
plans will be doomed . Good thing that George had business to attend to in Kinoko kingdom, or
otherwise Dream wouldn’t hear the end of his complaints.

“I needed to make sure that the kid is alright,” Dream says.

“The Imperial prince?” Sapnap glares at him incredulously, and Dream nods. “Hold on, are you
sure that we’re talking about the same person?”

The question is not unreasonable. First time meeting Theseus as a human and not a bird made
Dream wonder if the crown-prince has a secret twin he swapped places with. Theseus he saw today
was exactly how rumors describe him to be: cold, indifferent, interested in nothing but state affairs.
Perhaps the only thing that people got wrong was the shade of his eyes; Dream didn’t see the ‘ice
that tears right through your soul’ or ‘summer storm at the seas’. They just looked dim, a stroke of
cheap lazuli smeared over a grey background, too concentrated and dazed at the same time.

“Prince Theseus is impressively good at putting up a façade,” Dream picks up his mask, left
discarded on the nightstand. Quieter, he adds: “I wonder how much longer it will last.”

The thing that first pushed Dream to look for prince Theseus was curiosity. Rumors that go around
about the heir of the Antarctic Empire are almost as ridiculous as those about him, and he wanted
to see what the prince is like for himself.

Dream was ready for anything. A spoiled brat, pampered by life in luxury; a power-hungry tyrant,
building a staircase of heads to the throne, or a puppet on strings connected to the Emperor or his
 close circle. What Dream certainly didn’t expect was to find a lost, abandoned child, crying in a
garden full of rotting flowers.

Something is going terribly wrong with that kid, and Dream would be damned if he didn’t try to
interfere.

Chapter End Notes

This chapter is a lot longer than usual but oh hey, it has been an entire week, so I think
you guys have to be rewarded for your patience.

Things are looking pretty good so far for Tommy. Dream is here, Techno’s nice,
Philza is actually showing some care towards him - everything is fine.

...I wonder how long is that going to last, though.

 You swore you would stay by my side
Chapter Summary

“It wasn’t Ranboo’s fault that Prince Wilbur stole the credit for your tea party,” Tubbo
insists.

“And maybe he didn’t make me look like a villain in His Majesty’s eyes by retelling
him of that stupid incident?”

“Ranboo didn’t,” Tubbo says. “I did.”

Chapter Notes

From now on, chapters will have full summaries in the end notes, so that you could
skip some parts without missing out on anything important.

This chapter is fairly short, because I'm hoping to update again either on Wednesday
or Thursday.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“It seems as though the search for Ranboo’s family has been unsuccessful so far,” Tubbo says.
“His Majesty said that he is free to stay at the palace for as long as he wishes for, and is looking
for people to serve him on a permanent basis.”

Tommy pinches the bridge of his nose. Majority of the foreign guests have already arrived at the
palace, and he is getting sick of dodging their questions about the ‘shy young man’ lurking around
the eastern wing. He was hoping that Ranboo would be out of his hair before the start of the
celebrations – how endlessly naïve that was of him.

“For all we know, Ranboo could be an orphan, and this all has been pointless from the very start.”
Tommy says dryly. The quill in his hand threatens to snap and join a bunch of others already
thrown into the trash can. “Or, perhaps, Ranboo is lying about his memory problems to take
advantage of His Majesty’s kindness.”

A crack of lighting runs across the night sky. Candles and lamps flicker, their light momentarily
mixing in with a white flash and then it’s back to normal again. Tommy listens to the hum of the
rain behind the closed windows. He counts six seconds before the thunder comes.

“Ranboo’s telling the truth, Your Highness,” Tubbo says, in an unexpectedly defensive tone that
makes Tommy glance up and frown. “He gets nightmares about his memories- I’ve seen him
afterwards. It’s not something that can be faked.”

Tommy clenches his fists tighter under the desk. He doesn’t know why he’d expected Tubbo to
take his side, given how close he and Ranboo had become. Tommy isn’t blind. He sees two figures
flashing in the corner of his vision, and hears their laughter, so clear and full of life that it hurts .
Hurts that he can’t remember the last time Tubbo sounded as happy, and that it’s not Tommy who
he shares his happiness with. It hurts that the moment Tubbo’s eyes fall on Tommy, he pretends not
to see him and rushes to lead Ranboo away.

“Why are you defending him?”

It’s not as much a question as it’s a warning. Tubbo deflates, but doesn’t look away even as
Tommy’s eyes bore into him harshly. “Ranboo is nice,” he says. “Sure, he might not understand
how things work in the palace, but he means no harm.”

“No harm?” Tommy laughs bitterly. “Did you even hear the rumors going around about me?”

Tommy thought that he and the Emperor were keeping their tones low enough during their
argument, but in the palace, everything has ears: from the paintings on the walls to every bush in
the gardens large enough to hide a particularly curious individual. Whatever the original rumor has
been, in a span of a week, it was mauled and twisted until everyone was talking about how
Emperor scolded the crown-prince like a misbehaving child.

“It wasn’t Ranboo’s fault that Prince Wilbur stole the credit for your tea party,” Tubbo insists.

“And maybe he didn’t make me look like a villain in His Majesty’s eyes by retelling him of that
stupid incident?”

“Ranboo didn’t,” Tubbo says. “I did.”

It takes a moment for Tubbo’s words to settle in, and when they do, it feels like lightning had
struck him. Suddenly it makes sense why Tubbo looked so guilty during the tea party, and avoided
looking into Tommy’s eyes afterwards.

The feeling of betrayal digs its claws into Tommy’s chest. Tubbo stands before him, his head
dipped, shoulders spiking up to his ears, and waits for his next words- but what could Tommy even
say ? He thought he was already over that incident, but the anger bubbling in his veins proves
otherwise.

"Why?" he grits out.

Tubbo grips his hands in front of himself. "It wasn't right of you to treat Ranboo that way," he says,
keeping his tone low. "He didn't deserve it."

"It wasn't right of you to talk about me behind my back!” Tommy stands up, the chair screeching
against the floor.

"What other alternative did I have?” Tubbo snaps. “You wouldn't listen to me, you never do."

Tommy feels like shouting. From anger, or frustration, or both – but the way Tubbo looks at him,
sad and defeated, makes words die on his tongue. If he starts yelling now, it’ll be nearly impossible
to stop. Tommy- Tommy doesn’t want anyone to overhear their argument and stir up new rumors
about him.

(He doesn’t want to say anything he might regret later.)

Tommy’s jaw clicks shut. “Get out.”

Tubbo flinches. “What?”

“You heard me,” Tommy says, sitting back down on his chair. “This is no way to treat your prince.
Leave now, and don’t bother showing up again until you learn to watch your tongue.”

Under Tommy’s thorny glare, Tubbo cowers. His lips move, but no sound comes out. In the old
times, he might’ve yelled at Tommy – threw a pillow at him, or maybe something heavier – but
now he swallows down that anger and avoids the prince’s gaze. “I apologize, Your Highness. I
overstepped.”

Tommy forces himself to look away before Tubbo can get a glimpse of the guilt brewing inside.
“You’re dismissed,” he says.

***

Sleep doesn’t come to Tommy that night. He rolls around, trying to find a comfortable position, but
normally soft and cozy blankets feel like sandpaper to his skin. Tommy throws them away with a
loud groan, and his eyes fall on a nightstand drawer to his left.

He stretches an arm to open it, but hesitates and pulls himself to his feet instead. The key turns in
his hand, locking the door with a soft click. Only when Tommy makes sure that the handle doesn’t
budge does he return to the drawer and pull something fluffy and yellow out of it.

The Imperial family started preparing for Techno and Wilbur’s eighteenth birthday a month in
advance. Their parents were to present them a pair of purebred foals, brought from Badlands
specifically for the occasion. Tommy could’ve asked for money to buy something similarly
expensive, but he wanted his gift to be special, something from Tommy himself, so he got a little
bit more creative.

Queen Niki – princess Niki, at the time – was surprised to see Tommy on her doorstep. As soon as
the flustered young prince had explained, stuttering, that he wanted to make a surprise for his
brothers, she bloomed with a smile and agreed to help. Their knitting lessons were kept a firm
secret, and by the end of the month, Tommy’s gift was ready.

Truth to be told, it turned out much worse than Tommy hoped for. For one, he only had the time
and the patience to finish one of the sweaters. With the stitches all hopelessly crooked and barely
giving the fabric any shape, one sleeve noticeably shorter than the other, and a chocolate stain on
the back from that one time Tommy thought it’d be a good idea to have a snack while knitting, it
was possibly the ugliest article of clothing to ever exist.

Yet, Tommy was so proud , presenting his gift with eyes shining brighter than the icy mountain
peaks under the afternoon sun. Techno got one glimpse of the monstrosity that Tommy was trying
to shove into his hands and graciously conceded the sweater wholly to his twin. And Wilbur-

Wilbur was delighted . He brushed the soft fabric, tenderly, carefully, like it was pure silk, asking
again and again whether it was Tommy who made the sweater. Tommy confirmed, and Wilbur
threatened to cry on spot. He didn’t, and instead, he pulled the sweater over his head and
announced that he’s never going to put it off again.

Their parents were amused when they saw Wilbur. He marched through the corridors, Tommy
trailing him with his chest puffed up and his head raised high. The nobles threw weird glances at
the crown-prince when he showed up wearing the same sweater on the celebratory banquet. People
genuinely wondered if Wilbur found it in a dumpster, or wrapped a thorn blanket around his
shoulders – but Wilbur didn’t care, because it was Tommy, his baby brother, who made it.

For three years of Wilbur’s absence, his room remained almost untouched, frozen on that fateful
day he decided to leave the palace. Tommy visited the room often, and every little detail bore
sharply into his memory: a coin, covered in dust, glinting dull gold from where it was dropped
under the window; paintings thrown down from the walls, their frames cracked in half; but most
importantly, a yellow sweater discarded on the bed.

Tommy still remembers that night – exactly three weeks into Wilbur’s disappearance. Without the
Empress’ ever-calming, but stern presence, and with the Emperor too busy trying to keep the
country from falling apart, nobles hardly cared to watch their tongues. They were afraid of Techno,
but Tommy’s presence wasn’t acknowledged at all, and it was only a matter of time before he
started listening closely to their whispered words.

“My servant’s brother works at the docks. Prince Wilbur was seen there, bribing a foreign captain
to take him aboard –”

“They say that the ship crashed in a storm.”

“–a disgrace, to die as a runaway traitor.”

“The Emperor should disown him, while he is still not officially declared dead. That will save the
Imperial family’s reputation.”

“He got what was coming for him –”

Tommy didn’t listen to them much longer. He started shouting; screeching on top of his lungs as
he demanded all of them to shut up , Wilbur will be back, he wouldn’t abandon me. Some people
laughed and pointed fingers. Others looked at him with pity, and Tommy wasn’t sure whether it
hurt less or more.

He ran away, unseen and unheard, tears spilling from his eyes. Tommy cried and wept and sobbed,
lost in his grief and sorrow. He wanted to be left alone; wanted for the whole world to disappear if
only it meant that he’ll get his brother back- and in a way, his wish came true, because Techno
peeked out of Wilbur’s room.

Tommy didn’t think twice before throwing himself into Techno’s arms. At that point, he was in
full-on hysterics, not a single coherent thought but only a growing crack in his very heart and soul.
Techo made a noise of surprise that turned into something sad and wounded as he scooped Tommy
up into his arms and carried him inside.

When Tommy ran away from the gallery, it was noon, but when he finally started coming back to
his senses, the sky outside already turned black. He found himself tucked under Techno’s chin, the
two of them sitting in silent darkness. It took Tommy a while to realize that he was pressing
Wilbur’s sweater to his chest in one hand while the other one had a deathly grip on Techno’s arm.
It must’ve been downright painful with how deep Tommy’s nails dug into it; but Techno didn’t say
a word, only rubbed soothing circles into Tommy’s back.

Tommy should’ve let go, but couldn’t bring himself to. He believed, with that childish sort of hope,
that as long as he keeps on holding, nothing bad can happen to either of them. That maybe, just
maybe , it’ll be enough to stop Techno from leaving like Wilbur did.

“Do you think that Wilbur’s going to be alright?” Tommy muttered.

For a long moment, Techno didn’t respond. When he talked, his voice wavered, to the degree
Tommy was barely able to make out of the words. “I like to think so.”

Something wet dripped from Techno’s face and onto Tommy’s cheek. Techno’s crying, he
realized, and that thought was more startling than any lightning could ever be. His eyes, tired and
swollen, peered into Tommy’s lost expression and the only indication that something was wrong
were the tears flowing down to his chin and his hoarse ragged breathing.

It was then that Tommy thought how much worse it’s been for Techno. He and Wilbur might’ve
been close, but Wilbur is Techno’s twin. When it was them three, Tommy was always the third
wheel, the less fitting, extra , and that was part of the reason he used to cling to Mother so much.

When she died, part of Tommy died too. And now Techno was going through the same thing.
They were both broken halves of something else, of something more – and now, left adrift and
alone, they had no other choice but to try and see if their edges would fit.

“I’m not Wilbur,” Techno said. His hand brushed the back of Tommy’s neck. With his skin
covered in healing scars from training, scratchy and tough, Techno’s touch wasn’t as soft or gentle
as Wilbur’s, but in his embrace, Tommy felt warm and safe.

Tommy hugged Techno tighter. “You don’t have to be.”

When Tommy closes his eyes, he is in his own room again. Techno is gone and the only reminder
of the memory that just replayed in his mind is the sweater he buries his nose into. It’s been six
years since he had carried it out of Wilbur’s room and hid it away in a drawer that none of the
servants are allowed to touch. If there is any smell left on the worn yellow fabric, it’d be dust and
Tommy’s own sweat.

Another lightning momentarily breaks the darkness of the world outside. On the balcony, a winged
shade lands. Tommy leaps to his feet and throws the door open just as the thunder explodes in his
ears.

“Prince!”

The bird squawks out a greeting, shivering. He looks almost guilty as Tommy rushes to him with a
noise of worry. “Did your owner send you in this weather?!”

During the five seconds Tommy grabs the bird and carries him inside, the rain soaks his hair and
clothes wet. He can only imagine how cold and exhausted Prince must be. Tommy looks around in
search of something to wrap him in and his eyes fall on the sweater on the bed.

There is a slightest moment of hesitation – a step aside, his fingers curling and uncurling – but then
Prince sneezes, and Tommy hurries to put the sweater on him. Prince tilts his head, his eyes wide,
as his head is pulled over the neck hole.

“Squawk?”

“It fits you better than it did Wilbur,” Tommy reassures, setting the bird down in front of the
burning hearth, build-in into the far wall of the room. Tommy throws a few more logs into it,
belatedly realizing that his own feet are freezing from walking out on the wet marble just a few
minutes ago.

That’s how they both end bundled up in blankets. Tommy sits on a thick rug with his legs stretched
towards the fire, and Prince dozes in his hands. Tommy rubs his feathers until they are completely
dry, and only then reaches for the note attached to his leg.

Shall we make a bet? The first

one to find the other wins.

Tommy puts Prince down, bundled up in the sweater. He tries his best not to wake him up, but the
parrot still cracks an eye open and yawns. Tommy can’t stop his face from melting into a smile.

“I’m going to write a reply,” he says, standing up. The blanket, too long and heavy, drags behind
him like one of Techno’s capes. Tommy picks up a paper, and thinks for a moment about his
answer.

What would we bet on?

Prince manages to wiggle out of the sweater. He flies through the room and lands on Tommy’s
shoulder, peering up close to the desk as if trying to read his reply. Stretching his leg, Prince looks
like he’s suggesting Tommy to tie the note to it.

Tommy throws a glance over his shoulder. The rain is still lashing against the windows. Tommy
wouldn’t forgive himself if he let Prince outside and the parrot got sick or lost.

“I can’t let you out while it’s still raining,” he says. “You can stay the night here, and then I’ll send
you back in the morning- Hey!”

Prince fluffs up his feathers and snatches the note out of Tommy’s hand. Tommy yelps and tries to
grab it back, but the parrot is surprisingly fast. In a blink, he is near the window. Tommy almost
gets a heart attack, assured that Prince will escape, until he sees him lunging at the handle
uselessly with a noise of frustration growling in his throat.

“That is, my friend, what thumbs are for,” Tommy says, sliding up a chair to him.

If birds can look unimpressed, then this one certainly does. Prince hops up on Tommy’s shoulder
and picks on his hair with his beak.

“You’re ruining my haircut!” Tommy pouts.

Prince lets out a parrot equivalent of evil laughter. Tommy reaches to rub the parrot’s neck. Prince
puts his beak on top of Tommy’s head with a contended trill, and his mind turns into a mush of soft
coos and unshed tears of tenderness.

Animals are easy to get attached to, and in the long list of all the animals Tommy has ever cared
for, Prince races to get to the top place. Just less than a month ago, he couldn’t have imagined of
meeting a bird this smart and empathetic, let alone making friends with it. With the tension that the
past few weeks have brought into Tommy’s life, Prince’s visits are a relief, short breaks that allow
him to catch a breath and give him something to look forward to.

“I wish I had a bird like you,” Tommy sighs. “Maybe I can try searching for a similar species on
the market, or buy myself a fledgling to raise.”

Prince doesn’t like that idea. Tommy knows it when his ear gets bitten, not hard enough to bleed
but enough for the point to get across. “You’re right. They still won’t be like you. Besides, it’s not
like I’ve got a lot of spare time to spend on a pet.”

He is alright with this: Prince visiting him from time to time, and maybe staying for the night like
today. He goes to the wardrobe to change into something dry and more comfortable, and when he
returns, he finds the bird on the bed, sitting on a pillow with his wings folded.

Tommy lies down, bringing the blankets half-way up. He pats on the space between himself and
the pillow, suggesting Prince to come closer. The parrot tilts his head and unceremoniously climbs
up on Tommy’s chest.
 “Only cats are allowed to do that. You’re not a cat, and you’re too fat,” Tommy shoves Prince off.
The parrot rolls over and stays lying on his back, his feet pointing up comically. “Quiet playing
dead, too, I can see you breathing.”

Despite his scolding, Tommy’s lips tug up. Prince finally settles down, curled up into an adorable
ball next to his shoulder. Somewhere along the process of Tommy petting his head and the parrot
cooing back, both of them fall into the gentle embrace of sleep.

***

When Tommy wakes up, Prince perches on the frame of the open window. The rain has stopped,
but its smell stays in the morning air that flows into the room and bites at Tommy’s face with
coldness. Still sleepy, and eyes not quite agreeing to open yet, the crown-prince stumbles over to
the parrot.

“You’re back already?” he asks, rubbing Prince’s neck.

Prince looks smug, his feathers fluffed up and eyes full of triumph – proud of opening the window,
Tommy guesses – and a new note tied to his leg.

Prince shall be the prize.

Tommy glances up. “Your owner wants to offer you?”

Prince blinks at him. In brighter lightning, the color of his eyes seems closer to grass than emerald.
Tommy stretches an arm, and Prince hops onto it, flapping his wings, and doesn’t protest as a
gentle hand brushes soft feathers on his back. If Prince was Tommy’s, he would never even think
about letting him go. Then why is his owner so ready to hand him over a simple bet?

Tommy does want to have Prince. He said it just yesterday in front of the parrot himself. But the
idea of revealing his name to his pen pal doesn’t appeal to him at all. The whole reason Tommy
started responding to the letters was that he and Prince’s owner are strangers; he felt comfortable
knowing that the author keeps answering not because of his status but for the sole purpose of
talking to him. The moment they learn each other's names, this simple relationship will turn into an
exchange of empty formalities, if it will continue existing at all.

“Shall we lie to your owner?” Tommy winks at Prince, picking up a quill. Prince makes a choked
sound that turns into wheezing laughter as he takes a peek at Tommy’s note.

Hint. I’m a woman.

Chapter End Notes

Chapter full summary:

It's raining outside. Tubbo reports to Tommy, saying that Ranboo will be staying in the
palace for long, and that Philza is searching for servants for him. Tommy expresses his
frustration and Tubbo defends Ranboo. It is revealed that it was Tubbo who snitched
on Tommy to the Emperor. Tommy cuts the argument short and sends Tubbo away.
Tommy can't fall asleep. He pulls out a sweater that he gifted to Wilbur on his birthday
seven years ago. Tommy reminisces on his and Wilbur's relationship. He remembers
about rumors that were going around the palace after Wilbur's disappearance. Tommy
was upset then and went to Wilbur's room in tears. He stumbled into Techno there.
Techno comforted him.

Back in present, Tommy sees Prince on the balcony. He lets the bird in and dries him.
Prince's owner offers to make a bet: the first one to guess the other's identity will win.
Tommy wonders about the prize. He lets Prince stay in his room because it's still
raining outside. They fall asleep, and in the morning, the bird already has come with a
new letter. Tommy's pen pal says that he'll bet Prince. Tommy decides he doesn't want
them to find out who he really is, and gives a false hint to mislead them.
 But now I'm a shadow
Chapter Summary

“Then I shall protect you with my life,” Techno promised.

Now, six years later, Tommy could say that he has made everything in his power to
keep that promise. Teaching him how to protect himself was only one of the things
he’d done for that. Techno couldn’t always be by his side, however, and Tommy
would be lying if he said that he didn’t sometimes resent him for it.

It was unfair of him – Techno was the Empire’s servant before anything else, much
like Tommy himself – and he shouldn’t have wished for anything more than his family
was able provide for him. It’s just that a week or two of Techno’s presence didn’t feel
enough when Tommy never knew for how long his brother would disappear again:
three months or five, or perhaps for an entire year. (It's always far too long to spend
without the last person who feels like Tommy's family.)

Chapter Notes

I wanted to post it on Sunday but my impulse control said "no <3" and made me stay
up late editing this chapter

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“I find it ridiculous that you’re trying to avoid me and yet the library is the first place you decide
to hide in,” Tommy says, leaning against a bookshelf.

Afternoon sunlight flows in through large, arch-shaped windows. Techno sits on one of the
couches placed in the reading secretion of the library, an opened book on his knees, and rectangle-
shaped glasses hanging loosely on his nose. The general doesn’t do as much as raise his head in
response to Tommy’s words. Tommy was willing to bet that Techno knew he was coming from far
off.

“I’d rather call it discreetly eschewing a topic of personal discomfort,” Techno says.

Tommy huffs. Techno is anything but discreet, at least when it comes to social interactions. If he
doesn’t like someone, it’ll show. If he avoids talking about a certain topic, he’ll try to joke his way
out of the conversation in the most blatant way possible. That’s what happened yesterday, when
Tommy tried to bring up the state of border territories during their shared lunch.
“I just remembered that I need to attend to Carl,” Techno had said, even though Tommy was
literally there to watch him fuss around his horse less than an hour ago. “It’s an emergency.”

Techno’s cover was blown off before it appeared in the first place. Tommy decided not to push
him yet then, but they had to talk about it at some point. He technically could request Techno’s full
written report from the Emperor – but he was curious about the reasoning of his brother’s weird
behavior.

Now, Techno doesn’t try to dismiss himself with another ridiculous excuse. Tommy’s presence is
ignored altogether up until he slides into an armchair next to Techno and unceremoniously snatches
his book.

“Excuse me?” Techno grunts, finally turning his attention to Tommy. “I just got to the most
interesting part.”

“You’ve read everything in this library at least twice, anyway,” Tommy glances at the book’s
cover, then at the thick tomes stacked on a table to Techno’s right. “Didn’t think I’d ever see the
day to hear you call politics interesting.”

Techno hums out an agreement. “I’m amazing at politics, actually. You should start fearing for
your position, Imperial prince.”

Tommy feels like rolling his eyes. His gaze runs along the lines of the book and skids to a halt
when he sees a dragon curled up into a ring in the corner of the page. The emblem of Esempi’s
royal family. “Any particular reason as to why you took interest in our neighbors’ affairs all of a
sudden?”

“Just revising,” Techno says, but Tommy feels like he has tugged at the right thread.

“Does it have something to do with why you refuse to talk to me about your trip? Have there been
more skirmishes along the borders than usual?” Tommy’s tone is nothing if not demanding. He
sounds rushed, too. The way Techno’s brows move, rising up to his forehead, makes Tommy
realize he started frowning.

He fixes his expression in an instant, but Techno’s not looking at him anymore. Deep in thought,
he runs a hand down his face and sighs. “No,” he says. “And that is the problem.”

Tommy falls quiet. Techno doesn’t sound like he is joking. “How so?”

Techno leans over to him and points at a paragraph in the book. “Schlatt’s reign and the follow-up
rebellion. A number of countries took advantage of the devastation in the kingdom to salvage the
unprotected lands, and the Antarctic empire is not an exception.”

This part of the history happened around the time that Tommy was born. Esempi has made several
attempts to negotiate about returning its territories when Queen Caroline came to rule – but without
any major success. Tension on the borders is like a field of dry grass, Tommy knows - not once or
twice Imperial army’s soldiers had to interfere to prevent it from getting set aflame.

“It’s been eerily quiet for the past few months. I don’t have a good feeling about it,” Techno says.

Too quiet , it echoes in Tommy’s mind, is never good . The armchair he sits on suddenly becomes
hard and uncomfortable. “I trust your judgment, but… is there at least a slim chance that your
cautiousness is making you see threats where they don’t exist?”

“That’s the reason I didn’t want to talk to you about it yet. You tend to overthink more than I do,
and I didn’t want to overwhelm you with something that I’m not sure about on top of your regular
duties.”

Tommy presses his lips into a thin line. “I believe that protecting the Empire is also one of my
responsibilities,” he argues.

“That’s true,” Techno agrees, putting a hand over Tommy’s. “But it’s my responsibility to protect
you .”

Tommy falls quiet. He stares at Techno’s hand, tracing a particularly long scar running from his
thumb all the way down to his wrist. It’s almost exactly six years old – six years since Tommy’s
investiture as the crown-prince of the Antarctic empire.

Techno was far away from the capital when it happened. Even so, a few days later, the prince burst
through the front gates, his horse huffing and sweating heavily under him. With his eyes glaring
blood crimson, his cape fluttering behind his back as he crossed the palace in long, determined
steps, people scattered away from him like dominoes. A stuttering servant came knocking on
Tommy’s door, reporting that Prince Technoblade had just returned to the palace and was currently
in the Northern wing.

By the time Tommy made it to his father’s chambers, whatever conversation Techno and the
Emperor might have had turned into a full-on argument. Neither of them ever were the shouting
type; all the more terrifying it was to hear objects flying across the room, glass shattering, and
something heavy falling on the floor.

“- the same mistake as I did with Wilbur. He wasn’t ready, so he snapped.”

“So?” Techno’s tone made Tommy shudder. He has never heard his brother this angry before.
“Are you going to make Theseus pay the price?”

Tommy tugged at the handle. He entered the room, closing the door behind himself, and scanned
his surroundings with a sinking feeling in his stomach. Almost all the furniture was either
overturned or misplaced; a heavy blue curtain, ripped off the window, lied pitifully under Father’s
feet. Techno was across the room, next to a pile of broken glass. Blood flowed down his hand,
dripping on a rug, but he didn’t seem to notice it at all.

“Don’t blame Father,” Tommy said, his head drooping. “The Empire would not be stable without a
clear heir. His Imperial Majesty didn’t even consider my candidature until I proposed it myself.”

“You’re eleven, Theseus,” Techno spat. “You’re too young to make that kind of choice.”

“Wilbur has been the crown-prince since he was six,” Tommy muttered.

“It was a formality ! He didn’t perform any actual duties until his adulthood.”

Techno looked exasperated, angry, but more than anything – simply sad. It broke Tommy’s heart to
see him like this. He wanted to come closer and comfort Techno, but Father had already beaten
him to it.

“We’ll take it slow,” he moved across the room, gently taking Techno’s injured hand into his own.
Their father’s calm voice and unwavering confidence finally made his anger shrink and back away.
Techno blinked numbly at the blood smearing both their fingers. “For now, I’m only going to start
teaching Theseus the basics.”

Techno let out a long, exhausted sigh of defeat. He turned away from Father and approached
Tommy, putting both his hands on his shoulders. The proximity of Techno’s eyes, the crystal
honesty and sheer emotion in them was both terrifying and reassuring.

“I would never forgive myself if anything happened to you, Theseus.”

“I know,” Tommy said, a crooked smile on his lips. “But no matter what you say, you can’t make
me change my choice.”

“Then I shall protect you with my life,” Techno promised.

Now, six years later, Tommy could say that he has made everything in his power to keep that
promise. Teaching him how to protect himself was only one of the things he’d done for that.
Techno couldn’t always be by his side, however, and Tommy would be lying if he said that he
didn’t sometimes resent him for it.

It was unfair of him – Techno was the Empire’s servant before anything else, much like Tommy
himself – and he shouldn’t have wished for anything more than his family was able provide for
him. It’s just that a week or two of Techno’s presence didn’t feel enough when Tommy never knew
for how long his brother would disappear again: three months or five, or perhaps for an entire year.
(It's always far too long to spend without the last person who feels like Tommy's family.)

There was a hope, a tender selfish thing, that this time, there was no other motive to Techno’s
return other than that he missed Tommy. The disappointment Tommy feels now is a well-deserved
punishment for his selfish wishes.

“I believe there is a saying in the Esempi,” Tommy says. “It sounds vaguely like this - if you can’t
spot a storm on the horizon, there is always a possibility that it’s starting right over your head. Is
this why you returned? Do you think that the storm might be brewing here, in the capital?”

Techno hums. “We need to take extra precautions, Theseus.” He squeezes Tommy’s hand tighter.
“In these dangerous times, I’d rather be here, protecting you, rather than out in the field and
anxious every second that I don’t know what’s happening at home.”

Warmth spreads through Tommy’s chest. In the end, all Techno thinks of is their family’s safety
and well-being. Tommy lets himself lean against Techno’s shoulder, lightly enough so that he
would barely feel his weight. If Techno says he needs to be more cautious, he will be, but right
now, he is just happy to have his brother close.

“They say that catfights in high society can be more dangerous than wielding a sword on a
battlefield,” Tommy says.

“That’s your strong suit, not, mine,” Techno ruffles his hair. “Let’s count this as my temporary
retirement, and I’ll let you handle the part that involves socializing with people.”

“Like the opening ceremony?” Tommy huffs.

Techno dips his chin. “Spare me from participating, and I shall pledge my loyalty to you.”

Tommy tries to hide his smile. Techno would do that either way- after Tommy becomes an
Emperor, that is, so there isn't a real need for an oath now. Besides, Techno really does need to
appear in public every now and then, or people of the Empire might actually forget what the oldest
Antarctic prince looks like.

Techno throws his braid over his shoulder. Tommy rethinks his own words. With the way
Techno’s white hair glints, fresh snow under afternoon sun, it’s only natural that he catches gazes
from nobles and regular people alike. Tommy suspects that this might be the cause of Techno’s
contempt towards social events. Who knows, if he didn’t get sick of extra attention during his
childhood, maybe he would’ve tolerated it better as an adult.

Despite his eyesight problems, Techno has phenomenal hearing. Tommy knows that someone is
approaching the moment Techno turns his head. He squirms in his seat and follows a narrowed
gaze of the general’s eyes until he can see two tall figures striding to them from the main part of the
library.

The moment Tommy recognizes Wilbur and Ranboo, the comfortable atmosphere, that small
bubble of warmth and safety meant just for him and Techno, was cruelly stomped on. Wilbur
wields a ponderous folder, smiling with everything but his eyes, and Ranboo sneaks behind him
like a timid cat, ready to bolt. The only thing that’s really missing is a tail he could wrap around his
leg or ears to pin against his skull.

“Who’s that?” Techno asks.

Tommy does his best not to snarl when his and Ranboo’s eyes meet, and the commoner quickly
averts his gaze. “An inconvenience.”

Techno rolls his eyes. “I can see Wilbur. I mean the guy next to him.”

A laughing fit rises up from Tommy’s stomach. He wants to wheeze out loud, but the newcomers
cross the room in a few long steps, putting them into an earshot distance. Tommy coughs into his
fist and lowers his eyes to the book on his lap.

“Techno. Theseus,” Wilbur grins. “What a coincidence that we ran into each other.”

“It’s rather hard to miss the entire squad of Theseus’ personal security stomping around the library
doors,” Techno says. “But what a miraculous coincidence indeed.”

Wilbur laughs. “And that’s why you’re my favorite brother.”

Tommy grips the book tighter. He glares at Wilbur, and finds his brother smirking smugly; by all
means, Wilbur looks like he’d expected this reaction and was quite satisfied with it. That kind of
expression never leads to anything good for Tommy. What is it that Wilbur is planning this time?

Ranboo peeks from behind Wilbur’s shoulder and shudders when Techno’s eyes fall on him.

“You must be prince Technoblade,” Ranboo asks. His eyes, red and green, flicker between Wilbur
and Techno. “Do- aren’t you supposed to be twins?”

“He’s adopted,” Wilbur and Techno say at the same time.

“They are fraternal,” Tommy closes the book shut, bringing everyone’s attention to himself. “Did
you want something, Prince Wilbur?”

“I believe I am to be helping you with the celebratory organizations,” Wilbur shows him the folder.
“And since the opening ceremony will be held tomorrow evening, I assume it’d be better if we got
to work immediately.”

Tommy taps his finger on his knee. He knew they’d get to it eventually, but somehow, Wilbur
always chooses the worst possible moment to appear. “Right,” Tommy mumbles., standing up.
Even if he hasn’t made a promise to spend the afternoon with Techno, it’s a matter of politeness to
apologize for leaving anyway. “Prince Techno-“
“Don’t worry about it,” Techno brushes him off. “I have my books to keep me entertained.”

“Actually,” Wilbur slides in, “Ranboo here has taken a liking to the Imperial library. I wondered if
you could show him around and help him choose a book.”

An alarm goes off in Tommy’s head. At this point, he isn’t surprised with the sheer amount of
disrespect coming from Ranboo, and that Wilbur doesn’t do anything to cut it short. Quite the
opposite, he induces it by acting like Ranboo’s doings don’t break at least ten different rules a
second.

The head general of the Empire’s army should not be even bothered to look in the direction of a
simple commoner.

Much like the Emperor.

And much like the Antarctic princes.

Tommy clenches his jaw. Is this what Wilbur is doing? Does he want Ranboo to get on Techno’s
good side and irritate Tommy further? A strange sort of burn arises in him at the thought. For some
reason, just seeing Ranboo in such close proximity to Techno doesn’t sit well with him. He stands
there, unmoving, but internally really, really wishes for Techno to send Ranboo away.

Alas. Techno glances at Ranboo with something akin to curiosity. Ranboo shrinks away- at least
Tommy can see that he wasn’t entirely on board with Wilbur’s proposition. A living toothpick of a
person that Ranboo is doesn’t seem to register as a threat in Techno’s eyes. He shrugs and says, “I
don’t see why not.”

***

“I think Techno and Ranboo are going to get along greatly,” Wilbur says, a few minutes later,
when the two of them leave the library and head in the direction of Tommy’s office.

“That or they’re going to sit in awkward silence for two hours straight,” Tommy says.

Wilbur laughs softly. It’s a genuine sound, Tommy can tell – and it almost makes him want to join
along. The key word, almost. He chooses to look away, absently noting the servants and guards
following them along. Tubbo came apologizing again earlier this morning – and he’s amongst
them, though even quieter than usual; he seems to be hiding in other people’s shadows rather than
trailing Tommy, a few steps behind and off to the right, like he usually would. Nevertheless, upon
Tommy’s gesture, Tubbo joins him and Wilbur at the office, and watches as the two brothers start
their discussion.

“All in all, we should be all good for the first day of the celebrations,” Tommy says. Before him
are the reports from the palace stewards – about what has been prepared so far and what is
requested further. “But just in case, it wouldn’t hurt to check up on our guests one last time.”

“I can do that,” Wilbur agrees, taking the list of the foreign visitors and the chambers that were
assigned to them. “What about the Banquet?”

“It’ll be held in the Blue Sky room,” Tommy says. “If you take care of the food, I’ll leave the
entertainment part to myself.”

They continue like this for a while: separating duties and making decisions collectively where it’s
required. Tommy has a bad habit of concentrating on certain things too much, while paying little to
no attention to others – for that reason he has no other choice but to check over his own work a few
times afterwards. Wilbur catches these moments in the process, so what would usually take
Tommy hours and hours of nitpicking gets solved in record time.

It’s one of the cases when he is reminded that Wilbur was raised as the crown-prince. It’s odd that
Tommy forgets it in the first place, given that the sole reason that he was able to take over this
position was that he used to trail his brother into his classes. Tommy joined Wilbur at history,
geography, economics – even in the administrative classes, his blond mop of hair would stick out of
‘inconspicuous’ hiding spots.

Truth to be told, he was more of a persistent distraction than a careful listener, but Wilbur always
managed to talk the teachers into letting him stay. When Wilbur reached adulthood, and his
theoretical knowledge had to be put into practice, Tommy found out that he did manage to pick up
on some skills and information, after all.

“I’ll tackle this pile,” Tommy had said, chewing on an apple, and pointing at a small tower of
papers. “And you take the other one.”

“That’s not fair,” Wilbur groaned. “Mine’s like, ten times higher than yours.”

Tommy threw the half-finished apple, and it hit Wilbur right across his forehead. “Oi, you
dickhead! It’s your work, not mine. Maybe I shouldn’t help you at all, then.”

“You gremlin,” Wilbur grumped, picking up the apple. He made a disgusted face and tossed it into
a trash can. “Wash your hands, at least, or you’re going to get the papers stained.”

These were simpler times. People are right when they say that we don’t appreciate the things we
have until they are taken away. Tommy has his brothers back; both of them, but not the connection
they used to share. It’s simply the months and years they had spent apart – time tends to change
people, and there is nothing he can do about it.

For the most part, Tommy had come to terms with it, but in moments like this, when he gets a dive
into his own memories, he feels like there is a hole deep under his ribs – a longing for something
that has been long since lost.

Tommy must have been spacing out for far too long, because the next thing he knows, Wilbur’s
voice shoves him back into reality.

“What’s the matter, Theseus?” he says. “You look like you’ve eaten something sour.”

“I’d say that I rather saw something unpleasant.” Ugly, Tommy means. “That may or may not have
been your face.”

“How rude,” Wilbur sighs. “No wonder Tubbo decided to finally ditch you.”

Tommy freezes. “ What ?”

Wilbur leans forward, propping up his chin, with that sly and needle-sharp expression on his face
that makes Tommy think of a fox. ““Oh, I thought Tubbo already told you that he’ll be Ranboo’s
servant starting from the day after tomorrow,” he says. “Guess he did not.”

They both turn their attention to Tubbo. He goes rigid, making a noticeable step back, but doesn’t
jump to defend himself, to argue. He simply stares. Tommy doesn’t see the point of asking whether
Wilbur’s words are true – Tubbo’s reaction had already given him all the answers he needed.

“You're leaving me,” he says, dumbfounded.

Tubbo dips his head. "I don't feel like you require my services anymore, Your Highness,” he says.
“Ranboo, on the other hand, has nobody in the palace. He needs a helping hand and a friend.”

But you are my friend , Tommy wants to argue, but- is it even true at this point?

They swore to always be by each other’s side; they assumed that fate would keep them together till
their very last breathes. These were childish promises, of course – and now Tommy sees that more
clearly than ever.

Tubbo chose Ranboo, a practical stranger, over their life-long friendship. The signs were there:
how stiff and closed off Tubbo acted, how he preferred Ranboo’s company over his, and the fact
that he talked to the Emperor about him behind his back, and yet -

“I’m quite disappointed,” Tommy says. Angry, hurt, betrayed . “Someone of your status, Tubbo-
and serving a commoner?”

Tubbo clenches his fingers into fists. “What’s wrong with that?”

“What’s wrong?” Tommy splutters, slamming his hands on the desk. “You are a noble, Tubbo, and
Ranboo is nobody-”

“He isn’t nobody,” Tubbo cuts in, glaring. “Ranboo is a good friend.”

Something that you are not , it feels like Tubbo says.

Tommy falls silent. He bites on his tongue, hard, to prevent himself from shouting. Pain clears his
thoughts. The anger is not gone – it’s still here, boiling his insides – but he has vague control over
how much of it he lets out.

“Is this your final decision?” he asks coldly.

Tubbo shrinks back, eyes wide. “W-what?”

“Are you ready to throw everything that you’ve built this far?” Tommy elaborates. “Your status,
your reputation? Because if your answer is yes, I’m never taking you back, even if you come to me
crawling on your knees.”

A second passes. Two, three, ten – a pained expression flashes on Tubbo’s face, and then it’s
replaced with a mask of determination. “Yes, Your Imperial Highness,” he says.

***

After his and Tubbo’s fallout, Tommy feels empty. Wilbur, with a look of a person who just
witnessed a particularly interesting show, smirks and throws remarks at him – the worst Tommy
does in response is glare.

Hedoesn’t believe Wilbur’s words even for a second. The prince knew that Tubbo hadn't talked to
him about changing positions yet, and with a few well-timed words, had thrown them at each
other’s throats. Would it change the final outcome – Tubbo leaving him – if Wilbur hasn’t sped
things up? Most certainly not, but at least Tommy wouldn’t feel as awful about it.

When Wilbur is upset, he shouts. When Techno is upset, he finds something to stab or punch.
When Tommy is upset, however, he doesn’t want to burn that energy for nothing and shoves
himself head-first to work. Now that he had sorted half of the matters with Wilbur, there was
technically nothing urgent that he could keep himself busy with. If the secretary wonders why
Tommy asks for the monthly budget spendings a week in advance of the usual date, he doesn’t say
anything about it.

“Your Highness, Prince Dream is here to see you.”

Among all the things Tommy thought that could interrupt his work the next day, the crown-prince
of the Esempi on his doorstep was the last of them. He sends the servant away, throws a dark-blue
coat over the shirt he was wearing, and opens the doors himself.

Dream is alone in the corridor. He stands, relaxed, idly gazing at the flower patterns on the walls.
Tommy throws an indiscreet look around and finds neither his knight Sapnap nor any of the
servants from Esempi in close sight. Whatever reason has pushed Dream to seek him, it must be
something private.

They exchange short bows – not a necessity, considering their equal status, but a sign of politeness
and respect. “Prince Dream,” Tommy says. “What do I owe the honor for your visit?”

“I came to request a tour around the palace.”

Tommy hums. He understands Dream’s curiosity, but finds it odd that the prince decided to seek
him personally rather than sending his request via a servant. “If that is the case, I’ll find someone
to accompany you right away-”

“You misunderstood,” Dream cuts in. “I was hoping that you might show me around, Imperial
Prince.”

“Me?” Tommy curves a brow.

Dream tilts his head. It reminds Tommy distantly of the way Wilbur does it when talking about an
obvious thing. “Of course,” he says. “Nobody knows one’s home better than its owner. If
somebody can show me the true beauty of the palace, it’d be you.”

Well- it’s not an unreasonable request. Tommy wonders if Dream speaks his true intentions or
whether it’s just a polite way of saying that he’d be offended to be accompanied by anyone with
lesser status. He doesn’t give off the impression of an arrogant type, but then again, Tommy sees
him for the second time in his life, and is yet to figure out the crown-prince’s true nature.

Either way, Tommy already has decided on his answer. The Emperor asked him to be considerate
towards the important guest, and work is not an excuse good enough to send Dream away,
especially when the prince came searching for him personally.

“If you insist, I shall be your guide,” Tommy says.

Painted ceilings, lush gardens, columns decorated with lazuli and gold – if half of the things
Tommy heard about the Dragon’s bay that hosts Esempi’s capital, Dream isn’t going to be
surprised or impressed by neither of these things. With the mask obscuring the prince’s face,
Tommy can’t tell if he’s already annoyed or bored. More unnerving is that Dream has barely said
anything this far, so Tommy hasn't had a chance to start a proper conversation. He leads the prince
past the bush labyrinth, trying to think of where he could bring them next, when he sees Wilbur
approaching from afar.

Tommy wants nothing more than to run in an opposite direction. He wouldn’t dare to do that even
if there was a single servant to witness his cowardly behavior, let alone a prince of a neighboring
kingdom, so he dips his head in greeting instead.

Wilbur's eyes pass him like there is nothing but air in his place. Tommy straightens up and
awkwardly backs away. He feels like Dream is watching him, but can't tell for sure because of the
mask. His ears burn with embarrassment nevertheless.

“Prince Dream,” Wilbur greets. “I believe we haven’t met yet.”

Rules of etiquette say that the one either of lower status or of younger age is obliged to introduce
two unacquainted parties. Tommy leans in Wilbur’s direction and says, “Prince Dream, this is
Prince Wilbur of the Antarctic empire, the second son of Emperor Philza.”

Dream hums. It’s a short, acknowledging sound that sounds almost sinister with the way the prince
tilts his head. “I wondered when we would get a chance to make ourselves familiar,” Dream says.

Tommy watches from the sidelines as two princes exchange pleasantries. Two princes wearing
masks , a sudden thought pops up in his head. Only that Dream’s mask hides his physical
appearance, while Wilbur puts on his friendly cover to make other people relax around him. Why
bother trying to learn of someone’s weakness when they are so ready to spill it themselves, after
all?

Sometimes, Tommy wonders if it’s all just a game to Wilbur. A game where other people are
figures or cards he can twist around as he wants, push to their limit, and throw away when they
aren’t useful or fun anymore. Maybe that’s why Wilbur is so adamant about getting to Tommy -
that one card that refuses to give him the satisfaction of seeing it crumble.

“From as far as I know, this is your first time visiting the Empire,” Wilbur smiles. “Can I perhaps
offer you a tour around the palace?”

“Thank you,” Dream says. “But it’s fine. Prince Theseus here has already been a good guide.”

“Oh?” Wilbur’s eyes flicker over to Tommy. “I hope my little brother hasn’t said anything rude to
you. Unfortunately, he can be a little tactless from time to time.”

Here it is. Not a single thought as to how this could affect Tommy’s reputation and the Imperial
family’s relationship with Prince Dream; only pure malice, a desire to cut to the heart and hurt
Tommy as much as he can. Tommy keeps his eyes trained on the ground. His mind is an endless
chant of don't react, don't provoke him further.

"I assure you that I'd make for much better company," Wilbur continues. "Or, if you insist, all three
of us could take a walk together.”

People in high society don’t turn down these sorts of offers. It’s simply not polite. Tommy braces
himself for the moment Dream confirms his agreement, and a sour tour will follow where he’ll
have to trail the older princes like a worthless shadow. It’s obvious that he won’t get to talk freely
when Wilbur’s there to turn the flow of conversation; he’ll either get ignored or humiliated,
depending on how generous his brother feels today.

Dream lingers with his answer. The silence lasts only a second or two but it slices Tommy’s ears.
From where he stands, he can see Dream’s hands moving behind his back. He looks like Techno
when he itches to grab his sword. “I apologize, Prince Wilbur,” he says. “But three is a crowd.”

His harsh tone catches Tommy by surprise. Dream walks past Wilbur; the older prince has to take
a step back to avoid getting shoved out of the way. “Let’s resume our tour, Prince Theseus,”
Dream says, throwing a glance over his shoulder.
Tommy blinks, snapping out of his blank stupor, and follows Dream a second later. That was
certainly… Something. Even if Dream’s words were polite, his whole demeanor made a strong
impression that he dislikes Wilbur. It twists Tommy’s insides to think that Wilbur managed to
make an enemy of a neighbor crown-prince on the first day of their acquaintance.

Dream stops. After almost bumping into his back, Tommy does too. Just a second ago, Wilbur was
near them – but now they are in a deeper part of the gardens, not a single servant in sight. “Is it the
mask?” Dream asks.

Tommy still floats somewhere in his own mind as Dreams reaches for the straps at the back of his
head. With a soft click, his mask falls into his hand. Strands of rusty golden hair, a tone or two
darker than Tommy’s own but more saturated in color, fall on his forehead and brush his freckle-
covered cheeks. Emerald-green eyes seem all too piercing in combination with his thin, curved
brows.

He looks… Normal. Not that Tommy expected the royal family of Esempi to be some sort of
faceless monsters – but it still feels odd, since he has never seen King Foolish without his mask.
He averts his gaze on instinct. Dream stops him with a quick gesture, “The mask is mostly a
formality,” he reassures. “You’re not breaking any rules by looking.”

Curiously, Tommy glances back up. Dream smiles at him in an oddly friendly way. There is
something familiar in the way he looks at Tommy that he can’t quite place.

“Is this better?” Dream asks.

It is . But it’d be rude and disrespectful to the Esempi and its crown-prince if he admitted it out
loud. Tommy musters out a polite smile. “I’m not bothered by it.”

Dream raises his mask, but to Tommy’s internal relief, doesn’t hide his face again. Instead, he
moves it in a way that it’s placed at the side of his head. “I apologize, then. You just seemed very
tense a few moments ago.”

“You are not at blame.” Tommy takes a step sideways, inviting Dream to continue their walk. In
the corner of his vision, he keeps a careful track of his expressions. “There is something else
occupying my mind.”

A humming noise that Dream makes in response sounds like he had understood what Tommy was
referring to. “The prince that we ran into- is he the one who gave up the throne and ran away from
his responsibilities?”

Tommy’s body goes rigid. He stops. Tommy can hear Dream’s steps coming to a halt to his left.
He whips around and comes face-to-face with the prince.

Tommy has to tilt his chin up so he can look directly into Dream’s eyes. “With all due respect,
Prince Dream – if you got the impression that I am the type of person to gossip about my brother
behind his back,” Tommy says, backing up his words with a sharp glare, “then you’re terribly
wrong.”

In the reflection in Dream’s eyes, every little feature of Tommy’s face bristles in a cold scowl. He
can’t remember the last time he got so defensive about his family. The nobles in the Empire have
long since learned that spreading and discussing rumors about Wilbur and Fundy in front of the
crown-prince might have dire consequences.

A crown-prince holds the power over his subjects, but foreigners are a completely different story.
 Tommy shouldn’t be as snappy with the successor of the throne of a powerful neighbor kingdom,
yet at the same time, he feels little to no regret about his words, still clenching his hands into fists.

“It’s my mistake for being inconsiderate with my question,” Dream says. “But after Prince Wilbur
was so disrespectful to you, I can’t help but wonder- why are you defending him?”

He sounds simply curious. Tommy still feels like a spear was put right through his heart. His
shoulders fall down along with his limbs, suddenly becoming weak and heavy.

It’s surprising that Dream called out Wilbur’s behavior. Most people trust his words right away,
like the Emperor, or pass it as simple sibling bickering as Techno does. Tommy never tried to
enlighten either of them- but it’s not something that a stranger needs to know about. And neither
does Dream need to know that Tommy cares about Wilbur too much to let others ponder on his
grief.

Tommy closes his eyes for a moment, and when opens them again, his expression is carefully
managed and unreadable. “I care about the Empire, and can’t let the ruling’s family’s reputation be
disrupted like this.”

Dream hums out an acknowledgement. He doesn’t look angry. Tommy can only see curiosity that
shifts into something different, something brighter and far more meaningful. “While I don’t
entirely agree with you, Prince Theseus, I can understand your reasoning,” Dream says, “and I
admire you for it. The Antarctic Empire must be truly happy to have you as the crown-prince.”

It finally dawns on Tommy what Dream's expression means. He looks impressed , which is... odd.
Tommy had other people view him with cautiousness, irritation, dismissiveness – but never once
before somebody looked at him with this respect. It’s how the heads of two mighty countries might
view each other; or, perhaps… the crown-princes of an empire and a kingdom.

Tommy gets flustered all out of a sudden. The prince’s words are unexpected and almost out of
place, but he can’t deny that deep, deep down, they feel good to hear.

“Thank you,” he says, hiding his unsure smile. “I appreciate it.”

They resume their walk.

Chapter End Notes

Chapter summary:
Techno has been avoiding talking to Tommy the day prior. Tommy meets him in the
library to talk. They discuss the state of border territories, and Techno tells that it's
been peaceful for a long while now. Techno feels like it might be the calm before the
storm. Tommy is unhappy that Techno was withholding that information. His response
reminds Tommy of when he became the crown-prince. Techno was upset because
Tommy was too young for that role. He and Philza have an argument. Tommy
intervened, telling Techno that he wanted to become the crown-prince. Techno
eventually calms down and promises to protect Tommy.
Back in present, Techno tells Tommy to be careful and look out for potential threats.
They share a brotherly moment that is interrupted by Wilbur and Ranboo's appearance.
Wilbur takes Tommy away to finish the celebratory preparations, while Ranboo stays
with Techno in the library. Tommy reminisces on his relationship with Wilbur while
they work. Wilbur tells Tommy that Tubbo decided to become Ranboo's servant.
Tommy feels betrayed. He tells Tubbo that he won't accept him back again.
The next day, Prince Dream requests a tour around the palace. While Tommy guides
him around the gardens, Wilbur appears. He shows to be dismissive and disrespectful
of Tommy, trying to make him look bad in Dream's eyes. Dream cuts him short and
leads Tommy away. Dream asks if Wilbur is that one runaway prince, and Tommy
acts defensively of Wilbur. Dream apologizes but wonders why Tommy tolerates what
Wilbur did. Despite Wilbur's treatment, Tommy still cares about him and the Imperial
family's reputation. He only gives the second reason. Dream says that he admires
Tommy and that the Antarctic Empire is lucky to have him as a crown-prince. Tommy
feels warmed up by Dream's words.

***
I really wanted to leave this chapter on a cliffhanger but then decided to give you a
happy moment for once. I'm not going to spoil anything about chapter 10 yet but it is
going to be very political & introduce a new important character to the story, who may
or may not be a certain Duke ;)
 And you said you'd understand, well it looks like it was all for show
Chapter Summary

Tommy looks for the source of disturbance and halts in his steps the moment he finds
it. It feels like the same current that he felt so confident in decided to twist around and
slap him in his face - because in the crowd, surrounded by foreign nobles, stands
Ranboo.

What is he doing here?

It’s not that commoners can’t participate in the celebrations at all. Wealthy merchant
families with enough influence in the capital get an occasional invitation; even then,
only those who qualify would be allowed to enter. But Ranboo..?

As the one who personally went through the guest list more than a dozen times,
Tommy knows that Ranboo’s name was not on it. And yet Emperor and Wilbur don’t
seem in the least bewildered by his presence- it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who
might’ve let him in.

Chapter Notes

*crab-dances her way in*

I did not proof-read this chapter, so if there are any major typos or mistakes, feel free
to point them out :D

See the end of the chapter for more notes

After a pleasant afternoon spent in Prince Dream’s company, comes the evening, and together with
the evening, dreadful thrill of anticipation starts singing in Tommy’s veins.

The outfit Tommy will be wearing throughout the event was prepared weeks in advance. He puts
on a white shirt with a high collar without any problems, but when it comes to a grey short-sleeved
jacket that is supposed to be worn over it, his fingers tremble and refuse to comply.

Tubbo was the only servant that was allowed to help the crown-prince with dressing up. As much
as he sighed and grumbled and rolled his eyes, he’d always help Tommy to clasp the silver buttons
and make a decent look of his hair. They’d joke around, poking fun at each other- until the worry
would stop clawing at his guts, until Tommy feels like he is confident enough to make it through
the evening. Without Tubbo, it’s only him, the mirror on the desk, and a sour taste of regret on his
tongue.

The door is thrown open. In the reflection, Tommy sees Wilbur entering the room, hands shoved
into pockets. An emerald earring dangles with the beat of his cheerful, confident gait. His
appearance feels like an invasion in more ways than just physical. Tommy would very much like to
spend some time alone and succumb to his own melancholy, but it retreats, slurping and sluggish,
as it collides with Wilbur’s unyielding energy.
Tommy sighs. He still stands with his back turned to his brother. With the jacket finally wrestled
on and secured with a belt, he just needs to tie a neckerchief around his neck. No matter how much
he tries to make it sit right, he always ends up either tying it too loose or choking himself.

“Prince Wilbur, people usually knock and ask for permission to enter first. I could’ve been getting
dressed.”

“Yes, and you’re not doing a good job with it.” Wilbur walks up to Tommy. Tommy rolls his
shoulders back to hide the way he tenses, but all what his brother does is reach for the neckerchief.
“Give me that.”

Tommy complies. Wilbur wraps it around the collar of his shirt and ties it with one fast, practiced
movement. His hands are so impossibly close to brushing Tommy’s skin that it makes him
shudder; to his luck, Wilbur doesn’t notice, too busy tugging at the knot and fixing its edges.

“Here you go,” Wilbur says, stepping away once he’s happy with the end result. “How about a
small ‘thank you’ for your dearest brother?”

Tommy touches the neckerchief and stares at himself in the mirror. It looks… nice. Certainly
better than everything he tried so far.

When Wilbur’s hands settle on his shoulders, Tommy freezes. His doppelganger, lost and
confused, stares at him back from the mirror. It reflects the figures of two brothers; the older one
pulling his brother into a light side-hug like the thousands of times he did it before.

The familiarity of the motion, the steady warmth of the touch and a big smile lighting up Wilbur’s
entire face – it all makes Tommy want to close his eyes and pretend that this care is real. Pretend
that he doesn’t see the thoughtfulness behind narrowed dark eyes; unreadable but always cold and
calculated in a way that makes him want to throw himself into the closest corner and hide.

“Drop the act, Prince Wilbur. I know that you want something from me.”

Tommy shoves Wilbur away. Wilbur takes a few steps back to retain his balance, having the
audacity to look hurt. “What do you mean? Can’t I genuinely want to spend some time with my
little brother?”

“I wasn’t your brother earlier, when you were trying to bring me down in front of Prince Dream.”

Wilbur tilts his chin up, crossing his arms on his chest. “And what if I say that I’m sorry?”

“Then I wouldn’t believe that in a thousand years.”

Wilbur knows he’s been caught; Tommy can see it in the way that warm mask of his cracks, and
the expression under it drips with sourness, as if a piece of lemon was forced down his throat. The
longer Tommy stares, the more annoyed Wilbur looks. He quirks an eyebrow at him, as if asking, ‘
Happy now ?’

He is, really. It’s a lot easier to talk to Wilbur when he isn’t pretending to be the caring older
brother he once used to be. It messes with Tommy’s mind; Wilbur’s words are vines that wrap
around his neck, the blooming flowers tickling his ears and whispering of things that he knows are
no longer true.

“So it is about Prince Dream, isn’t it?” Tommy asks.

“Can’t blame me for being curious about why the famous crown-prince of Esempi suddenly took
interest in you.” Wilbur leans against a wall. “Did you know that they call him the Spider of the
southern court?”

From what Tommy’s heard, courtiers of Esempi are afraid of Prince Dream more than they are
wary of King Foolish. His connections sprawl for much further than the palace walls or even the
Dragon’s bay; nobles from all around the country have their weak sides and dark secrets all tangled
up in the spider web, bouncing like puppets on strings whenever the prince feels like tugging at
them.

Tommy hums. “Now that Prince Dream is here… could it be that you are afraid for your title of
the most manipulative bastard in the Empire?”

Oh how satisfying it is to see Wilbur almost choking on air upon his words. Tommy’s mood
immediately takes a massive leap upwards, though deep down, he knows that it wasn’t the right
thing to do. He might’ve had the element of surprise – but it’s Wilbur’s game, and he will not fail
to answer Tommy’s bold move soon.

“Look who’s finally grown a tongue,” Wilbur manages to get ahold of himself, his lips twisting
into a playful smile, his teeth flashing in a predatory scowl. “Don’t forget to keep it in check
tonight. I’d be a shame if your words will turn against you.”

If this isn’t a threat, then Tommy doesn’t know what is. He opens his mouth to answer, but then
the hinges creak and Techno appears, blocking the doorway with his broad shoulders.

“There you are,” he grumbles. “What’s taking you two so long?”

“Me and Theseus had a nice little chat,” Wilbur says, and Tommy holds the urge to snort.

“Well, we should get going now,” Techno says. “The ceremony will start soon, and Father has sent
me to bring both of you.”

“Let’s not keep His Majesty waiting, then,” Tommy says.

***

Annually, on the opening ceremony of Solstice celebrations, the whole Imperial family makes a
grand entrance. It’s a tradition both of meaning and practicality; the Empire’s royals demonstrate
their power and unity while simultaneously introducing themselves to the foreign guests. The
members of delegates change – not all of them, of course, but for the new faces, the first true
impression on the Imperial family will be formed today.

Here they are, walking through the hall that leads to the palace’s grand ballroom. Tommy
exchanged a short greeting with the Emperor before joining his usual place to the man’s right. He
seems to be in a good mood today; his smile’s wider, his gestures are more open and welcoming.
Tommy thought that he’d be more upset that he couldn’t let Ranbooto tag along, but it seems that
his worry was for nothing. He even lets a timid hope bloom in his chest that the Emperor looks
happy because they get to spend the evening together, not only like an emperor and a crown-prince,
but a father and his son.

The whole Imperial family is together, at last – except for Fundy, to be accurate. It’s way past his
bedtime by now, and children as young have no obligation to make regular appearances in court.
Wilbur and Techno are here, however, following the Emperor and the crown-prince a few steps
behind.

A thrilling sort of pride fills Tommy’s chest. Dressed in varying combinations of white and blue,
all four of them look like pieces of one whole. The ring on the Emperor’s right hand, a crown on
Tommy’s head, and identical earrings that Techno and Wilbur wear – deep-green emeralds,
brighter than any other gem found on the entire continent, mark them as the members of the
Antarctic Empire’s ruling family.

Guards, dressed in splendid Imperial uniforms, bow to the Emperor and his sons as they approach
massive spruce doors, heavy with silver and lazuli fretwork. Tommy remembers the day he first
entered those doors as the crown-prince; remembers the noise on the other side, buzzing and
ringing in his ears, the tremble in his hands, the frantic thoughts and worry, so sluggish and dense
that it made him sick.

“I’m scared,” he whispered, quiet and wavering. “I don’t know what to do.”

“You do,” Father said. He stood next to Tommy, hands behind his back, posture straight and
strong and confident, nothing like the crown-prince’s clumsy slouch. “We’ve been preparing you
for this for the past month.”

Tommy thought about the people who talked about him behind his back; quick glances of
mockery and pity, harsh words that slit his heart. His breath quickened and his bright eyes
flickered up. “But what if it’s not enough? What if they’re not going to like me? What if-”

What if I’m worse than Wilbur , he wanted to say. Or if I’m too much like him.

“Take a deep breath,” Father’s hand found its place on the back of Tommy’s beck. Steadying,
reassuring. Tommy concentrated on the feeling of warmth and the way calloused fingers scratch
his skin, and little by little, his inhales and exhales became steady and even.

It hurts , he suddenly realized. He was clenching the crown in his hands hard enough for the sharp
edges to dig into his skin. Father kneeled in front of Tommy and gently coaxed his fingers into
letting it go.

“There are two things that you can’t force people to have for you: love and respect,” the Emperor
says. “Love is either present or not, and respect can only be earned with actions. Treat your
subjects with kindness and justice, and they’re going to repay you the same.”

The crown was lowered onto Tommy’s head. Despite it being light enough that he could lift it with
two fingers, it felt like the weight of the entire empire was encased in that thin silver circle.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Father added, squeezing his hands. “I’m going to be with you the entire
time.”

Tommy smiled at the memory. He found himself staring at the Emperor, inspecting every tiny
feature of his face. He seems much older now – older he indeed is, with streaks of grey splattered
between once golden curls and a net of wrinkles on his forehead and around his eyes. Tommy has
grown since then, too. Over the years, he came to loom over his father; blue faded from his eyes
and clothes, replaced by dull silver; it’s almost like he came to live up to the image of the
Emperor’s shadow he once convicted himself to be.

In a sense, nothing has changed since then. The Emperor wasn’t a come-and-go sort of presence
like Techno was, he never disappeared without a trace like Wilbur did, or came to rest in the soil
underneath a marble slab; he was with Tommy the entire time, just like he said he would.
Somewhere in the background, in the seals of the documents Tommy signed, on the lips of other
people – but he was, and is , somewhere close.
(Close enough to make Tommy feel guilty to say that he misses him, but too far for him to take his
hand even when they stand next to each other.)

A herald announces their entrance. Two guards open the doors at the same time as the noise in the
ballroom dies out. Tommy is momentarily blinded by the bright light; it has him blinking the white
circles out of his eyes. From the height of a massive staircase they stand on, he struggles to make
out the individual faces in an ocean of colorful dresses and suits.

The Emperor makes his way down the staircase, his long cape trailing after him. Tommy follows a
couple of steps behind. He feels people’s eyes on him from every corner of the room; hundreds of
minds, observing, attentive, judging, hundreds of voices that murmur and whisper and all that they
talk about is the Emperor and the princes.

The voices don't feel like crawling bugs on his skin anymore but lyrics to a song he has long since
memorized. "Your Highness," people greet, bowing, and Tommy smiles back. A smile without any
malice or affection, differs from any emotions at all, just the right one to make it a polite
acknowledgement.

"It's an honor," others say. And before Tommy realizes that he has opened his mouth, a habitual,
'The honor is all mine,' is replied back.

It's at this moment that Tommy realizes what a long journey he made in the last six years. The
music hasn't played yet; but the dance has long since started, or perhaps it never stopped at all.
These people, this court, are moving to the same rhythm and steps as their fathers and grandfathers
and all the generations that came before.

It once was once the Empress’ responsibility to make sure that the court supports the Imperial
family. After she passed away, the Emperor was too busy keeping the country and the government
running to teach Tommy to maneuver in high society; he never had much experience with it to
begin with. Tommy aimed to rebuild the ruins that were left behind after his mother’s death – and
for that, he needed to look for new teachers.

“The thing about power is that the majority doesn't truly want it,” Baron Quackity once said to
him. “All these people understand the price that the throne comes with, and it takes major
sacrifices to commit yourself to it. But if there is an empty power slot, people will rather occupy it
themselves rather than let some fool order them around. So, what you want to do, young prince, is
to show them that you're capable.”

After first hearing those words, Tommy mused them over again and again, thinking of the ways he
could prove himself. What his duties are and how much control he can extend over the nobles is
regulated by the Emperor. He couldn’t commit himself to the art of sword like Techno – and while
nothing prohibited him from becoming a scholar, it’s an area Tommy never felt attracted to.

For each generation of noble families, strictly followed etiquette is a sign of dignity and prestige
and hard work. Tommy stumbled into this cycle at eleven years old; a cornered animal, a newborn
fawn, but now he memorized the steps throughout and beyond, to the point where he no longer
thinks of where to put his feet.

He's a fish in a steady current that flows around the same circle for eternity. Nothing can make
Tommy waver from this rhythm. Nothing can shake him off the steady ground that he could stride
around with his eyes closed- or so he thinks, until a waver in the even tone of voices brushes his
ears.

Tommy looks for the source of disturbance and halts in his steps the moment he finds it. It feels
like the same current that he felt so confident in decided to twist around and slap him in his face -
because in the crowd, surrounded by foreign nobles, stands Ranboo.

What is he doing here?

It’s not that commoners can’t participate in the celebrations at all. Wealthy merchant families with
enough influence in the capital get an occasional invitation; even then, only those who qualify
would be allowed to enter. But Ranboo..?

As the one who personally went through the guest list more than a dozen times, Tommy knows
that Ranboo’s name was not on it. And yet Emperor and Wilbur don’t seem in the least bewildered
by his presence- it doesn’t take a genius to figure out who might’ve let him in.

The Emperor throws a look out of the corner of his vision – it slides over Tommy and lingers on
him at the same time; watches, expectant, waiting for the crown-prince to say something in protest.
The dance figures are shifting; a couple of steps are taken out of Tommy’s space. He pretends not
to notice and shifts the same amount back. Tommy stays silent and visually unbothered even as
Ranboo walks through the crowd and comes to a halt in front of the imperial family.

“Your Majesty!” Ranboo says, bowing clumsily.

A stony and judging expression on the Emperor’s face changes wholly the second his eyes are not
looking at Tommy. He smiles, in an endlessly warm and kind way that would’ve had the-crown
beaming if it was directed at him – it isn’t, so it just makes him feel like he received a harsh kick to
his ribs.

“Are you enjoying the evening?” The Emperor says.

Ranboo fiddles with the sleeve of his jacket. He barks out a small, shy chuckle. “To be honest, not
really,” he admits. “I don’t know anybody here, so it’s been just very awkward this far.”

“Leave this to us, Father,” Wilbur says. His hands are resting behind his back. He shifts on his feet
and smirks; a quick expression that Tommy knows was meant for him. “Me and Theseus will
introduce Ranboo to some people.”

“Very well,” the Emperor says. “Have fun, Ranboo.”

A couple of ministers jump up at the opportunity to start a conversation. The men’s voices mix and
get lost in a steady buzz of noise in the ballroom as they walk away, Techno following close by.
Tommy trails them with an envious glower; he’d much rather work during a celebration that drag
Ranboo around with him, under all those watching gazes – but alas, it’s not like he was given that
much of a choice.

Tommy throws a look at Ranboo. He cowers away like he expects the crown-prince to bite him-
and as much as attractive that perspective seems, Tommy would never drop himself so low.
Disinterested and irritated, his gaze flickers over to the musicians in the far corner. It’s at that
moment that they finish tuning their instruments and the first cheerful notes of a violin have people
grouping in the center for a dance.

“I believe Niki is attending tonight,” Wilbur says, taking Ranboo by his elbow. “She’s a long-time
friend. I’m sure she’ll like you a lot.”

Queen Niki is a frequent guest in the Antarctic Empire. Almost all of her childhood she spent in the
Imperial palace, practically growing up next to Wilbur and Techno. Tommy remembers meeting
her, a foreign princess at the time, at about four years old. He still flusters at the memory of his
own dazed gasp, of the soft giggle that left Niki's lips. She let him reach out and brush the strands
of silky hair, tinted coral-pink, out her face.

“Are you a mermaid?” Tommy asked her then.

“I suppose I am, in a sense,” she smiled.

Legends say that where Drywaters now stands, used to be a giant lake full of mermaids. When a
drought hit, and the water started draining, some of them decided to abandon their home and
instead live on land. The ruling dynasty of Drywaters is said to have descended from these
mermaids, and whether it's a story with a pinch of truth or just a fairytale for parents to tell to their
children when they put them to sleep, Niki’s face has an ethereal edge to it that makes her beauty
unique even amongst the precious gems that are ladies of the Empire’s court.

From as far as Tommy could judge, the ruling families of the Antarctic empire and Drywaters were
hoping to arrange a marriage between Princess Niki and Prince Wilbur. Both viewed each other as
friends and were against the idea. Whether it could’ve ever turned into a political issue, nobody
ever got to see: Wilbur ran away and got married; Niki’s uncle, the late King of Drywaters, passed
away, and the princess inherited the throne.

Oh, Tommy would never insult a queen by trying to force her into the company of a mere peasant-
but it makes sense, from Wilbur’s perspective. Niki was always on the kind side of the spectrum;
strict and patient, she was also a perfect teacher, and not once or twice Tommy has taken lessons
from her on different aspects, ranging from knitting to court manners.

Queen Niki isn’t hard to find. She is surrounded by her ladies-in-waiting like a flower in bloom –
with petals. Tommy bows to her, his eyes on the flowing skirt of her dress, decorated with
thousands of tiny pearls. Niki puts a hand on his shoulder and gently guides him back to a standing
position. “No need for such formalities between friends, Prince Theseus.”

If Tommy flashes her a wide, genuine grin, it’s meant only for the two of them. He hides his smile
when Wilbur appears to his left, pushing Ranboo forward and under the gazes of the queen and
surrounding her ladies.

“Niki, I’d like to introduce you to Ranboo,” Wilbur says. “He’s a delightful young man Father had
brought into the palace about a month ago. We’ve become good friends since then- in fact,” a short
pause and a pointed look in Tommy’s direction make his heart sink, “I wish he was my little
brother.”

The true number of people who were eavesdropping on the conversation becomes apparent as a
wave of murmurs in Tommy’s ears. Perhaps the fact that Wilbur’s words make him freeze is the
only reason he manages not to drop his expression there and then.

“If it doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable, you are welcome to address me as your big brother,”
Wilbur adds, ruffling Ranboo’s hair.

Brother , oh how much does it hurt to hear that word. It isn’t fair – that the only time Wilbur calls
Tommy his brother is when he tries to get something out of him or to mock him. All the more
painful is to remember how sacred this title was for them when they were younger- a title, not
more or less, that is held way above princes and kings and emperors, and now Wilbur throws it at a
stranger with the pure intent of taking his pity revenge, to make it hurt .

Tommy wants to punch something solid while imagining that it’s Wilbur’s face- but no matter how
much a silent scream burns his throat and lungs, he must stay at the event for some longer. With
Ranboo’s presence and Wilbur’s antics, gossipers are going to have a field day as it is. Tommy
can’t let their enemies know that there’s any conflicts or disagreements between him and his
brother.

A servant passes by, carrying a tray of drinks – he picks one with a strong smell of fruits. Tommy
takes a gulp out the glass, savoring the coldness and sweet taste, when a group of ladies approach
him, led by Marchioness Beau. She is one of the frequent guests in the Imperial palace, known for
her sharp tongue and straight bluntness – two features that she doesn't pass on a chance to
demonstrate now.

"Your Highness, is it true that His Majesty is really going to adopt that peasant?" she asks.

There is a crack in Tommy’s ears - either of the glass in his hands, or of a lighting that strikes him
upon the marchioness' words. So that's what people had come up with; an assumption so bold that
it hasn't, even once, crossed Tommy’s mind. Or maybe it did- just for a brief second to make his
heart feel like it stopped, only to be shoved away with hysterical laughter and a mumbling streak of
ridiculous, impossible, painful.

The flick of a hand that was meant to be relaxed and unbothered almost ends up with him dropping
the glass altogether - orange liquid comes dangerously close to spilling over the edges.

"The laws wouldn't allow that," he says.

"But Princess Clara-"

"Late Duchess Clara was a daughter of a fallen baron," Tommy interjects, perhaps rather harshly.
He can't help the way his mouth goes dry at the mention of her name. "By law, only nobles can be
adopted by an Emperor. Even then, they can't inherit the throne, nor they retain their status of a
prince or a princess after the said Emperor passes away. Since Ranboo is a commoner, this
exception does not apply to him altogether."

"Ah," Beau says, pressing her folded fan to her cheek. "Forgive me for my curiosity. I was merely
confused by Prince Wilbur calling Ranboo his brother. Then why Ranboo is here, exactly?"

For a brief moment, Tommy pauses, even though he knows really well what he should say. Keep
singing praises to the Emperor, describing how merciful he is for taking a lost and lonely child
under his wing. Tell about Prince Wilbur's kindness for letting the kid follow him around and help
him feel at home inside the cold palace walls. Tommy knows that and yet -

Maybe Tommy is still angry with Wilbur, or maybe he's tired after a long day, maybe the events of
the past few weeks kept stacking and stacking and the wall of his patience has finally cracked - but
he plasters on the most innocent smile in his arsenal and says, "He makes for good entertainment,
does he not?"

His voice drips with poison - Wilbur has given Tommy more than enough to spare - but his gaze
has a confident and honest look to it that one wouldn't ever think that he talks with an ounce of
malice.

"Ranboo doesn't know a thing about how the court works- perhaps His Majesty finds it endearing
how naive and simple he is. One could say he decided to pick up a stray puppy for his own
amusement."

“I see,” Beau says. Women surrounding her exchange curious glances; Tommy can feel how
impatient they are to get to discuss – and spread – his words. A firework has already been shot –
now he can only stand behind and watch as it explodes and spreads in colorful, burning flames.

“Excuse me for leaving you so soon. I believe I have a few more guests to greet,” Tommy says.

It’s not a lie. Tommy does go around to exchange formal greetings with a few more individuals
before he finds a relatively deserted corner to stand in. Nobody will notice if he disappears for a
few minutes, especially with the tunes of the music picking up again. If there is one thing that
Tommy enjoys about his own reputation, it’s that most young ladies are too wary of him to ask him
for a dance first.

He stands at his chosen spot, leaning against a wall with a half-full glass in his hand, when a
shadow blocks off the light sipping through his closed eyelids. As Tommy opens his eyes, he is
greeted by the sight of a familiar smiling mask.

“Prince Dream,” Tommy greets. “How are you enjoying the celebrations so far?”

Prince Dream has dressed up for the event. Over his usual green tunic, he wears a long vest with an
open front. Golden jewelry adorns him; thin chains cleverly intervene into his hair, connect with
his earrings and jingle quietly with every small tilt of his head. The only thing unchanged is
Dream’s mask; the prince lifts it up, exposing his chin and lips, to take a small sip out of the glass
in his hand.

“It’s beautiful. I can tell you put a lot of thought into it,” he says. “Though it’s upsetting how little
appreciation is shown to your efforts.”

Prince Dream leans towards him slightly; his gestures are free and open, but the way he’s standing
shields them away from the prying eyes scattered around the ballroom. It feels like a silent
invitation for Tommy to spill the anger that buzzes under his skin- an invitation that Tommy
doesn’t take.

“People always find something to gossip about,” he only sighs. “And I would like to retain from
giving them yet another reason to tarnish the Imperial family’s reputation.”

Prince Dream only tilts his head. “I had no intention of making you uncomfortable. In fact, I
wanted to ask your help in looking for a certain lady.”

Tommy blinks. He tries not to make his confusion too obvious, humming a passive agreement.
What does Prince Dream mean, he’s looking for a-

Oh.

Oh .

“There are a lot of wonderful ladies in the Antarctic Empire,” Tommy says. He thinks of all the
noblewomen who have recently made their debut into society – around Prince Dream’s age,
coming from prestigious families and with good reputation in the palace court. It would be
favorable if the crown-prince of Esempi married a woman from the Empire-

Dream chokes on his drink. Tommy is pretty sure that some of it spilled from his nose. He tries his
best not to laugh while he pats Dream’s back and hands him a handkerchief, but it gets harder to
hold his chuckles down as the masked man bursts into wheezing laughter. Where is the menacing
and sinister prince of Esempi that Wilbur was talking about? All that Tommy sees is a cleverly
disguised human kettle.

“I now realize that I should’ve worded this differently,” Dream says once he finally gets enough air
for an inhale. He wipes his lips with the handkerchief. “I’m not looking for a fiancée.”

So much for keeping a straight face, and now Tommy can feel himself turning bright red. “Oh.
Who are you looking for, then?”

“You see, for some time now, I’ve been exchanging letters with a woman from the Palace
anonymously. Since the start of the evening, I asked several people if they could possibly know
who she is- but to no avail. I thought that maybe Prince Theseus might give me at least the slightest
clue.”

Tommy is glad that he wasn’t drinking at that moment, or he would’ve choked like Dream did. I’m
a woman , that’s what he wrote in the latest letter to his anonymous pen pal, who now turns out to
be… the crown-prince of a neighboring kingdom?

Dream moves his mask. One eye, grassy green, glints at Tommy. He didn’t notice it until now- but
Dream’s gaze, it reminds him of the mesmerizing bright patterns in Prince’s eyes. “So?” Dream
prompts after a long pause.

Tommy doesn’t know what he had expected, but he certainly knows that it doesn’t change a thing
in his initial plans. Even if there is the shortest moment of doubt when he considers revealing his
identity, he ultimately shoves that urge into the deepest parts of his mind.

“Unfortunately, I don’t think I know who you are talking about,” Tommy shakes his head.

“A pity,” Dream sighs, sliding his mask back on. Tommy feels a pang of guilt at the tones of
sadness in his voice. “Well, I’ll continue seeking for her further, then.”

***

It's a few minutes after that when Tommy notices that there is an unknown man talking to the
Emperor. They stand on a small platform overlooking the ballroom - a stair of eleven or twelve
steps leading up to it from both sides. The stranger rests his elbows on the railings, but even in this
pose, he is laughingly taller than the Emperor.

Tommy isn't fooled by the simple combination of dull green and greys; resting on the top of his
head is a golden circlet with a tiny nail of ruby in the center. The way he and the Emperor hold
themselves in each other’s presence - with confident respect that can only be seen in two equals, or
somebody with statuses so close that they become insignificant - tells Tommy that this man is
somebody rather high up on the social ladder. It has to be Grand Duke Samuel, then.

Tommy approaches with the intent of introducing himself, but he doesn't make it to the bottom of
the stairs when he sees the Emperor’s eyes locking on him. The way he looks at Tommy resonates
in his muscles and bones; it pins him to one place and squeezes his lungs and throat. Tommy’s
nervousness and worry prior to the start of the evening is nothing in comparison to the slick grip
that fear has on him at that moment.

It seems like a good idea to turn around and leave while it's still possible. He is acutely aware of
the music in the background; the sound of violin dropping from the peak to a low, lingering cry just
as the Emperor and the Grand Duke exchange last words of pleasantries and Tommy is gestured to
come closer.

“What is wrong with you?” he is asked as soon as he makes it to the top of the stairs.

Duke Samuel seems to halt for a moment upon those words. Tommy must’ve imagined it, because
next thing he knows, he is gone altogether, lost in the dense crowd.
 Tommy turns his attention back to the Emperor. He looks completely unfazed, watching the
dancing pairs, not sparing a glance at a frozen prince. In his confusion, Tommy fails to timely feel
the dangerous anger that radiates from him. “What are you-”

“Did you even think of what the Imperial family will look like when you called Ranboo
‘entertainment’?”

So now the Emperor cares about their reputation. Not when he brought Ranboo into the palace nor
when he thought it’d be a good idea to invite him to an important event.

The violin falls silent, lost in the sound of other instruments. Tommy wonders if it's because its
sreak has just snapped. “I’m not wrong, am I?”

The Emperor glares at him. Tommy’s guts twist dreadfully, but he withstands that heavy, angry
gaze.

For a few minutes, the Emperor just watches him. His gaze turns heavy and dark in a way that
Tommy has never seen before; if the railing he clenches wasn’t made of marble it would’ve
snapped in half by now.

“You truly are a heartless prince,” he says, sounding as if he is announcing someone’s death
sentence.

Chapter End Notes

Chapter full summary:

The first day of the celebrations come. Tommy is nervous and Tubbo is not here to
help him. Wilbur comes and acts all brotherly towards Tommy, but Tommy doesn't
bite it and guesses that Wilbur wants something from him. Wilbur is curious why
Dream acted friendly towards Tommy. He brought up some rumors about Dream.
Tommy talks back to Wilbur, but their conversation is interrupted by Techno who says
that Phil is waiting for them.

The Imperial family makes a grand entrance. Tommy reminisces on his first months as
the crown-prince and how he came to act like he does now. Ranboo is in the ballroom
amongst foreign nobles. Wilbur introduces him to Queen Niki. He tells that he wants
Ranboo to be his brother. That ticks Tommy off and he abruptly leaves the
conversation.

Some nobles approach Tommy. Marchioness Beau asks Tommy whether the Emperor
is going to adopt Ranboo. Tommy denies, saying that only nobles can be adopted into
the Imperial family. Still bitter about Wilbur's words from earlier, he says that Ranboo
is in the palace because the Emperor finds him entertaining, almost like a pet.

Tommy hides in a corner for some time. Dream approaches him. He shows sympathy
to Tommy's situation. Dream also asks for Tommy's help in 'looking for a certain
lady'. Tommy terrible misinterprets his words at first but then understands that Dream
is his anonymous pen pal. He doesn't reveal himself. Shortly after this, Tommy notices
Grand Duke Samuel, talking to Phil. He goes to greet the foreigner but is summoned
by the Emperor instead. Phil confronts Tommy about his words about Ranboo earlier,
and after a short argument, calls the crown-prince heartless.

***

In today's chapter, we have:

- Wilbur 'you weren't in the chapter plans why are you here' Soot
- Dream 'wants to help this child but has to earn his trust first' Mask
- Sam 'I have no idea what is going on here but I see the red flags already' Nook
- Appearance of two characters that are not necessarily important for the plot but who I
still wanted to add
- And many other things.

I hope that you enjoyed the chapter, and a reminder for those of you who are sensitive
to the angst:

(Thanks to Hafuyu for the meme.)

 You're crying tears for me; how can you? You don't even know what I'm
going through
Chapter Summary

Wilbur wanted Theseus to drop his mask, but as the result, lost his own, even if it was
for just a few seconds. Upon Niki’s concerned gaze, he demonstrated her wide smile
with enough squint in his eyes that it could be mistaken for an honest one.

The talk that started spreading afterwards proved, however, that Wilbur’s efforts
weren’t completely in vain. He let a fox into a chicken scoop, curious about how much
of a fuss will be created until somebody puts a stop to it, but couldn’t have imagined
that Theseus would be the fox. Perhaps Wilbur was too quick to get disappointed.

Sometime early into the event, Wilbur notices Techno parting from the crowd and
moving towards one of the ballroom exits. By the time he makes it there, backing
away from every person, Wilbur already greets him with a raised drink.

“Unbelievable, you’ve lasted an extra dance this time.”

“Piss off, Wil,” Techno grumps. “…And it was two dances, not one."

Wilbur huffs, but steps aside. As Techno passes by, he throws him a pointed side-
glance.

“Keep an eye on Theseus,” he says.

Wilbur smiles. “Oh, don’t you worry, I will.” Just probably not in the way you’re
asking me to.

Chapter Notes

Check the end notes for chapter summary and import info!

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See the end of the chapter for more notes

As soon as those words left the Emperor’s mouth, his expression shifted at once. That sour frown,
a twist of his lips – maybe Tommy could’ve deciphered it if it wasn’t for the blood rushing from
his head and turning his vision spotty. Heartless , it echoes in his ears. It wouldn’t be the first time
somebody called him cold, or cruel, or any of the things along this line – but never has ever it been
to face, and never by his own family, by his own father .
For a few seconds, Tommy is at a loss of words. It burns oddly in his chest, and his lungs feel like
decaying, withering as the fire turns them to ash, but it doesn’t burn as much as the liquid anger
that is pumped through his veins.

Everything that Tommy had done throughout this evening was for the Imperial family’s sake;
except for only when he snapped and blurted out his honest opinion on Ranboo. Is it fair that a
single slip on his side strips him of all his achievements and begging for mercy at the Emperor’s
feet?

Yes , the more rational part of him speaks. It’s harsh, it’s scolding, and it reminds Tommy of all his
wrongdoings in a voice that sounds too much like the Emperor- and it’s right . That’s the way the
court works. No matter how perfect one’s reputation might be, one harsh fall is all that it takes for
you to be forever drowning in a swamp of prejudice.

And yet, despite knowing that well, The Emperor still brought Ranboo here. He didn’t care about
what sort of rumors it might cause, nor reprimanded Wilbur for further embarrassing them in front
of foreign guests – and now he speaks like the crown-prince was the one to blame for this entire
mess. Tommy hates Ranboo with seething fury, for that he had become the culprit of conflicts
inside the Imperial family. He doesn’t have any sympathy for him, either – and if that makes him
heartless, then so be it.

"My personal feelings do not play any role in the matter,” Tommy spits out. "Unlike His Majesty, I
know to separate my personal and Imperial affairs."

And just like that, the unreadable look on the Emperor’s face is gone. "You're pushing it, Theseus,”
he warns, anger quivering in his voice.

But Tommy can’t stop himself now. His body is shaking, fingers curled into fists, and his lips are
pressed into a thin pale line. The little self-control he has left is drained on managing his expression
and keeping his voice down. Even at a time like this, Tommy can’t forget that they’re still
surrounded by people who are watching them out of curiosity.

"No, you're the one who started this," he says, almost growling. "Ranboo’s presence in the palace
and all the possible consequences that come with it are outside of my responsibility. You’re the one
who invited Ranboo to the palace, whether it’d be out of pity or for your own amusement-”

“That’s enough ,” the Emperor says, taking a step forward. “Get out, Prince Theseus.”

Both the Emperor’s tone and the pain of a bit-down tongue make Tommy's tirade falter.

“…What?” he asks, his voice weak and shaky.

"I said, get out of my eyes. I don't want to see you for the rest of the evening,” the Emperor repeats,
with more control over his fury, one that reverberates within Tommy in a cold wave of shock. His
feet freeze to the floor and thousands of thoughts all flash in his mind at once. This very day, he
spent weeks planning and working on- surely , the Emperor doesn’t mean it. Surely, he wouldn’t
kick Tommy out of the event that he himself has organized.

But the longer the pause lasts, the more obvious it becomes – he would, and he is . The Emperor
glares at him expectantly and all that is left from Tommy is to lower his widened eyes and swallow
down the lump forming in his throat.

“I wish you a pleasant evening,” and with that bitter goodbye, the last of Tommy’s willpower is
gone, and he stumbles down the stairs.
The music continues to play. Dancing pairs move in front of Tommy’s eyes – he tracks their
movement, the swirl of satin skirts, the glint of jewelry and flash of hundreds of faces – until his
gaze falls on the open door on the other side of the ballroom.

Thud-pause-thud , shoe heels beat out a precise rhythm on the polished floor. Tommy wants to run,
but he can’t rush, or it might alert the guests.

Right, left, right, left , he’s marching through the crowd, keeping close to the wall, with just one
thought in his mind – get to the door and away from here. Tommy wants to frown, to shout – but
no-one can know what happened between him and the Emperor, so he keeps biting on his tongue to
prevent a strangled choke from escaping his mouth.

“Leaving so soon, Your Highness?” Marchioness Beau appears to Tommy’s right.

“I’m not feeling well today.” Tommy was afraid that his voice might break, but it came out even, if
not a bit too fast. “Nothing a good night’s rest can’t fix, I’m sure, but I’m afraid I’ll have to call it a
night early.”

“You do seem very pale,” Tommy nods automatically as he receives a sympathetic smile. By the
time the lady finishes speaking, he struggles to keep up a straight face. “Now, if you excuse me-”
he says, pushing past her.

A few minutes after getting out of the cramped ballroom, Tommy finds himself in a hallway. Wisp
started following him as soon as he went through the doors, but Tommy can barely notice; his
vision is still spotty, and its turning into a blur with the tears forming in his eyes. He forces them
away, blinking fast – he can’t break down here, where the risk of running into someone is so high.

Tommy keeps walking forward, to what looks like an empty corridor, until he rounds a corner and
almost bumps into someone.

“Your Highness,” Tubbo quickly bows, and when he doesn’t get an answer, he straightens and
looks up. His expression momentarily turns from surprised to concerned. “…Are you okay?”

Tommy stares back, dumbfounded. In his reflection in Tubbo’s eyes, he looks like a ghost – his
face one in color with the marble columns to his left, with an expression that could haunt
someone’s nightmares. Tubbo extends a hand towards him, but Tommy steps out of the way and
keeps walking.

“Theseus, wait-”

Tubbo tries to grab Tommy’s arm. Tommy is faster and slaps his hand away, “Wisp!”

In a blink, the guard stands in-between them two. Tubbo gazes in disbelief as Tommy frowns at
him.

“I warned you, Tubbo,” Tommy says hollowly and turns away. “Wisp, please escort Tubbo to
wherever he is going, and make sure he doesn’t try and follow me.”

Wisp glances over his shoulder. He looks like he wants to disobey. Wisp has been Tommy’s
constant escort ever since he has become the crown-prince, and seen him in states far worthier than
this. In the end, he can’t disobey Tommy’s direct orders; he turns around and gently nudges Tubbo
away, “Come on, you heard the prince.”

Tommy keeps walking the opposite direction, not sparing another glance to either Wisp or Tubbo.
He doesn’t know where he's going, nor does he care about it. For now, he just needs to sit down…
somewhere.

The first time Tommy ever felt this burned out, he was turning thirteen and transitioning to perform
more and more of his imperial duties. He was tired; the paperwork was confusing him, the endless
lessons drained his energy, and by the time he was allowed to go to bed, he would fall asleep, fully
clothed, above the covers. Calling him to join a meeting with the ministers was a recipe for a
disaster on its own; the first time Tommy’s words were dismissed because, and he quotes, 'What a
child could know?', he exploded momentarily.

Out of the meeting he was dragged out, spluttering curses, any sort of manners or etiquette
forgotten in the rush of fury. The Emperor has thrown him into the nearest empty room, with an
expression that made it abundantly clear that a long lecture would follow.

Under his icy gaze, pinning him to where he stood and forcing him to swallow his pride, Tommy
always listened with patience to what advice his father would have for him. But he was so angry,
and so tired , so he clenched his fists in frustration and shouted:

“Can’t you see that I’m trying my fucking best?!”

“Then maybe you’re simply not good enough,” the Emperor snapped back.

It was enough to turn Tommy’s entire world upside down, the second time after Mother’s
[Link] the Emperor have said could've been just an outburst of words he hadn't really meant,
but they were carved in Tommy's mind and turned into one of the things that chased his sleep away
at the darkest of nights. Mother always said to Tommy that he is perfect, that she loves him the
way he is and doesn’t need to change himself in any way. She said not to listen to people who
would try and say otherwise, but-

Mother was dead. With Wilbur missing and Techno away, the only person left for Tommy was his
father, and when he said that Tommy isn’t good enough – he believed. And when the Emperor
turned cold and dismissive towards him, when the crack between them widened into a canyon, he
started to think-

Maybe that is because he isn’t good enough to be loved.

So Tommy tried his hardest to become better. He studied days and nights away in the library, only
taking breaks when Tubbo would forcefully take away his quills, until all his teachers were singing
praises to him as one.

As he started participating in meetings and taking over more and more of the deceased Empress’
duties, the nobles, who had only seen him as a decorative replacement for Wilbur this far, started
recognizing him as the future Emperor. And even though it never reversed his and his father’s
relationship to what it used to be, he never was scolded, he was trusted , almost viewed as an equal.

Most of the time, it was enough. But there were those rare moments when a rebellion would spark
in his chest, and traitorous thoughts crawled their way into his mind – that maybe it’s not right of
the Emperor to treat him this way.

Well, at those moments… Tommy had his aunt Clara.

“Poor child,” she said, when she first found Tommy curled up on a balcony alone. “My brother’s
putting too much pressure on you.”

Tommy raised his tear-stricken face from where he was hiding it in his knees. Seeing the sympathy
written all over Clara’s kind, warm features, and arms spread to the side in a silent invitation-
Tommy couldn’t help himself. He ran up to her and cried in her embrace while she shushed him
gently and rubbed his back.

“It’s alright, Prince Theseus. I’m going to help you,” she said.

Tommy believed her, and that was his first mistake.

***

Tommy doesn’t remember entering any rooms, but here he is, sitting under a table with his head in
his hands, and coldness spreading through his chest.

The window to his right reveals the capital, sprawled whole under the hill the palace stands on. A
colorful festival attracts his attention with the explosions of fireworks and endless rows of yellow
paper lamps along the streets. Only the Southern wing has this sort of open view on the city;
Tommy must be in one of the empty dining rooms, then.

Good thing that the majority of the servants and attendants are busy with the guests. Tommy had
given an excuse to his early disappearance, so nobody would come seeking him, either. He should
stand up and go to his room now, while the halls are still empty – but whatever place he had
mentally gone off to was still keeping a chain-tight grip on him.

Tommy hears a sound of steps, or some sort of knocking on the door. A second passes, maybe a
minute – but there is a blur of shadows moving under the slit. Somebody’s there.

His breath hitches. Nobody can see him like this. With clothes all rumpled and the crown discarded
on the floor, crawling under a table like a child hiding after a nightmare – Tommy doesn’t look like
a prince, he looks like a bloody mess .

A faint throb spreads through his chest and stomach while his body fights for control. Tommy
manages to return himself just enough of it to scramble backwards, press himself further into the
darkness in hopes that he’ll be less noticeable once the door opens.

It never does. Instead, something fluffy and white slides in. A paw searches the floor as far as it
can reach, and not finding what it’s looking for, the animal on the other side lets out a loud and
demanding: ‘ Meow !’

A wave of relief washes over Tommy, his shoulders slumping. It’s just a cat. Someone’s silly pet
that wandered in here by mistake. Tommy sits back, throwing his head up and letting out a dry,
hysterical chuckle.

He considers going back to lying on the floor, but the cat must’ve heard him, because it meows
again, this time softer. It’s followed by an echo, still; the sound bounces off the empty corridor and
reaches Tommy’s ears. If somebody else hears it, they might get curious about what the cat is
meowing at. The fog creeping at the edges of Tommy’s consciousness retreats begrudgingly, and
he gathers enough energy to stumble to the door and open it.

The cat slips in as if it’s been waiting for this all along. Bright green eyes lock on Tommy – they
seem familiar, even though he knows for a fact that he has never seen them before. Barely anyone
keeps any pets inside the palace; there are the messenger crows, of course, horses in the stables and
Techno’s hounds in the kennels, but never any cats.

The cat meows again. Tommy shushes it.

“I’m sorry, I don’t have any food for you, but if you could keep it-” Tommy falters mid-sentence as
the cat rubs against his leg, “-quiet.”

There isn’t a meow this time, but the cat keeps circling him around, and Tommy- Tommy doesn’t
know how to react. Does he smell like food? Is it normal for cats to behave like this?

Slowly, Tommy lets go of the door handle and kneels. He extends a hand towards the cat, and it
readily presses its face into his palm.

“Hey,” he says, smiling. “You’re a friendly one, aren’t you?”

The cat has pure white, fluffy fur; it feels like fresh-fallen snow, but warm and soft under his
fingers. Before Tommy can stop himself, he is already petting and scratching the cat’s head.
Instead of biting him, it starts purring loudly. It kind of sounds like a swarm of buzzing bees, but
gentler, resembling a rumble of someone’s calming voice.

The cat climbs onto his lap. Tommy scouts closer to the wall and props his back against it. His
eyelids feel swollen and heavy, and a growing headache pounds in his temples. His body is going
to make him pay for lying on the floor for who knows how long, but for now, he is content with
just this: existing, breathing, and having someone who is willing to provide comfort.

And it doesn’t matter if it’s just a cat who ran into Tommy by accident. He finds it odd that it’s the
second time something like this has happened in a span of a month. Tommy must be a truly pitiful
sight if even the animals started feeling bad for him.

The events of the evening all return to him in a flash. Tommy’s head sinks into his hands again, his
chest forcing out something between a groan and a whine. He never had a fight with his father this
bad before; he doesn’t know how they’re going to go back to their casual meetings and reports
tomorrow. What dreads him the most is that the consequences for his mistakes are going to stretch
far further than just kicking Tommy out of a single festivity. What if he’ll be prohibited from
attending the rest, too?

No, it’s impossible. Even though the majority of instructions have already been passed on in
advance, without Tommy’s control it’ll all go downhill. He’s practically hosting the special
banquet at the end of the celebrations, so whether the Emperor wants it or not, it still stays under
the crown-prince’s management.

After that, however… It’s all up to the Emperor’s mercy and graciousness if he decides to grant
forgiveness upon Tommy. And it depends on whether Tommy will be able to earn that forgiveness.
If he ever messes up, he works twice as hard to make up for it; he knows what expectations are set
for him, so he goes far and beyond to meet them.

The expectations were fairly simple: be the perfect prince and the perfect heir. And even though
there wasn’t a set list of instructions to reach that goal, it’s something Tommy learned with time,
and something that stayed unchanged throughout the years, until they did, together with Ranboo’s
arrival.

All of a sudden, nothing he did was enough to earn him the Emperor’s favor. He is required to be
kind, compassionate, sympathetic- none of the demands make sense to Tommy and the price for
his inevitable failure, as the experience has shown, is harsh.

The cat rubs its face into Tommy’s chin. He gratefully runs a hand along its spine. The white fur is
short, but glossy; its whole friendly demeanor indicates that it's used to being around humans and
enjoys interacting with them. Whoever is the owner of the cat, they obviously care for it a lot.
"You know, it’s really silly, but I wish it was possible for humans to turn into animals. I think I
wouldn’t mind being a dog or a cat,” Tommy says. The cat blinks with its large green eyes, and it
sinks in at last why they seemed so familiar to Tommy – Prince’s eyes are the exact same color.

“Or a parrot,” Tommy adds. “Whatever animal that people could simply love me as.”

The last part Tommy says in a faint murmur, but the cat stops purring and listens to him so
attentively that it feels like it understands him. But it’s just a cat; they do odd things all the time. It
could’ve been just a distant sound that attracted its attention. The cat’s ears straighten up and twist,
confirming Tommy’s assumption.

“Did you hear anything, buddy?” Tommy stands up and picks the cat up with him awkwardly.

“Prince Theseus?” a male voice calls.

Tommy almost drops the cat out of surprise. The voice comes from the corridor and through the
door that he had left ajar earlier. Tommy might not be crying anymore, but it couldn’t be more
obvious that he did from his swollen eyes and puffed-up face. Without any other options at hand,
Tommy rips off the ribbon keeping his hair in a short ponytail and shoves as much of the blond
curls on his face as he can.

In the corridors, he comes face-to-face with Sapnap. Tommy briefly recalls spotting the knight
somewhere in the ballroom earlier. Ember eyes inspect the crown-prince in the same way they did
upon their first meeting, and for once, Tommy is thankful that some careless servant forgot to
relight the lamps at this side of the palace. In the dim moonlight creeping in from a window at the
end of the corridor, shadows cover most of his face.

Tommy clears his throat and asks: “Did you want something, Sir Sapnap?”

“Excuse me, Your Highness. I heard your voice, so I wanted to ask whether you had seen-”
Sapnap’s eyes fall on the cat in Tommy’s arms that suddenly perks up and meows. “Oh. You’ve
found him.”

“It’s more like he found me first,” Tommy says. It only then dawns on him that it was probably not
the smartest thing to say – Sapnap could start wondering what a crown-prince was doing in the part
of the palace that is furthest possible from the festivities, but the knight just looks at him oddly.

“Of course he did,” Sapnap says, barely moving his lips and so quiet that Tommy might as well
have imagined it. In any case, he decides to ignore it and instead readjust the cat in his hold.

“Is this your cat?” he asks.

Sapnap looks away and coughs into his fist. “No. In the Kingdom, I’m officially prohibited from
having any pets,” he says.

Tommy waits for him to elaborate, but Sapnap only shakes his head. “Believe me, you do not want
to know what happened. Regarding the cat- it’s Prince Dream’s favorite pet...” An awkward pause.
“…Patches.”

The cat makes an offended noise, and Tommy can’t blame it – what kind of name is ‘ Patches’ ?
Though, if Dream is really its owner, then it makes a lot of sense. The crown-prince of Esempi
hadn’t given his messenger bird a name at all, until his anonymous pen pal in the face of Tommy
had suggested it.

“Patches?” Tommy raises a brow.

“Patches,” Sapnap confirms. “And I’m sure that he’s been sick worried looking for him, so-”

“Ah, of course,” Tommy carefully maneuvers Patches in his arms and passes him to Sapnap, even
though, deep down, he really doesn’t want to.

“ Patches really needs to stop running off on his own and at least give a prior warning to me next
time,” Sapnap says. The cat bites down on his hand, and he yelps, but keeps a tight grip on him.
“Thank you for finding him, Your Highness.”

“It’s nothing,” Tommy shakes his head.

Sapnap glances at him, then at the empty corridors. “It’s pretty late at night by now. Would you
like me to escort you to your rooms?”

Tommy bites down on his lip. On one hand, once they step into better lighting, it’ll be obvious
how disgraceful his appearance is. On the other hand, declining the offer would be greatly
impolite, especially one coming from the close friend of a highly distinguished guest. Tommy
knows a few ways around the palace that will cut the chances of them meeting anybody on their
way back. Maybe if he could walk ahead all of the time, the knight wouldn’t notice his swollen
eyes, either.

Patches meows, and either Tommy hallucinates it or he and Sapnap exchange a conspiring look. “I
think Patches took a liking to you. Prince Dream wouldn’t mind you holding him for a little bit
longer while I’m escorting you.”

Tommy tilts his head, hesitant. “You really think so?”

“I know that for sure,” Sapnap says confidently. “So, what do you say?”

Tommy makes it look like he’s thinking it over for a few more seconds, but he’s been sold the
moment Patches was involved in the deal. With a reserved smile, he accepts the cat back, and he
purrs in Tommy’s arms for the rest of their journey.

***

It’s refreshing for Wilbur not to be the scapegoat of court gossip.

Ever since he introduced Ranboo as his ‘younger brother’ to Niki, the whole ballroom’s attention
was on the boy. They discussed him like he was just an object in the room, sometimes – from a few
feet afar or straight up to his face.

“That’s the Emperor’s pet everyone is talking about,” a giggle passes them.

As laughably oblivious Ranboo was to everything happening around him, he isn’t completely deaf.
He turns pale and searches with his eyes for the source of the voice – but they’re already gone and
out of his view.

“Don’t listen to them,” Niki says, turning Ranboo around with a gentle hand on his shoulder. She
frowns, her forehead creased deeply – and that’s a warning sign if there’s one. Wilbur can see that
Niki is already growing fond of the boy; she might not be an easy person to upset, but she’s truly
terrifying when she gets protective of someone.

Kind and caring to those who are close to her, that’s what the Queen of Drywaters is like. These
are good traits to have in a ruler, but Wilbur got to see, first hand, how they can border with naivety
and blind trust that anybody with mediocre manipulation skills won’t pass on a chance to use. And
Wilbur… Wilbur would humbly say that his skills were much above mediocre.

On an event like this, he couldn’t drag Ranboo around with himself all the time. In Niki, he found a
person who could watch over him temporarily, shooing away the most eager of gossipers with her
mere presence. Wilbur’s whole introduction of Ranboo was just a show; a show of one actor who
tried – and failed – to get a reaction out of the only person that it’d matter from. With a flash of
never-changing bleak eyes, Theseus turned around and left to greet the guests.

The crown-prince never saw how Wilbur’s painted smirk was washed away, revealing a sunken,
twisted look underneath. Wilbur wanted Theseus to drop his mask, but as the result, lost his own,
even if it was for just a few seconds. Upon Niki’s concerned gaze, he demonstrated her wide smile
with enough squint in his eyes that it could be mistaken for an honest one.

The talk that started spreading afterwards proved, however, that Wilbur’s efforts weren’t
completely in vain. He let a fox into a chicken scoop, curious about how much of a fuss will be
created until somebody puts a stop to it, but couldn’t have imagined that Theseus would be the fox.
Perhaps Wilbur was too quick to get disappointed.

Sometime early into the event, Wilbur notices Techno parting from the crowd and moving towards
one of the ballroom exits. By the time he makes it there, backing away from every person, Wilbur
already greets him with a raised drink.

“Unbelievable, you’ve lasted an extra dance this time.”

“Piss off, Wil,” Techno grumps. “…And it was two dances, not one.”

Wilbur huffs, but steps aside. As Techno passes by, he throws him a pointed side-glance.

“Keep an eye on Theseus,” he says.

Wilbur smiles. “Oh, don’t you worry, I will.” Just probably not in the way you’re asking me to.

After Techno leaves, the evening continues for Wilbur with the sparkle of champagne, the stoic
fragrance of flower perfume and the flow of ballroom music that he softly hums along to. A few
women, citing boredom or loneliness, furtively hinted that they’d like to get an invitation to join
the pairs twirling under the crystal chandeliers, despite knowing full well that the only answer
they’ll get is a polite rejection.

Perhaps it turned into a sort of dare: the number of ladies that left his side with sour winces
challenged others to try their chance; all of them daughters and wives of high-ranking noble
families whose names spin around in Wilbur’s head but that he doesn’t bother remembering them
by.

“Do Antarctic princes not like to dance, Your Highness?” one of them asks.

Unwillingly, Wilbur’s eyes find Theseus on the other side of the ballroom. He, too, was avoiding
the crowd, instead harboring in a quiet corner with a drink. Wilbur drops the efforts to peer closer
to his expression – for one, he knows there is nothing to peer into, and two, a man steps up to the
crown-prince, cutting him off his line of vision. Wilbur can’t tell who it is with their back turned,
but he makes a mental note to figure that out later; for now, his attention turns back to the woman
beside him.

“Quite the opposite. Though, unlike Theseus, I don’t find joy in repetitive steps and patterns. For
me, it's all about the partner.”
Black eyelashes flutter as the lady lowers her gaze and offers her hand to Wilbur, assuming that this
would be the moment he invites her for a dance. Wilbur tilts his head in exaggerated confusion, and
then breaks the pause with a soft chuckle.

“Ah,” he says. “Apologies, my lady, but I’m afraid that all my dances are reserved for another
woman.”

Despite the surprise and resentment that skews her features, she doesn’t give up. “I heard that Lady
Sally hasn’t bothered with the hassle of joining us this year.”

For what you personally should be grateful for, Wilbur thinks. If Sally was truly present, this lady
would risk walking out of the ball with a black eye. A woman with patience in a forest fire, she
doesn’t tolerate people looking down upon her – more so if they’re of noble birth.

“And yet you agreed to marry me, directly after I admitted to being a runaway prince,” Wilbur said
to Sally a few months prior to today, on the night before he and Fundy were supposed to leave
L’manburg for the capital.

“I took pity on you,” Sally said, rolling her eyes. She could pretend to act annoyed all she wanted,
but she couldn’t hide the smile that her lips tugged up into.

The real reason why Sally decided against staying at the palace was because she simply didn’t
want to. Their small family of three, consisting of her, Fundy and Wilbur himself, resides
permanently in a mansion in L’manburg; Wilbur and his son only live in the capital for a few
months of the year, mostly during the warm seasons.

Sally does visit them, but never when the palace is crammed with local and foreign nobles alike. In
the three years that have passed since their marriage has been announced to the whole Empire,
Sally hasn’t adjusted to the ways of the court, just like the court still viewed her as nothing but a
stain of grease under its feet.

Phil offered to use his power to grant noble statuses to raise Sally’s position to a landless baroness.
It’s not a common practice, and is only done for commoners who have served the crown with
exceptional loyalty and selflessness. Any woman in Sally’s shoes, being the mother of an officially
recognized prince, would’ve gladly taken the offer – any woman but her.

“I don’t fit here nor do I want to,” she said, the tortoise of her eyes stubbornly sharp – not every
person dares to look at Emperor Philza this way. Wilbur didn’t think it was possible for him to
admire Sally any more than he already did, but throughout the years, her courage and honesty
continued to bring a new spark to his feelings.

Not that anybody outside of the Imperial family is entrusted with any of this information, though.

“Lady Sally has decided to stay in L’manburg due to weak health,” Wilbur says, and leaves it at
that.

The woman wishes for his wife to get better soon. They all do, with smiles and graceful nods, as if
they wouldn’t try to poison Sally at first opportunity, whether it be with real venom or their sharp
snake tongues. As Wilbur stands up and bids his goodbye, under his smile hides nothing but cold
disgust.

Wilbur knows how the nobles think and live just as well as the feeling of guitar strings under his
fingertips. Gatherings akin to this one are nothing but a bunch of people in fancy clothing being
fake happy and polite behind the curtains of expensive silk and the glint of golden jewelry.
Not everyone sees it as clear as he does. Whether it’s a talent or a skill, Wilbur started noticing,
from a young age, when the rot of one’s true face starts flowing over their masks. He quickly
realized that almost none of the faces he was surrounded with were real; even his parents at the
time put up facades of their own. The Empress – of being strong and healthy. The Emperor – of
being a good father, though the last one existed only for Techno.

Wilbur’s jealousy was a crack in the mask of his own. Duchess Clara, Phil’s adoptive sister, picked
at it with a nail with her well-timed comments. A power-hungry manipulative witch who saw the
crown-prince as an opportunity to build her way to the throne – that’s what Wilbur remembers her
like.

She could’ve blinded him with her spinning tales of kindness and understanding if it wasn’t for the
Empress. Mother always shone brighter, softer; she was Wilbur’s beacon and support at the times
he felt sick with people trying to feed him lies and empty flattery. When she passed away, it all
crashed on him with double force. Wilbur was suffocating, his lungs withered as poison sipped
into every cell of his body, and when he understood that he couldn’t take it anymore – he ran.

Lost in thought, Wilbur fails to notice when Theseus disappears out of his line of sight. One
moment he stood talking to Phil on the balcony that overlooks the ballroom, and the next one it’s
only the Emperor who is walking down the carpeted steps. Theseus never leaves festivities this
early, so Wilbur must've missed out on something important – it must’ve been an argument, if the
Emperor’s deep frown is of any indication.

Wilbur’s musings get interrupted by the appearance of a familiar face. Tubbo’s casual attire stands
out amongst splatters of color and shine of jewelry; his dark-brown eyes scan the ballroom for
something with a look of disquieting concern. Wilbur slithers through the crowd, clasping his
hands with a wide smile.

"Tubbo, my man!" he exclaims. "I thought you weren't going to participate in the festivities
tonight."

Wilbur’s greeting earns them a few weird looks. Tubbo straightens his posture. "To avoid
unnecessary rumors and attention, yes," he says, swallowing down. “Have you, by any chance,
seen Prince Technoblade?”

“Unfortunately, he already left. What did you need him for?” Wilbur hums.

Tubbo shifts on his feet. He looks at Wilbur, but his thoughts are far from here, wandering off to
something – or someone – else. Wilbur waits while Tubbo gathers himself, though the longer the
pause lasts, the more fuel is added to his curiosity.

“I ran into Prince Theseus in the corridors- he seemed pretty upset,” Tubbo finally says, leaning
closer. “He wouldn’t tell me what happened, so I thought I could ask Prince Technoblade if he
could check up on him.”

“Tubbo, Tubbo, Tubbo,” Wilbur sighs. Tubbo’s mouth clicks shut at the faint disappointed click of
his tongue. “Always too kind for your own good. You’re still worrying about Theseus, even after
the way he treated you?”

Tubbo drops his eyes. He must’ve remembered his and Theseus’ recent petty fight. It was far from
the first time Wilbur heard or witnessed the crown-prince’s unfair treatment of his aide. Tubbo was
Theseus’ longtime friend, and by extension, Wilbur knows a lot of things about him: that he has a
younger sister named Lani, who was accepted into guard training this year. Tubbo comes to watch
her every day, and Wilbur can decipher that the look in his eyes is not envy but grief of a lost
opportunity.

“I might not be serving him anymore, but he’s still my friend, and I’m worried,” Tubbo says.

Wilbur feels like he might start feeling angry on Tubbo’s behalf. “What Theseus even could be
upset about? A few nasty rumors? The worst that could’ve happened to him is someone hurt his
pride.”

Tubbo opens his mouth to answer with an unsure look on his face, but is interrupted by Ranboo
striding up to them with a wide smile. Niki is with him, too, her skirts rustling as she walks at a
slower, even pace.

“Tubbo! You made it!”

“Hi, Ranboo,” Tubbo says, smiling weakly.

Ranboo wraps his fingers around Tubbo’s hand, “Niki is inviting me to have some pastries. You
have to join us, too!”

The Queen, not bothered in the slightest by the informal way Ranboo addresses her, nods. “Of
course, Tubbo is always a welcomed guest, and so is Wilbur.”

Here Tubbo would probably attempt to excuse himself and look for Technoblade again, if it wasn’t
for Wilbur catching him under his elbow. “Thank you for your invitation,” Wilbur says. “We will
gladly accept it.”

***

When Wilbur returned three years after his initial disappearance, he knew that it would take time to
earn Theseus’ forgiveness and reconnect with him. He was ready for screams, for accusations and
anger and blame but believed that, in the end, old habits will roll in and they’ll be able to go back to
being brothers again.

Nothing like that happened. Instead, a mannequin with his brother’s face glanced at Wilbur
dismissively and asked him not to distract him from work.

Wilbur’s approach was careful. He talked to Theseus the same way that they used to, and tried to
engage in the same activities. Theseus endeared most of it with contemptuous stares; he was stiff,
he was quiet, but never once remotely close to Theseus that Wilbur remembered and missed.

What do you want, Prince Wilbur? Prince Wilbur, never brother, never just Wil. Anger and
irritation were the only emotions he’d ever been able to get out of Theseus. He would look at
Wilbur with these accusing, narrowed eyes, and behind every his action was seen malice or ill
intentions.

If Theseus was the hero of his story, then he’d chosen Wilbur as his villain. He doesn’t remember
the exact moment when he realized that he’d rather have Theseus hate him than give him a cold
shoulder; slowly but steadily, he found himself falling into the role. He intercepted when Theseus
was trying to impress some snobby high-ranking noble, messed with his schedule, and threw off-
hand comments about his manners or appearance. Reputation was the only thing he truly cared
about, so Wilbur made sure to make it a struggle for him to upkeep it.

Ranboo’s appearance was a catalyst that Wilbur didn’t know he needed. From day one, it was
laughably obvious how jealous Theseus was of the way Phil treated a random stray. To a degree,
Wilbur envied him; for that Theseus’ jealousy meant that the Emperor still was considered family
in his eyes, something that Wilbur could only dream of.

“I wish he was my younger brother.” Behind this and many other Wilbur’s words and actions was a
desperate attempt to see if there were still some remains of Theseus that would shine through his
mask. It didn’t work. Wilbur assumed that it was because Theseus was observant enough to
understand that he hadn’t really meant it.

(He didn’t want to think that maybe it’s because that maybe there was never a mask in the first
place)

An inner voice tugged at Wilbur for playing on Ranboo’s feelings and using him as a tool to get to
Theseus, telling him that it makes him barely any better than the same nobles he despises so much.
This inner voice people normally call conscience; Wilbur thinks of it as a distraction.

The voice’s constant whispers, strangely, calm down a bit as their small company settles in the
parlor of Niki’s chambers. It relieves Wilbur to see the sincere goodwill in the way she tries to
make him as comfortable as possible. Ranboo’s not a bad kid – just a very naïve one – who was
thrown into a wasp nest against his will. At least with Tubbo and now Niki, he’ll have some people
who will truly root for him.

Niki’s spoon clinks against a cup, and Wilbur raises his head.

“Is everything alright, Wil?” Niki asks. “You’re eerily quiet today.”

“Oh, It’s nothing. Just had a busy day and now I’m feeling a bit sleepy.”

“Well, I hope that our conversation will help you stay awake for a little more,” Niki smiles.

She gestures to her ladies-in-waiting, and they bring in trays with small plates of baked goods. Niki
takes the kettle and starts pouring tea into cups, and the air fills with the smell of lemon and
berries. Ranboo takes a cookie and digs his teeth into it experimentally. Wilbur knows the exact
moment the taste sinks from the way his eyes widen and from the humming sound he makes.

“These are amazing!” he exclaims, done with one cookie and already reaching for another one.

“Thank you,” Niki smiles. “I baked them myself.”

Ranboo stares at her with twice as much amazement and admiration as before. “Queens can do
that?”

Wilbur and Niki exchange a glance and burst into laughter. “We usually don’t,” Niki says. “But the
head maid and the head cook already know about my little quirk, so they didn’t mind me
occupying the kitchen for some time.”

“I didn’t know that the royals could be this humble,” Ranboo says, to which Wilbur responds with
an exaggeratedly pointed cough into his fist. “I mean, Phil and Wilbur are, of course-”

“He had a few unfortunate encounters with Theseus,” Tubbo explains to Niki.

Niki frowns, just a bit. There is no way that the rumors haven’t reached her yet. “Oh, I’m so sorry
to hear that. I’m sure that Theseus didn’t mean it. Maybe he had a lot on his mind, so he snapped at
you unintentionally.”

A lot on this mind? About which noble’s shoes to lick this time, maybe.
Wilbur puts his cup down with a clink.

“Let’s talk about something else,” he decides. “Have you heard that Prince Dream has been
exchanging letters with someone from the palace anonymously?”

At the edge of his vision, Wilbur catches a faint movement. Tubbo to his left squirms in his seat
uncomfortably, like a mouse searching for a hole to dive into.

Interesting.

Niki nods. “That person hasn’t revealed themselves yet. I thought that you might already know
who they are.”

“I don’t,” Wilbur says. “Perhaps anybody else in this room has a solid guess.”

Tubbo flinches. Wilbur brings the cup to his lips, again hiding a triumphant smile.

They talk some more after that. Wilbur and Niki exchange news on both sides, Ranboo cuts in
every now and then, complimenting her baking skills, and only Tubbo stays mostly silent, looking
like he’d wish to become one with the cushions. At some point, it comes the time for them to leave,
and Wilbur takes his opportunity by suggesting to walk them both to the Eastern wing.

“Is something wrong, Tubbo?” Wilbur asks.

Tubbo blinks, and Ranboo looks in-between them with concern. “What?”

“You seemed very uncomfortable earlier.”

Tubbo looks away. “Oh. It’s nothing for you to be worried about, Prince Wilbur.”

“It doesn’t seem like that to me,” Wilbur hums, his voice dropping and sounding more like a
demand rather than a polite concern it’s been before. “I’m sure you want to share what’s on your
mind, don’t you?”

Tubbo was always an easy one to crack. Ranboo unknowingly assists Wilbur by bumping his
shoulder into Tubbo’s and smiling, “Whatever it is, you can tell us.”

“It’s just that- I think that Prince Theseus might be the one exchanging letters with Prince Dream,”
he confesses. “He was visited by a southern messenger bird a few times in the past weeks. I doubt
that he’ll admit it, though. He’s too careful and prideful for that.”

WIlbur skids to a halt. Tubbo and Ranboo have to stop, too, and turning around, they meet his
puzzled smile. “So, you know the contents of those letters?”

“Some of them, yes…”

Wilbur clasps his hands. “Perfect. I just had the most brilliant of ideas. We will make it so that
Prince Dream thinks that Ranboo is his letter friend.”

Tubbo’s expression instantly turns regretful. “For what?”

“Think about it,” Wilbur raises a finger. “The nobles might look down Ranboo now, but if he has
several friends who are members of royal families, they’ll have no choice but to acknowledge
him.”

“But…” Ranboo fiddles with a button on his jacket. “Wouldn’t Theseus be upset about it?”
 That’s the point, but you don’t have to know about it.

“Of course not,” Wilbur says. For some reason, the lie tastes bitter on his tongue. “In fact, he’ll be
glad that you’ve taken the burden from his shoulders.”

“In that case, I’m happy to help.” Ranboo perks up. So that he hasn’t completely given up on the
idea of getting along with Theseus. A noble effort, Wilbur will give him that. It’s not that he feels
guilty about his preposition now, but it gives a sour tone to his previous confidence.

“We’ll talk about it more tomorrow,” Wilbur promises, turning around to leave. “Good night,
Ranboo.”

“Wilbur, wait!”

Wilbur glances over his shoulder and finds Ranboo taking an unsure step towards him.

“What is it?” Wilbur smiles encouragingly.

Ranboo takes a deep breath and raises his eyes up to look into Wilbur’s own. “You’ve done so
much for me in the past month, even though you didn’t have any reasons to, but I didn’t get a
chance to express my gratitude yet. So, what I wanted to say, thank you.”

“It’s nothing-” Wilbur wants to say, but then Ranboo encases him into a hug.

Wilbur stumbles backwards out of surprise and hugs Ranboo back on reflex. His mask falls; his
eyes, widened and shocked, stare into the opposite wall. It feels nothing like Techno’s quick
shoulder bumps or full-body hugs that he and Fundy share, but it feels nice in its own way.

Ranboo pulls away, shifting weight from his toes to heels, and barks out an awkward laugh. “I’m
sorry, this is probably inappropriate, or uncalled for, or whatever-“

“Don’t apologize,” Wilbur says. His own voice sounds to him like it’s coming from the bottom of a
lake.

That returns Ranboo some of his confidence. “You’re a very good person, Wilbur,” he says. “And
if I really have an older brother, I wish he is like you.”

Wilbur’s chest grows heavy and very light at the same time. He smiles tiredly – it doesn’t reach his
eyes. “You think really… highly of me.”

“You deserve it,” Ranboo insists.

Tubbo watches from the sidelines. Wilbur didn’t think that his silent look could feel this
penetrating. Ranboo thanks him, and wishes him goodbye – and then both he and Tubbo slip
through the double spruce doors.

“Seriously,” Wilbur murmurs into the empty hallway. “I really don’t.”

Chapter End Notes

Full chapter summary:

The argument between Tommy and Phil continues. Tommy stars speaking out of anger
what he truly thinks about Phil's careless behavior. As the result, Phil kicks him out of
the event. Tommy rushes out of the ballroom. He runs into Tubbo in the corridors.
Tubbo asks him what happened, and Tommy tells Wisp to prevent Tubbo from
following him.

Tommy has a flashback from when he was about thirteen years old. At this time he
actively gets more actively involved in Imperial affairs. It is obvious that Tommy can't
handle it, and the Emperor snaps at him by telling him that he's just not good enough.
For Tommy this is the moment that makes him think that to deserve love, he needs to
be a good prince. Tommy had his doubts along the way, and when he inevitably broke
down, his aunt, Duchess Clara, would come for his aid. Tommy thinks that believing
her was a mistake.

When Tommy comes back to his senses, he finds himself hiding under a table in one
of the distant parts of the palace. He wants to space out again but Dream, in the shape
of a cat, finds and comforts him. Tommy thinks of the possible consequences that his
outburst might bring. Sapnap is looking for Dream and finds him as cat in Tommy's
arms. He suggests to escort Tommy as it is a late hour, and Tommy agrees under the
condition that he gets to carry the cat the rest of the way.

Wilbur POV starts with the consequences of Tommy's words. Ranboo is the center of
people's attention. Niki cheers him up when he gets upset over it. Wilbur leaves
Ranboo under her supervision. He enjoys the generic event, but refuses to dance with
anyone. Wilbur thinks about Sally and why she decided not to visit the capital this
year. To nobles he tells that it's because of her health. He expresses his disgust
towards the people of the court and their fake masks. Wilbur was surrounded by them
since young age, and only feels more suffocated by them as he gets older. it is hinted
that Phil was a neglectful father who preferred Techno over Wilbur. Duchess Clara
attempts to manipulate him through that resentment, but it doesn't work due to
Wilbur's support system aka his mother.

Tubbo searches the ballroom. He is looking for Techno because he wants to ask him to
check up on Tommy. Wilbur intercepts, saying that there is nothing Tommy could be
upset with. Niki invites them and Ranboo to drink some tea and desserts in her parlor.
Wilbur thinks of how he came from trying to earn Tommy's forgiveness to provoking
him for anger. He feels guilty for using Ranboo in the process. Niki treats the guests
with her baked goods. They talk about Tommy's behavior a bit then conversation
shifts towards the rumors of Dream searching for his letter friend. Wilbur notices
Tubbo's odd reaction and confronts him about it afterwards. Tubbo confesses that
Tommy is Dream's letter friend. Since Tubbo knows the content of the letters, Wilbur
suggests they fake Ranboo as Dream's pen pal.

Ranboo doesn't feel good about doing it. Wilbur ensures him that Tommy would like
to have that burden removed from his shoulders. Ranboo thanks Wilbur for looking
out for him, and hugs Wilbur on emotions. He calls Wilbur a good person. Wilbur
feels guilty more than before, and is hinted that he'll start thinking of Ranboo as more
than just a tool to get to Tommy.
Author notes
Unreliable Narrator tag comes into action. By no means this chapter justifies Wilbur's
actions, but now you can see how the things - and people - look from his perspective.
I'm very curious of what you think of him now, so please feel free to leave long
comments and rants!

Butterfly Reign has officially become my most subscribed-to fic. There are more than
200 comments on the last chapter and that is just. INSANE. Thank you so much for
supporting this story, and I hope you'll stick till the end of the ride because the most
interesting parts are yet to come!

I have also put a work skin (credit goes to cotton_blue_clouds for making it) on this fic
and I hope you like how it looks! Tell me if there are any problems with seeing the
colors, dark mode and etc.

Important!
I'll be taking a long break after this chapter. It will last about 2,5 weeks. This is not due
to burnout from writing, it's just life's been stressful and I need to relax from
everything for a mental recharge. I will be reading your comments and be active on my
discord server (search for the link below), so join if you want to chat with me about
your thoughts and theories. After my break, the update schedule should come back to
a chapter once a week.

Bonus aka what probably happened after the cat scene

Sapnap: ...
Dream: ...
Sapnap: So, where are the adoption papers?
 Each time I share, you just forget that i'm stuck in this forever and a day
Chapter Summary

"So, you're the one I've been exchanging letters with?" Dream asks. A vine-shaped
golden earring hanging from his earlobe trembles as he tilts his head.

Ranboo nods. He thinks that Dream would be asking him for a proof and recited
internally what Tubbo had told him about the letters' content, but instead, the prince
frowns.

"Are you sure?"

"What?"

"I would be very happy if you were my letter friend, but if not…" Prince Dream leans
forward, his eyes flashing with a new, chilling shade of green, "I'd be so disappointed
that I don't know what I'd do."

Gone were the polite words and soft smile, replaced by a scowl of a perching bird of
prey. If the tone with which Prince Dream talked didn't make the threat apparent, then
his expression certainly did, to the point where Ranboo feels the sweat beads forming
at the back of his neck.

Tubbo's warning looms over him like a grim omen; the possible consequences of a lie
seem to thicken and clot with each moment that Ranboo thinks about it, but he pushes
down all the last bits of doubt he has and says, "I'm the one you've been looking for,
Your Highness."

Chapter Notes

Huge shoutout to Cake for beta-reading this chapter! You are a real life-saver!

Some tags to this work have been updated! Please make you read them before
proceeding!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

“Please-” Ranboo begs, but his mind is empty – he doesn’t know who he’s talking to or why, only
that it hurts and that his begging might stop it from hurting even more. There are hot tears
streaming down his face that he only feels because his hands are clasped over his eyes, nails
digging painfully into his scalp.

There is a whistle of something raised quickly, and the next thing Ranboo knows, there’s a loud
crack in his ribs.

He wakes up choking on his own scream and flinging himself off the bed. The pain of the fall
doesn’t register. All Ranboo can feel is the flaring agony in his chest. He tries to stand up, but
blankets get tangled around his legs – his breath stutters and he scrambles backwards until his back
is pressed into the bedframe.

Ranboo frantically jerks his shirt up. He searches his ribs – the one that’s broken, the one that’s
killing him – but all he finds is smooth, healthy skin. No swelling, no splash of bruises ranging
from plum-purple to ugly yellow, no blood dripping from the shards of glass stuck in his abdomen.
The scars are here, still; a map of life that Ranboo doesn’t remember – but the freshest of them are
marked with a period of three-four months.

A sigh of relief echoes across the room. Ranboo massages his chest, taking in a few more deep
breaths, every new one less shaky than the previous, until the phantom pain disappears completely.
Little by little, the sickening-bright images in his head creep back into their den, and his mind gets
clear enough to register that he’s still in his room, inside the Imperial palace.

Ranboo remembers feeling exhausted yesterday. Despite Tubbo’s insisting on helping him get
dressed into a nightgown, he went to bed with the same clothes from the ball. Fancy button-up shirt
that was picked out for him by his friend turned into a crumpled, battered mess. Ranboo would be
glad to get rid of it now, but a glance at the window and the sun just barely tilting over the horizon
confirm that it’s too early for Tubbo to show up yet.

Ranboo stands up on his unsteady feet. The leather journal on the bedstand stares at him
tauntingly. None of Ranboo’s memories are pleasant, but this is one of the few that he really
debates not writing down at all. Phil always insists he does, though, so he flips the cover open with
a quivering hand.

Paper rustles as he skips to the latest record. “Sibling?” is written in bold letters and underlined
multiple times at the top of a yellowish page. Before Ranboo can reach for the quill, a knock on the
door forces him to walk up to it and peek out tenderly with one eye.

There’s a woman waiting in the corridors. She seems vaguely familiar, but Ranboo can’t quite put
his finger down on where they met, until she says, “Her Majesty has sent me to invite you for
breakfast,” and he remembers that the woman is one of Niki’s ladies-in-waiting.

Ranboo considers declining the invitation. He really doesn’t feel like talking to people right now.
The remains of the nightmare still cling to him, cold fingers grasping his throat. The lady seems
impatient, tapping her foot on the floor, and Ranboo feels dread churning his insides at the thought
of angering someone. The broken rib long since healed throbs dully.

“You can’t just simply say no to a noble of a higher rank”, he remembers Tubbo saying, “And
especially not to royals. A lot of those barons and marquises would give anything to be in your
place and get that closely acquainted with several monarchs.”

Niki has been really nice to Ranboo last evening, shielded him from the rude gossip and
undeserved insults. As glad as he was to get away from the dense crowd and join the queen at a
table with delicious pastries, he felt bad for taking up her time. Ranboo owed Niki, even if she
insisted otherwise, so with a crooked smile, he mutters, “I’ll be ready in a minute.”

Once he splashes his face with cold water and finds some fresh clothes to put on – a lilac-colored
shirt, and a jacket of a darker color to match – he joins the woman, and she leads him all the way to
the Western wing. There are still more places in the palace that Ranboo hasn’t explored yet; with
narrow corridors and empty halls changing each other more rapidly than he can grasp them, he
wouldn’t be able to find these huge birch doors even after a week's worth of exploration.

Ranboo reaches to twist the gold-gilded handle but the lady gives him an odd look, and he halts,
retracting his hand. Right. Another of the weird palace rules that he can never get used to. An
uncomfortable feeling twists his stomach as the lady-in-waiting peeks into the room and announces
his presence, “Your guest has arrived, Your Majesty.”

“Let him in.”

Ranboo can never understand the necessity of having this many dining rooms in the palace. None
of the walls or the carpets are ever the same yet there’s a clear pattern with the depictions of wings
and birds wherever his eyes fall. The stained-glass puzzle of the huge windows breaks sunlight into
shades of pink; amidst of it, Niki, with her hands resting on the skirt of her pastel-green dress,
looks like a tenderly blooming rose.

The lady-in-waiting sits down in a pointed curtsy. Now that he is reminded of formalities, Ranboo
bows. It’s too fast and clumsy and he almost bangs his head on the table that turned out to be closer
to the entrance that he anticipated – but to his luck, Niki saves him the embarrassment and just
smiles.

“Take a seat,” she gestures at the empty chair to the opposite of her, and then turns to her lady-in-
waiting. “Now, we wish to have some privacy.”

Unlike Niki, who doesn’t even look to make sure that the woman complies and pours water into
tall glasses, Ranboo watches her leave with his head fully turned. A prideful tilt to her chin, yet
utter attention and obedience to Niki’s every word – she disappears with a step and a soft click of
the closing doors.

From what Ranboo understood so far, ladies-in-waiting are a tight-knit circle of female servants of
a queen. A few times he had seen Niki before the start of the celebrations, she was surrounded by
ladies in colorful dresses, chatting with them idly; their chuckles and playful exclamations sounded
like silver bells ringing on the wind, bringing an absent smile to Ranboo’s lips.

He likes the institution of ladies-in-waiting way more than what he had seen so far in the court of
Antarctic Princes: a grim group of guards that looked like they are wardening Wilbur rather
protecting him, and a whole army of Theseus’ servants that were almost as emotionless and
prideful as him.

Minutes go by in comfortable silence and click of silverware, sometimes interrupted by an off-hand

question by Niki: about how he is enjoying his stay at the palace, has he visited the capital and
whether he made any friends yet. There is a miniscule furrow of her brows when he mentions
Tubbo, but it’s gone faster than he can raise his eyes, so Ranboo writes it off as a flick of his own
imagination.

“What do you think of Prince Wilbur?” she asks suddenly.

Ranboo flinches. It’s not an odd question, not really, but the events of the last night come back to
him at once. After Wilbur left, Tubbo acted strangely for a while: put his ear against the door and
gestured for him to stay quiet. And after a long minute of painstaking confusion, he whipped
around to face Ranboo.

“What’s happening?” Ranboo then asked.

“Ranboo, please reconsider your plans,” Tubbo said, and the steel seriousness in his tone made
shivers run down Ranboo’s spine. “It's not just rude to lie to royalty. It's a punishable crime."

Ranboo frowned. "But Wilbur said it would be okay."

Tubbo only seemed to grow more frustrated at that. "Whatever Prince Wilbur says, whatever he
does, do not trust him. Especially if it’s something about Prince Theseus.”

Tubbo didn’t elaborate. Ranboo could only blink at him in confusion and mumble out an unsure
agreement, and Tubbo went back to acting like nothing had happened at all.

The queen stays unperturbed by Ranboo’s reaction. “Is there something weighing down your mind,
Ranboo?” Niki asks, touching the edge of her lips with a napkin. “Perhaps if you share what’s
bothering you, I could come to your aid.”

Niki has the same kind smile, the same open expression from yesterday, and it’s not long before
Ranboo decides that he can trust her.

“You and Wilbur have known each other for a long time, right?”

“That is correct,” Niki confirms. “We’ve been friends since childhood.”

“What is Wilbur's and Theseus’ relationship like?”

Silence. It grasps the room in a tick of a moment, and Ranboo’s anxious exhale is the only sound
that dares to break it. Niki’s hand freezes from where it was holding a knife over a piece of omelet.
She doesn’t put it down.

“You’ve asked the same question from the servants, haven't you?” Niki says.

Ranboo swallows down thickly. Niki wasn’t there, so how can she know that?

It occurs to him that even though the lady-in-waiting closed the door, he never heard the sound of
retracting footsteps.

“Yes?” he says, but Niki doesn’t need his answer, already nodding to her own, inner thoughts. The
knife finally returns to its place besides other silverware with a loud click that has Ranboo
shuddering against his will. The impassive look on Niki’s face turns softer, though there’s still
something else crawling in subtleties of the delicate lips and brows that puts Ranboo on edge.

It reminds him of a picture he saw in one of the books that Technoblade helped him to pick out in
the library. Myths and legends, and amongst them – stories about mermaids, creatures of
unparalleled beauty, who used to lure children and stray travelers with their sweet words only to
then drown and devour them.

“The Antarctic Imperial family prefers to keep to a tight circle of family members and trusted
subordinates. They do not tolerate people peering up too close to their personal affairs,” Niki says,
and even though she appears relaxed, glancing lazily at the clouds drifting past in the window, it
sounds as though she gives Ranboo a warning. “You couldn’t get out a word from the servants
because they value their positions.”

“But what about you?” Ranboo asks carefully. “I mean, you are a queen.”

“Which means the stakes are higher for me than for anybody else,” A glass twirls in Niki’s hand.
When she puts it down abruptly and gazes at him, Ranboo can’t help but recoil.
“Royalty is not all about wealth and power and doing whatever you want. Our every move and
word could be a step on the path of impending doom, damaging the relationship between our
countries. No kings or queens – or princes,” she clicks her tongue, staring at Ranboo intensely,
“live without this burden. The Imperial family doesn’t let go of mistakes easily, even of one of their
own.”

Ranboo’s head pounds. Yesterday, he saw Phil talking to Theseus. He wasn’t close enough to hear
what exactly they were saying, but the prince rushed away afterwards as though he had wolves
chasing after him. Wilbur said that Theseus would be fine – but Tubbo insisted that he mustn’t
believe Wilbur, and Ranboo wasn’t sure whose side he was leaning to; even more so with new
information Niki bombarded him with. He cracks his lips open, “Are you talking about Theseus?”

Niki doesn’t neither confirm nor deny. She only leans forward and looks at Ranboo closely.

“Could I give you a piece of advice, Ranboo?”

“…Sure.”

“There are a lot of commoner families in the capital that would love to take in a bright young man
like you. Emperor Philza cares about you – that much is apparent – and he’ll let you go if you ask.”

It feels as though thunder explodes in Ranboo’s ears.

“Let go?” he asks, barely above a whisper.

“I’m only saying this because I wish you well,” Niki says, clasping her hands together. She looks
almost sad, now – like pitying a baby rabbit caught in a hunting trap. “You have no idea what
you’re getting yourself into, or otherwise you’d thank me for warning you in time.”

Ranboo stands up, chair screeching against the floor. Niki stays sitting even as he backs away from
the table.

“I really doubt that,” he says, twisting the handle and stumbling out of the room.

Ranboo’s shoulders spike up to his ear as several ladies cut him off from the exit. He takes a step
back – and another, and the third one – and jumps when Niki appears behind him, soundless as a
fog slithering over the lake surface.

“Keep in mind that Theseus is as much my friend as Wilbur is,” the queen says, flicking her hand.
The women part to two sides, freeing the exit; Ranboo feels their eyes on him as he bolts.

***

Ranboo doesn’t want to leave the palace. He understood it once he returned to his room, threw
himself into a corner of a closet and reread his journal with a narrow slit of sunlight that sipped
through. That simple word, “Sibling?” made his heart throb and wrench.

A few days ago, Ranboo woke up from a nightmare, standing in front of a one-story building with a
sloped roof. It wasn’t the first time that he wandered off to different parts of the palace while
sleepwalking, but he has never reached the stables before.

Cold ground burned Ranboo's bare feet. He knew he should return back to his bed, but the lights of
the palace in the distance seemed foreign and unwelcoming. Shivering, Ranboo listened to the
sound of horses huffing and snorting softly in their sleep. He was tugged by the familiarity of it, by
the warmth of the animals' bodies and their movement in the dark. Ranboo creeped inside, blindly
climbed into the first stall he found and dropped into prickly hay, bringing his knees to his chin.

The smell of dry grass lulled him into a peaceful drift of somewhere between dreaming and being
awake, up until a wave of warmth washed over his cold cheeks, and his eyes snapped open.

A giant horse stood over Ranboo. He held his breath as a chestnut muzzle pressed into his ear,
tickling it. Ranboo reached out and carefully stroked the dark mane drooping from the horse’s
elegant long neck, and received a soft huff in return.

The stall door creaked open. Ranboo shrank back into a wall. Technoblade stood at the entrance,
one hand holding a bucket full of water. If he was surprised to see Ranboo, he didn’t show it; only
put the bucket down and raised a brow.

“Hey, kid,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

Ranboo’s tongue felt too thick in his mouth, unable to form a single word. He only spoke to
Technoblade once before, in the library; and even then, it was an exchange very brief and
awkward, limited to the prince snatching books from shelves and putting them down into the
shaking boy’s arms. The general terrified him with his appearance alone: he could crush Ranboo’s
neck if he squeezed it hard enough, he could break all his ribs with one punch, he could –

Crouch down in front of him with a concerned expression?

“Are you alright, kid?” Technoblade asked. Ranboo swallowed down and shook his head.

“Do you want me to go look for Wilbur?”

“It’s fine,” Ranboo mustered out.

Technoblade shrugged and picked up the bucket again. He turned it over into the water trough.
The horse turned around in the stall, careful to keep its hooves away from Ranboo, and craned its
neck to drink.

He waited for Technoblade to say or do anything - perhaps punish him for sleeping in his horse's
stall. Ranboo had no doubts about who the animal belonged to from how lovingly he patted its
back. The general didn't look all that threatening now that he was pulling out a piece of apple from
his pocket and feeding it to the horse.

"His name is Carl," Technoblade said all of a sudden, throwing a glance at Ranboo from the corner
of his eye.

Ranboo straightened from where he was pressed into the corner. His heartbeat was evening out; his
voice coming back to him after one hard swallow.

"He's beautiful," Ranboo muttered.

"Do you want to help me clean him?"

Ranboo nodded, standing up with the tenderness of a newborn deer. Technoblade walked out of the
stall and returned with two circular brushes: one of them was offered to Ranboo.

"To shake off the dust, you need to move it like this- huh. You already got it."

Ranboo stared blankly at his own hand that started moving before the prince finished his sentence.

"Have you done this before?" Technoblade asked.

"It's my second time in the stables." Ranboo shook his head.

"Then maybe it's one of your older memories.”

Violent flash of colors before his eyes, screams and whimpers of pain exploding in Ranboo's ears -
the brush fell out of his hand, and Technoblade caught it before it could reach the ground.

For a long moment, there was silence. And then Technoblade's fingers wrapped around Ranboo's
wrist, bringing his hand up to Carl's mane. The rough texture, the warmth and heaves of bristly
skin grounded him. Absently, Ranboo picked up a few strands, his gaze focusing on the long braid
swung over the prince's shoulder.

"Did you remember something?" Technoblade asked, sympathetic.

"I'm not sure," Ranboo shivered. "I think- I think I might have had a sibling. I don't know what
their name is or what their face looked like, only that we were separated, and it was scary."

Technoblade made a sound of understanding - though Ranboo was not quite sure how he could
understand any of what he was feeling, when both his siblings were safe and sound in the palace.
He lost track of time they spent without saying anything to each other, until he blinked and
suddenly Carl's mane was braided identical to the prince's hair.

"You're welcome to come to the stables at any time," Technoblade said, stepping away and taking
both brushes into one hand. "We'd like to have you here. Both Carl and me."

"Really?" Ranboo's eyes widened. For the first time since the start of their conversation,
Technoblade's indifference cracked into amusement. Ranboo felt blood rushing to his cheeks.
"Thank you, Prince Technoblade."

"It's just Techno for friends," the prince said, and left.

Ranboo took upon the offer and was visiting Carl every day. He wants to continue doing it: helping
Techno in comfortable silence, trail Wilbur to different events, explore the palace with Tubbo and
learn writing with Phil. None of that will be possible if he leaves, and it's not like he has anywhere
to go to. The only memory about his family that Ranboo has is about losing it, and everything else
is vague flashes of blood-freezing fear. What if that's what awaits him outside of the palace? The
source of all his scars - cuts on his hands, slashed lines along his back, traces around his ankle
shaped too much like a tight metal cuff - might be just behind the palace walls.

Three out of four main Imperial family members want Ranboo to stay, and only Theseus is against
it. More so, the crown-prince despises his entire existence, and there's an entire country's worth of
nobles backing him up. Ranboo thought that Niki was on his side - but after today’s morning, he
wasn’t so sure anymore.

As far as Ranboo could understand the power standings, the odds were not in his favor. His mind
brings back to Wilbur’s suggestion. Ranboo was doubting if he should follow through with it or not
- the idea of lying didn't sit comfortable with him - but now it felt like he had no other choice.

Which brings him to the present, where he shivers under the intense stare of a knight in front of
him. Ranboo hunches more and more as the ember eyes grow dark and heavy. His heart hammers
against his ribs and it takes all his courage to keep his eyes looking forward and not at the sword
resting against the man’s hip.

“You are Prince Dream’s letter friend?” the knight asks.

Ranboo pushes down his anxiety and opens his mouth to confirm, but then there's a voice from
inside the prince's chambers:

"Sapnap, what are you waiting for? Let him come through."

"Whatever you say," the knight - Sapnap - glances at Ranboo with clear disapproval, but opens the
doors, revealing a bright spacious parlor. Amongst dark-green cushions, swept off the couches and
scattered across the floor into an uneven circle, is Prince Dream.

It seems that Ranboo's appearance has caught Dream at the time of rest. He wears simple white
robes, flowing down from his shoulders and onto his knees to where he sits on the floor cross-
legged. The sinister smiling mask that unnerved Ranboo every other time he had seen the prince
before now sits innocently on a low table.

"Make yourself at home."

Upon Dream's wide, welcoming gesture, Ranboo joins him. It takes him some time to figure out
the less awkward position he could take, and in the end, he just ends up sitting on his knees and
resting his hands on top of them.

"So, you're the one I've been exchanging letters with?" Dream asks. A vine-shaped golden earring
hanging from his earlobe trembles as he tilts his head.

Ranboo nods. He thinks that Dream would be asking him for a proof and recited internally what
Tubbo had told him about the letters' content, but instead, the prince frowns.

"Are you sure?"

"What?"

"I would be very happy if you were my letter friend, but if not…" Prince Dream leans forward, his
eyes flashing with a new, chilling shade of green, "I'd be so disappointed that I don't know what I'd
do."

Gone were the polite words and soft smile, replaced by a scowl of a perching bird of prey. If the
tone with which Prince Dream talked didn't make the threat apparent, then his expression certainly
did, to the point where Ranboo feels the sweat beads forming at the back of his neck.

Tubbo's warning looms over him like a grim omen; the possible consequences of a lie seem to
thicken and clot with each moment that Ranboo thinks about it, but he pushes down all the last bits
of doubt he has and says, "I'm the one you've been looking for, Your Highness."

***

Banquet attendance usually dropped by the third day of the celebrations. It wasn’t prioritized like
the first or last day, and everyone wanted to enjoy themselves in the city or socialize with the
people they had befriended. That had been the pattern ever since Tommy has been responsible for
the Imperial Palace; it lasted three years, until today.

The hall was stuffed with chattering and gossiping groups. A few hours prior, a new rumor has
gone through the palace that Prince Wilbur is taking Ranboo in as his aide, mixing with the news
about Tubbo serving him. Not only was that enough to eliminate the disturbance that Tommy's
words had caused yesterday, but it stirred up sharp curiosity towards Ranboo; the high society that
was quick to dismiss him like a piece of stone in a jewelry box now picked him right back and
surveyed him once more. With Ranboo being the first servant Prince Wilbur appointed to himself
in years, it's only natural that the attention towards them both spiked.

"This is utterly unacceptable," Marchiness Beau declares instead of a greeting.

Until the last moment, Tommy debated talking to the Emperor personally to make sure that he was
allowed to attend, but no message was delivered even after the sunset. That was easy, that was
familiar; if his father was pulling the silent treatment on him, then Tommy will continue to act like
nothing has happened at all, even if instinctively he knows that this visual calmness is the
precursor of a brewing storm.

"What happened?" Tommy asks.

"Remember the rumor about Prince Dream looking for the recipient of his letters? Well, last
evening that peasant pest came forward and admitted to exchanging letters with somebody
anonymously."

Marchioness Beau fans herself furiously as she talks. Her rant works all the more to distract her
from the grim silence on Tommy’s side. The crown-prince bites down on his tongue hard enough
for it to hurt and bring him back to reality - and the reality is that Ranboo decided to impersonate
him.

Of course Ranboo may not necessarily know who he is impersonating, but it doesn't ease Tommy’s
anger when he sees Ranboo entering the ballroom together with Prince Dream. Apart from rightful
fury, there's something more to the heavy feeling in Tommy's chest. He has known Prince Dream
for a little more than a week. Their conversations were brief and short of words, but Tommy finds
himself looking forward to each exchange with a buzzing sort of eagerness. And now that Ranboo
flocks around the crown-prince of Esempi, Tommy couldn't force himself to approach even for a
proper greeting.

First it was the Emperor, then Prince Wilbur and Queen Niki… And now, Ranboo has Prince
Dream acting all attentive and friendly towards him. Tommy has learned the hard way that there
are no coincidences in high society, and all the more his suspicions towards Ranboo grows. How
many more daggers are hidden behind this demeanor of an innocent bystander?

Prince Dream introduces Ranboo to Sir Sapnap, and for a moment, the ember eyes of the knight
flick towards Tommy. He looks away, only now realizing that he had been staring at them the
whole time. He needs to focus; find something else to keep himself busy with, so he turns his
attention back to Marchioness Beau.

The gossip in the court about Ranboo has eased; people preferred to choose their words with more
cautiousness now that it was possible that he'll be serving one of the Antarctic princes. Beau either
didn't get the memorandum or decidedly spat at it, because for the rest of the evening, Tommy
listened to her rant about how insulting it is that a lowly commoner would serve a prince. She was
right, of course; but Tommy didn't contemplate the lady's words as nothing but small talk, right
until she says, with a dead-serious look in her eyes, "It occurs to me that Your Highness has a poor
wit."

"Pardon me?" Tommy almost chokes on air, but fixes his expression from surprised to indignant.

"It's a known fact by now that your former aide is serving someone else now," Marchioness Beau
says, and even though Tommy winces, he is glad that she didn't poke him with any names. "And
overall, Your Highness has too little help for the position he occupies. I've been trying to
indiscreetly nominate myself as your assistant for the past hour, not more nor less, but you failed to
pick up on any of my hints."
Tommy blinks. It's not prohibited for princes to have female aides, just as princesses usually have
males serving them along with their ladies-in-waiting, but it's certainly not common enough for
Marchioness Beau to be so bold and confident about it. Tommy in particular never had any ladies
in his court, mostly because he is wary of them - wary, mind you, not afraid. Growing up with
Princess Niki made Tommy cautious of getting on women's bad side.

"Do you deem yourself suitable for the position?" Tommy raises a brow. "Are you familiar with
the ways of governance?"

"Due to my step-mother's poor health, I fulfill the responsibilities of Lady of the manor for our
family estate," A pointed look. "But I'm sure you already knew that."

Oddly, Tommy wants to suppress a smile. A few days prior he asked Wisp to dig up all information
he could find on a number of palace visitors. His personal knight never was an example of perfect
stealth; this occasion didn't require Tommy to be indiscreet about his research.

"And you're not afraid of the rumors going on about me?" Tommy prompts.

"Even if you have a murder on your conscience, Your Highness, I would hardly care. At times I
feel like I'm ready to order an assassination on my step-brother."

Tommy's smile dims just a bit. It's clear that Beau has made a search on him as thorough as the one
he ordered on her, but he didn't expect her to dig up the rumors this old and short-lived.

Beau continues to swing her fan idly, as if she didn't just talk about potential fratricide. Tommy can
only accept the fact that the marchioness is a straightforward person unlike any other he’s met
before. And, in a way, he appreciates that she wasn't trying to hide her true intentions. Beau
belonged to a noble family that once was part of the Kingdom of Esempi. With their lands taken
over during the war, the choice for them was to either swear their allegiance to Antarctic Empire or
be subjected to slavery, as war prisoners; traitors of the crown and lifetime convicts usually are.

Despite choosing to bow their heads before Emperor Philza, they were in a clearly disadvantageous
position in comparison to noble families that had their roots centuries deep in the Empire’s history.
That and the competition between Beau and her step-brother that was clearly not going in her favor,
the lady made a smart choice of seeking power from a different source, and Tommy couldn't help
but admire her for it.

"Your ascendancy started the first day that your name was said in the walls of this palace,"
Quackity said to thirteen-year-old Tommy, standing in front of the map of the Empire. "You
maythink that your time as the crown-prince is just a preparatory phase for becoming an Emperor -
but you must not waste it, and you must start making allies."

A crown-prince is a lot more than just a title, Tommy has learned. The crown-prince is the ruler's
heir, his successor and shadow and hope but amongst everything else - his biggest rival. People
would inevitably compare Tommy to his father in everything he does, and it's in his power to
decide whether he'll continue Emperor Philza's legacy or build his own.

"Your father bears a halo of long years of earned trust. The nobles know that they are going to be
treated with kindness and understanding for as long as they commit to their duties and don't step
out of the line. Not everybody accepts that sort of treatment, though."

The tone with which Quackity said it made Tommy think that he was one of those "not
everybody."
"You have to show the nobles that supporting you will give them something in return. What people
truly want to achieve with power is safety, stability, peace - or simply wealth, that's common.
Sometimes, there are individuals who crawled out of the pit the life has thrown them into, and now
they're trying to reverse the roles."

"They are scared," Tommy said.

"Exactly, Theseus," Quackity's dark eyes flashed with something dark and sinister. "And they'll do
anything in their power to get to the very top, where nobody could look down on them or threaten
them again."

Tommy acts careful when choosing his servants. All of his personal attendants come from
prestigious families; they affect his image and reputation as much as he does theirs. The Imperial
family's wealth and influence is cast upon their loyal shadows; they act as bridges between them
and nobility. That's been Tubbo, for the longest time, or Sir Sapnap to Prince Dream.

As good as was the impression that Tommy had gotten of Beau, he wouldn't appoint her right
away. Instead, he invited her for an exclusive dinner held for the guests of the Special Banquet.
The attendees change every year, and the aim of it is to get them all familiar with each other the
day prior.

Tommy wouldn't be able to invite Beau to the Banquet even if he wanted to, as the guest list
consists only of twenty people, and made by the Emperor himself months ago, but it was in the
prince's power to bring along more people to the dinner if he desired so.

It seems like it wasn't only Tommy who used his host advantages to invite an extra guest to the
table: upon entering the dining room Tommy and Beau almost bump into a tall figure in a
ridiculous purple jacket.

"Theseus!" Ranboo exclaims. And when Tommy's expression turns askew, Ranboo puts an arm
across his chest and bows. "Oops. I mean, I greet you, Your Imperial Highness."

Tommy glares at Ranboo, but doesn't answer his greeting. It brings him a grim sort of satisfaction
when Beau follows his example and snarls at the commoner in distaste. Tommy walks past Ranboo
and into the dining room, scanning it for empty seats.

At the head of the table is the Emperor. Wilbur occupies the seat to his right. Opposite to the
Antarctic prince sits Prince Dream, his mask put next to his plate. Their eyes meet; Prince Dream
smiles at Tommy and dips his head. Tommy would smile back if it wasn't for Ranboo popping up
behind him, "Dream! Can I sit next to you?"

"Sure," Prince Dream shrugs. He continues smiling but Tommy sees the change in his eyes from
bright and welcoming to mildly bored. Ranboo doesn't seem to notice, striding up to Prince Dream
and dropping onto the empty chair.

By the sequence of titles Tommy would be expected to be as close to the Emperor as possible, but
he doesn't want to sit facing Wilbur, especially when his brother is watching him expectantly, chin
propped up on his hand, and a sly tilt to his lips.

Tommy notices two princes at the other side of the table. Fundy's eyes land on Tommy; he turns
away from Wilbur and mouths, "Help."

"Uncle Theseus!" Fundy beams. One moment the boy swings off the chair, and the next one there
is a hand grasping Tommy's sleeve and dragging him away from the Emperor and Wilbur. "Sit
with me!"

Nobody can reason with the whim of a five-year-old child, and Fundy uses that to his full
advantage. He keeps up his innocent smile but Tommy knows better than to trust this bright toothy
grin.

"You owe me," Fundy declares. Tommy can only hope that he'll be able to repay this debt with
something as easy as sneaking him off his lessons. Some prudent servant brought a pillow for
Fundy to sit on, because he was too short to reach the table otherwise. Tommy hoists his nephew
up onto the chair.

"Aren't you a little too young to attend the dinner?" he asks.

"Dad said so too," Fundy says, swinging his legs, hands clasped between his knees. "But I asked
uncle Techno, and he let me tag along."

Tommy's hum is both acknowledgement and a question. Techno usually skips social events that are
not listed as mandatory, and Tommy didn't expect him to show up today either.

With how motionless his brother sits, he might as well be a stone statue. "We don't see each other
often," he states as a matter-of-factly. "I thought it'd be a good opportunity to spend some time
together."

"I'm sorry that I wasn't able to help you out with Carl the other day," Tommy says. Techno's words
warm up his chest way more than they should have, and he can't help but feel guilty about it.

"It’s fine." Techno shrugs him off.

More guests start arriving; soon enough, the table is filled with chattering people, and servants start
bringing the first course. It's well into the middle of the long meal when a loud crash brings the
entire room's attention to the head of the table, where wine drips onto a plate from a spilled goblet.

"You're being very disrespectful, Prince Dream," Wilbur says coldly.

"What's disrespectful about pointing out someone's mistake? If Ranboo is impersonating my dear
friend, isn't it only natural that I'd try to protect their honor?"

"Prince Dream, watch your tongue," Wilbur warns.

"Watch your servant," Prince Dream fends off, and Wilbur's mouth clicks shut out of surprise.

Tommy can't help a satisfied smile that creeps up his lips. He knew that Wilbur was only spreading
rumors about employing Ranboo to boost his reputation, not thinking whether it could come biting
him later or not. He should've kept in mind that every action that a servant takes, his master also
becomes responsible for.

Prince Dream's chin rests on his hand, his expression too bored and relaxed for a person in an
active argument with the Imperial family.

"I'm feeling terribly offended," he sighs. "First Ranboo, then Prince Wilbur. Are you slighting me,
or my kingdom?"

Ranboo's eyes turn as wide as the tea plate in front of him. Wilbur bites on his lip, watching Prince
Dream with a furious, sharp expression.
"Or, perhaps,was it His Majesty's idea to use me?"

Fundy takes a large bite out of his cookie, and the sound of him chewing is comically loud in
Tommy's ears. He doesn't feel like laughing, however, as such a serious accusation is put on the
Imperial family. The Emperor, who only frowned and watched the argument passively until this
moment, has no other choice but to get involved.

"Ranboo clearly told you that he had momentarily gotten the contents of the letters mixed up," he
says in an even tone.

"And I clearly said that it's bizarre that my pen pal would get over half of the letters' contents
confused."

"Not if the said pen pal has a history of memory issues," Wilbur interrupts.

Dream's recoils in annoyance, like a person who heard the same argument many times before; he
slams his hands on the table and stands up. The dining room falls silent once more, the guests'
attention turning solely to the prince.

"Everyone, am I the one odd one here?" Dream asks, raising his voice. "Yesterday, Ranboo said
that he is the recipient of my letters, and I trusted him without an inkling of suspicion because I
thought that a friend of the Imperial family wouldn't lie to me. But today, he doesn't know half of
our exchange, and refuses to let me compare his handwriting to the letters I received."

Because he doesn't even know how to write , Tommy thinks grimly. He doesn't take any
satisfaction in listening to people who agree with Prince Dream. He's glad that his pen pal was able
to figure out Ranboo’s lie, but this argument was nearing the dangerous borders of a scandal.
Wilbur can easily stop it by punishing Ranboo- but he isn't doing it, and Tommy is growing
uneasy.

He scans the situation around him. Fundy went through an entire plate of cookies, watching the
scene like it was an entertaining show. Techno shows no sign of interest whatsoever, but the tall
and broad man - even in comparison with the general next to him - has his eyes on Tommy. Duke
Sam hasn't said a word since the start of the dinner, except greeting the prince's at the very start.
He glances at the Emperor and then back at Tommy, expression neutral and unchanging. Is he
hinting that Tommy should get involved?

"It's too much," Ranboo mumbles, head in his hands. "I recalled the contents of the letters exactly,
but Prince Dream keeps insisting that I'm lying."

"Perhaps it's because Ranboo is not of a high social standing that Prince Dream is drawing a line,"
Wilbur instantly picks up.

If Tommy didn't stop himself in time, his mouth would've fallen open. Not only are they blatantly
deceiving every guest at the table, Ranboo is also playing an innocent victim, twisting the story in
a way that made Dream look like the villain. Tommy was used to that sort of treatment from
Wilbur, and he could tolerate it - but as long as it was aimed at him and not anybody else. Not at a
foreign prince. Not at a person who was kind to Tommy despite their brief acquitance, and who
owned two wonderful pets that he got helplessly attached to. The friendship that Ranboo
repeatedly claimed to be his was between Prince Dream and Tommy.

"I didn't want to get involved," Tommy stands up, "but it seems as though I need to clear up
everyone's misunderstandings."
He proceeds to walk to the head of the table, keeping his pace slow, letting everybody feel his
confidence and authority.

"Your Majesty, I know who the recipient of Prince Dream’s letters is. It's not Ranboo."

Ranboo flinches. Wilbur fails to hide his surprise.

"Theseus, you shouldn't side with Prince Dream just because you hate Ranboo," The Emperor
narrows his eyes at Tommy.

Before Tommy can defend himself and say that he's only on the side of the truth, Prince Dream's
tall figure moves to stand in front of him.

"The Emperor seems to believe the words of one of his sons but not the other." He frowns, casting a
look at Tommy over his shoulder. "How frustrating it must be for you, Your Highness."

"Prince Dream!"

But Prince Dream already pulls out a sword out of his sheaths, and everybody at the table holds
their breaths. The Antarctic prince freezes, his chin tilted up. Tommy can tell a real blade apart
from a decorative one - if Prince Dream stood one step closer, the steel tip would slit Wilbur’s
throat open.

"I can't tolerate this anymore. Prince Wilbur, I'm challenging you for a duel!"

Princes of neighboring powerful nations. A duel between them wouldn't just fuel the rumors and
mockery of royalty but could become a serious threat to the brittle peace between two countries.
Moreso if Prince Dream kills Wilbur.

Duels are not always meant to end with death, but it wasn't rare that serious injuries were sustained
in the process. Tommy's heart skips a bit at the thought of Wilbur getting hurt. He doesn't even
consider the possibility of him overpowering Prince Dream; the art of sword was always Techno's
fortè and Wilbur's greatest weakness.

Nobody sees Techno moving but everybody shudders at the sound of one sword clashing with the
other. Prince Dream's blade is forcefully moved away from Wilbur's neck. He withstands the stare
of Techno's eyes, a play of light and shadows on their reflective surface giving them a haunting
blood-red glint. This gaze is not aimed at Tommy and never will it be, he knows, but it's not less
scary to see the man transitioning from Tommy's older brother Techno to General Blade.

Tommy's oldest brother isn't skilled in politics and doesn't wish to participate in international
affairs. He couldn't care less that Dream was in his full right to call out Wilbur’s behavior. Techno
will put a sword through his guts if he turns out to be a threat to their family’s safety.

"General," Dream says.

"Prince Dream," Techno greets. "I accept your challenge in my brother’s stead."

"This is between Prince Wilbur and I. It is not proper decorum to interrupt one's duel, especially
when they have a rightful cause for it."

"If you wish to stay at the palace longer, you'll come to learn that I have little care for decorum."

Techno pushes forward, and Tommy can see the distinct blue of individual veins protruding on
Prince Dream’s hand. Too little is known about the heir of Esempi for Tommy to tell if he stands
any chance against Techno, but Tommy has no doubts that there are people at the table who would
wish to see the secretive prince in action.

"I'll take upon that offer some other time, Prince Technoblade."

Dream smiles and twists his blade out the way, clicking it back into its sheath. It's the sound of a
key locking away the prince's secrets once more.

The clutches of panic ease their hold on Tommy; He clears his throat and turns to the table full of
tense guests. The mood was already beyond ruined even before the swords were drawn. People had
their handkerchiefs pulled out to wipe away occasional sweat. A lot of food and planning will go to
waste but it would be unfair of Tommy to keep the guests sitting when the atmosphere is so
uncomfortable.

"The dinner will end here. Thank you everyone for coming."

Tommy is one of the first people to leave, desperate for some fresh air to cool himself off with.
Marchioness Beau follows him out of the dining room, stretching her arms and sucking in a loud
breath.

"I couldn’t stomach any food from how tense it was there," she complains.

Tell me about it , Tommy slumps against a wall.

"You won't forget to consider me for the position of your new aide, Your Highness?" For Beau,
Tommy's closed eyes aren't enough of an indicator that he wants some silence.

"How can I, Your Ladyship?" Tommy sighs, cracking an eye open. With less dripping sarcasm and
more honesty, he adds, "I hope we can chat some more tomorrow."

Beau leaves, and Tommy returns to his duty of seeing the rest of the guests off. Most of them have
already left the dining room when Ranboo's figure blocks out the doorway; for a second or so, at
least, before Tommy grabs his shoulder and drags him into a different hall.

Ranboo puts one foot after another automatically. It's not even amusing how little fight he puts as
Tommy slams him into a wall. Techno taught him how to do it without risking breaking or
cracking any bones - the worst Ranboo will have after this is a nasty bruise.

"Why did you lie to Prince Dream?" Tommy snarls.

Ranboo’s face turns betrayed. Tommy hates that little part of himself that is still capable of pity
towards Ranboo, the parasite that squirmed his way into the Imperial Palace. Now that he has seen
that Ranboo is capable of deceit and manipulation, he can't let him roam around freely. The last
thing he needs now is a second Wilbur - or Clara - breathing down his neck.

"I was only trying to help you because it seemed like you didn't want others to know about the
letters," Ranboo says.

Yes, Tommy swallows down the tightness in his throat. That's why Tubbo was supposed to keep
quiet about them. There was only so much damage that a knife in Tommy's back could make. It
was time for him to stop clinging to the past and accept the fact that in every way possible, Tubbo
has betrayed him.

Weeks worth of anger and holding himself back all come ablaze. Tommy doesn't try to hide his
fury now, and Ranboo freezes, only his chest heaving with sharp inhales.
"I don't know what game you're playing at, Ranboo, but your position here is way more rickety
than you might think. The Emperor and Prince Wilbur will get tired of you eventually, and then
they'll toss you out to the streets, right where you belong."

"They wouldn't abandon me," Ranboo protests weakly.

"Oh, believe me, they would," Tommy gloats, though what he really wants is to laugh bitterly and
cry. "If you stay out of my way for the time being, I'll consider packing you a meal for the
journey."

Ranboo continues to stare at Tommy in disbelief.

"Why are you so mean to me?" he says, his voice shaking.

A little more to this conversation and Ranboo will drive him crazy. Tommy considers slamming
Ranboo into something again and would proceed with it if it wasn't for the familiar pattern of
Wilbur’s footsteps. He lets go of Ranboo just at the right moment so that his brother would only
stumble upon one lost boy and one annoyed prince standing a few feet away from each other.

"Why is Ranboo upset?"

Odd. Wilbur sounds genuinely concerned asking this question and pulling Ranboo into a
comforting half-hug. Not so odd is that the suspicion in his eyes immediately targets Tommy. At
least this time he deserved it.

"I asked him why he lied about being Prince Dream’s letter friend," Tommy says with a smooth
expression.

Wilbur pursues his lips. One hand massages his temples, the other one freezes at Ranboo’s
shoulder.

"Can't you just… overlook it?"

"Overlook it?" Tommy raises his voice. "Prince Wilbur, you tarnished the honor of Esempi’s royal
family and were challenged to a duel ."

"Don't blame Ranboo." Wilbur runs a hand down his face. "It was I who suggested the lie. I'm
sorry, Ranboo, it was my mistake."

"It's okay. You had my best interest in mind."

Tommy can't believe his ears. It was Tommyand Prince Dream who were wronged yet Wilbur
apologizes to Ranboo, who was a pawn in his game the entire time.

"I should be blaming you for the clown show earlier, then," Tommy interrupts with a sharp snarl
and crossed arms. "Being a prince doesn't mean you can misappropriate someone's name and avoid
facing any consequences."

"So what is it that you want?" Wilbur asks.

"An apology to Prince Dream. And for you to take responsibility for your lies."

Wilbur laughs, in a way that is the furthest from humorous. "No."

"Afraid of losing face? Well, maybe you'll finally know what it feels like."
"Doesn't stand even close to the shame of being kicked out of your own event."

Ranboo's eyes widen. Was punching Tommy in the guts like this was a part of their plan?

"That's enough." Tommy catches the sight of Techno's frown to his right. "Leave him alone,
Wilbur."

"He doesn't care anyway, Tech," Wilbur says, but takes Ranboo by his elbow and leads him away.
The damage, however, is already done. The twisting feeling in Tommy's throat only eases when
Techno puts a hand on the back of his neck.

"I heard about what happened between you and Father."

"And what do you think of it? Tommy asks, suspecting that he already knows whose side will
Techno take.

"I'm not Wilbur," Techno once said, and only later Tommy learned the true meaning behind those
words. Wilbur used to share his irritation and resentment towards their father with Tommy;
Tommy listened and tried to mitigate their conflicts as much as he could. He was confused, for the
longest time, where all this hate and hurt was coming from; up until the roles were reserved, and it
was Tommy who became a ghost in his father's eyes - or rather a poltergeist, the rebellious and
bold young boy he was.

Tommy clenched his fists. "Maybe it's Father's fault that Wilbur left."

Steel clattered against steel. Tommy's head snapped at Techno, who picked up a sword from a
stand - a real sword, not their training ones - and tossed it at his younger brother. Tommy had
never sparred with one of these until that moment, so he stared at it with a mix of wariness and
disbelief.

"The Emperor is a ruler before he is a father," Techno said in a tone that made Tommy think that
he was suppressing his anger. "Don't you think that he's trying his best?"

Tommy's hesitation crumbled like a dry flower in a clenched fist. He was trying his best, and yet he
wasn't allowed to be any less than perfect; but Father could make mistakes and Tommy was
expected to just ignore them?

"He barely talks to me anymore," he gritted his teeth, picking up the heavy sword.

"Then he must have more important matters to attend to."

"More important than me?"

"You're acting like a child, Theseus."

Tommy lunged at Techno first, anger and grief mixing into his battle cry. Techno stepped away and
let him fly past. Tommy almost lost his balance but kicked a foot in time to stop himself from falling
face-first into sand. He whipped around for another attack and saw Techno falling into a fighting
stance.

"It's unfair of you to make it all about yourself when it's Father who is struggling the most. You
don't see him weighing down anybody with his own burden," Techno said, raising his sword.

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Tommy shouted.

 "Find a different way to channel your anger and don't make others suffer because of your
selfishness."

Tommy tasted blood on his tongue from how hard he bit down on his lip. He attacked, even
knowing full-well that his fighting skills stood nowhere near his brother's. Blinded by the fury
running like lava in his veins, Tommy burned his energy uselessly on heavy blows that never went
past Techno's defenses. Metal blades clattered and rang against each other, their vibration passing
to Tommy's bones. A few minutes in and his chest was heaving, and his hands trembled, and he
struggled to keep the sword straight.

That's when Techno made his first offensive move. A short swing and a precise hit sent the sword
flying out of Tommy's hands and to the other side of the training circle. Tommy glanced, exhausted,
between his own empty hands and Techno slowly walking up to the blade.

"However angry you are at Father or at me," he said, picking up the sword and adjusting his grip
on the handle, "It won't change the fact that we are your family, the only one you'll ever have in
your life. Everything and everyone outside of it is temporary and unreliable."

Techno put the sword back in his hands and gestured at him to extend it. When Tommy complied,
Techno spread his shoulders wider and fixed his stance by a light kick to his foot. The sword felt
immediately lighter, tension shifting from the upper part of his arm to the tauter low.

When Techno's sword clashed against his again, Tommy was able to withstand it. Techno lowered
his weapon and looked at him softly. "We're not perfect, Theseus," he said. "But everything we do,
we do for you. Family would never harm you in any way."

Thinking back of it now, Tommy wants to smirk bitterly. He'd ask Techno whether his opinion has
changed now that Wilbur tries to make his life miserable at every turn, but this conversation was
not about Wilbur.

"Father didn't mean it," Techno says, just as Tommy has expected him to. "He snapped at you
when you shouldn't have. He'll come around if you apologize first."

Tommy clears his throat. "Why would I?"

"Because he is your father. And, whatever way you look at it, your superior."

Doesn't mean he can't be wrong. Those words stay behind sealed lips.

"I'll try," he promises instead, looking away. "Tomorrow, after the Special Banquet."

"Good." Techno understands it, too; he doesn't press Tommy any further and pats his shoulder
comfortingly. "And, one more thing, Theseus. Do you remember my warning? It's better if you stay
away from Prince Dream."

Chapter End Notes

Chapter full summary:

Ranboo wakes up from a nightmare. He has a near-panic attack and checks himself for
injuries. He has a lot of scars that he doesn't know the origins for. Ranboo gets invited
to have breakfast with Niki. Niki asks him what he thinks of Wilbur. Ranboo
remembers their conversation from yesterday and how Tubbo told him not to trust
Wilbur. Ranboo asks Niki what the relationship is like between Wilbur and Theseus.
Niki gets scary and it is implied that she knows about everything that happens in the
palace and is quite fond of Theseus. She advises Ranboo to leave the palace because
it's far from as simple as he thinks..

Ranboo remembers how he sleepwalked to the palace stables at night a few days
before this. He ended up drowsing next to a horse named Carl who belongs to Techno.
Techno found Ranboo there in the morning. Techno calmed Ranboo down and
Ranboo told Techno that he remembered having a sibling before, who he was
separated violently from. Techno said that Ranboo is welcome to visit Carl again.

Ranboo feels threatened by Theseus and Niki, and decides to follow Wilbur’s
suggestion, lying to Dream that he is his pen pal. Sapnap knows the truth and almost
calls Ranboo out but Dream stops him. Dream subtly threatens Ranboo that there
would be consequences if he is lying, Ranboo still proceeds with it.

Wilbur spreads rumors of taking Ranboo in as his aide. This helps to boost his
reputation along with the fact that Dream treats Ranboo as a friend and brings him to
other days of the celebrations. Tommy feels hurt about it and tries to distract himself
by talking to Beau. Beau is scandalized by Ranboo's behavior but is actually more
interested in getting the position of Tommy's aide that has been empty since Tubbo left
him. Beau is told to be from a noble house that once was part of the Kingdom of
Esempi. Beau is at a disadvantage in the chase for her family's resources and heritage
so she seeks power from the Imperial family instead. A flashback in which Quackity
talks about how he can earn the noble's favor pushes Tommy to consider Beau as a
potential ally, so he invites her for an important dinner the next day.

At the dinner Tommy sits with Sam, Fundy and Techno. The dinner starts off simple
but towards the middle an argument breaks out. Dream accuses Ranboo of lying;
Wilbur and Phil back him up. Conflict breaks out quickly, everyone is listening to
them, including Sam who seems to be observing Tommy in particular. Tommy decides
to step in and says that he knows who Dream's real pen pal is. Phil doesn't believe
him, Dream snaps and challenges Wilbur for a duel. Techno steps in and wants to take
the challenge instead. Dream says that he'll accept it some other time. Tommy sees
that the mood at the dinner is already ruined so he calls it off early.

After the dinner Tommy aggressively confronts Ranboo about his lie. Ranboo says
that he did it to help Tommy. Tommy thinks that Ranboo is manipulative and has
some other intentions in mind so he threatens him. Wilbur steps in and tells that he
was the one to propose the lie. He provokes Tommy further;j and Techno steps in
before the argument could break out any more. Tommy remembers that in the past,
Techno tended to excuse Phil's neglect. It is hinted that a lot of Tommy's inner beliefs
- particularly that Phil doesn't owe him parental attention - comes from Techno's
words, along with his habit of bottling up his emotions. Techno knows how Tommy
was kicked out of the event the other day and tells that Phil "didn't really mean it" and
"will come around". He suggests that Tommy apologizes first. He also says that
Tommy shouldn't be interacting with Dream.

Author notes
YOOOOOOO I'm back! Thank you all for your patience and your comments! I read
and love all of them and they motivated me to speedrun this chapter in a few days!
We're not getting into depth of Techno's character yet but there are some small details
scattered here and there that might give you an idea of what it will be about. Honestly
this chapter was SO eventful in terms of subplots and foreshadowing that I hope I
didn't overwhelm you. I'm thinking of maybe creating a separate thread in the discord
server where we could make a detailed analysis of everything together, so let me know
there if you'd like to participate ;)
 And your eyes, they are honest; your heart is loud and bold
Chapter Summary

Selfish selfish selfish. Tommy bites the inside of his cheek. No, he isn’t being fair to
Techno – Techno cares about him, loves him, and means him well. Tommy feels a
strange fire, an uncomfortable weight, an urge to argue with Wisp and to prove him
wrong. (Is this how Techno felt protecting Father?)

The pause lasts long. Wisp clasps his arms behind his back. “Forgive me, Your
Highness, I spoke out of turn. Do you wish to return to the palace now?”

“No,” Tommy shakes his head, determined. “What I do wish is to see my brother.”

Techno should be in the stables by now. He takes Carl for rides early in the morning,
when the sunlight is as gentle as silk, to avoid blistering burns. It shouldn’t be an issue
today, though: the air feels cold on Tommy’s cheeks, and the sky slowly turns into a
battered cloth of gray clouds. It might rain soon.

Chapter Notes

This fic has a beta now!

Everyone, greet lovely Snow! Thank you again for doing such a huge work with fixing
all my grammar and spelling mistakes.

Before reading this chapter, you might want to find something or someone to punch.
And bring some tissues if you're the sensitive type.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Dream’s parlor is the same mess as it was on the day of Ranboo’s sudden visit. Pillows, cushions
and blankets are all piled up on top of each other – Dream insists simply lying on the rug is in
equal measures uncomfortable, disgusting and cold.

“Maybe don't lie on the rug, then,” Sapnap suggests, sliding up a chair and sitting on it backwards.

In response, Dream drags another pillow off the couch and tucks it under the elbow he props up
himself with. Sapnap only rolls his eyes.

“You’re such a cat. And a bird. That’s a nest if I’ve ever seen one.”

“That’s kind of my thing,” Dream huffs. “So, about that dinner…”

By the time Dream finishes his retelling, the bored expression on Sapnap’s face is replaced by one
of disappointment – clearly regretting that he missed two princes almost getting into a duel. Dream
has no doubts that leaving him behind was a good decision, otherwise Sapnap would've been
foaming at the mouth, riling up the fight; not a good image for a knight who was supposed to be
the prince’s prime protector.

It’s been years since he and Sapnap first met, yet sometimes Dream feels like nothing has changed
from the boy who he got into a fight with on his first day of boarding school. Foolish had good
intentions sending Dream into a private establishment for noble offspring: he wanted him to mingle
with people who were outside their tight circle of three siblings. He notified the principal, pasted
together a fake identity, and a ring with the symbol of a family that didn’t exist; Foolish thought of
just about everything, except for the school going up in flames.

Unlike Dream, who begrudgingly agreed to study in the school, Sapnap wasn’t given a choice at
all, so he did the only acceptable thing in that situation – light it on fire. It was during the winter
break, when there were barely any students or teachers in the building, and nobody got hurt, but his
parents didn’t come to bail him out of the town jail.

Sapnap was fourteen, shaking in a moldy cell, smudged in soot and hissing from the pain of
untreated burns, yet his eyes had the same unyielding shade of ember as Dream approached the
iron bars. The heavy lock budged after two turns of a rusty key, and he took a step inside the cell.
With his crown once again present on his head, with the king himself behind his back in his whole
golden glory, ridiculously at odds with a pungent grim dungeon, it was painfully obvious who
Dream really was.

“Do you want to get out of here?” the prince asked.

Sapnap stared at him with dumbfounded disbelief. “I gave you a black eye.”

“But I broke your nose,” Dream reminded him. “And I’m seeking round two. So, what do you
say?”

It was something that wasn’t supposed to happen in real life: stories of miracle rescues and second
chances belonged to childish fairytales, yet there Dream stood, not a mythical creature but a very
real boy of flesh and blood. He saw something more in the white-knuckled clench of Sapnap’s fists
and his sharp glares – a challenge for the world to try and crush him. Most would call it aimless
stubbornness. The prince, however, saw it for what it truly was: loneliness sealed in a prickly shell
that, with right guidance, could be turned into blazing loyalty. Dream extended his hand, and after
a moment of shaky hesitation, Sapnap took it, sealing a friendship that would last a lifetime.

Sapnap grew to be a skilled fighter. He moves at a fuming pace that not every skilled swordsman
can keep up with, and any weapon he takes turns into an extension of himself: unpredictable,
rampageous, and probably capable of setting something on fire. However, it’s a steady routine for
Dream to drop him face-first into mud during their morning drills. Sapnap shakes his fists each
time, swearing that he’ll overpower him some day.

“You can dream about it,” the prince always smirks smugly, and dodges the training sword that
Sapnap would throw at him after a frustrated yell. Dream would wheeze, laughing down to the
ache in his stomach, only to be tackled off his feet the next moment. Roughhousing on the ground,
trading half-hearted elbow blows, grass getting into their mouth as they bicker; it’s in these
moments Dream is reminded that before a knight, before a training partner, before an old rival,
Sapnap is his best friend.

“Why didn’t you just tell them that you know who your real pen pal is? You could’ve avoided
involving Prince Theseus if you just demanded Ranboo be punished.”

Sapnap sounds concerned as he talks about the crown prince. Dream rolls onto his back, casting a
sideways glance at the knight and his furrowed brows. Sapnap would shove his head into a noose
if Dream asked him to; for a good chunk of their stay he’s expressed doubt about his visits to
Prince Theseus but still put trust in his best friend’s judgment. First impressions tend to be
misleading, and the Imperial family of the Antarctic Empire is nothing short of a theater display. It
became personal when Sapnap had taken a brief look behind the curtains and saw a cast-aside kid
with too much emotion behind his eyes.

“It was clear from the beginning that the stray didn’t come up with the lie himself. I wanted to see
both him and the culprit held responsible. Besides, punishing a servant wouldn’t look good for my
reputation, would it?”

A sly smirk blooms on Dream’s face. Sapnap stares at him with a look of exaggerated disbelief,
though he knows well that the prince doesn’t let things like that slide without retribution. Ranboo
was deceiving Dream, so he had messed around with the kid for a while and then screwed him over
in public. It was a show, really; but the one person that it was meant for seemed to enjoy it the
least. Dream gave every chance to Prince Theseus to come forward and admit to being his letter
friend – both in private and with an audience – but each time a dull expression would overcome the
boy’s face, and then somehow he would put even more distance between them than when they
were strangers.

“You’re a bad guy, you know that, Dream?” Sapnap says, but he’s smiling, too. “I bet the duel part
was just a plot to beat Prince Wilbur up.”

Dream can feel a chuckle tickling his throat. “You know me well.”

“I’m not the only one.”

Dream straightens and sits upright as Sapnap hands him an envelope. He trails his fingers over the
seal snapped in half, recognizing the shape of a rabbit and a chess piece – the symbol of Kinoko
Kingdom’s royal family.

“George?”

“George,” Sapnap confirms, grinning. “And he’s pissed .”

Dream skims through the ornate twists of formal greetings that hide a number of ciphered
messages in-between the lines – all of that could be carefully looked over later – and skips straight
to the end.

‘ Some alarming rumors are reaching me now that I’ve crossed the borders of the Antarctic
Empire. I’ll arrive at the Palace soon. Until then, don’t do anything stupid.’

At some point Dream had, in all seriousness, considered that George had some kind of prediction
abilities that allowed him to sense when they were getting into something of questionable risk. It
dawned on him later, with a dumb smile and a fit of wheezing laughter, that it was just whenever
George was absent from their side for more than a few days. Dream barely ever listened to his
warnings, and he wasn’t intending on starting now.

When he was much, much younger, and his mother was yet to trade a captain’s hat for a queen’s
crown, he and Foolish used to climb into the crow’s nest together to stargaze. Dream’s brother
convinced him that the sparkles reflected on the rumbling waves were the stars that fell from the
sky and sank to the ocean floor. A childish promise that he made to himself then, to rescue the
drowned lights, has come true. Dream discovered a talent in himself – to search through the gray
ocean of faces and pull out those of them that are meant to shine. Sapnap was the first person he
found, and Prince Theseus would be the most recent.
Those who came up with the title Prince of Steel know nothing about the real crown prince of the
Antarctic Empire. In Dream’s eyes, Theseus is a diamond; people are used to tossing him around,
his hard edges withstanding the damage. What they fail to realize is that one precise hit to a
vulnerable spot is all it takes for the pristine core to shatter. People like Theseus crack from the
inside out – for weeks, months, years – until they burst, once and for all, into millions of pieces.

Sapnap was right saying that Dream’s not a good person. He can ruin lives in a snap of his fingers,
he takes risks that other people are forced to pay for, he has put more people underground than he
bothers to remember – but he doesn’t stand injustice. If the Antarctic family can’t value the
treasure they have, it’s only fair that Dream will take it away.

“What are you doing?” Sapnap asks as he throws a window open.

“Something stupid, probably,” Dream says, smirking, and then shapeshifts into a green parrot.

***

When Tommy returns to his room and finds Prince perched on a chair, the first thing he does is
embrace him tightly. The parrot hadn’t visited since the celebrations started; it’s been almost a
week since Tommy last saw him. He had missed the feeling of running his fingers through soft
green feathers, missed the warmth and the sensation of another beating heart close to his own.
After a long day that couldn’t be called anything remotely pleasant, Tommy truly needed this hug.

Prince doesn’t squirm or protest until Tommy pulls away himself. He can’t bring himself to look in
the bird’s eyes with how much they resemble Prince Dream’s. The guilt in his chest grows only
stronger when Tommy spots a new letter on Prince’s leg and unwraps it with borderline dreadful
anticipation.

‘I revealed myself so I could lose the bet,

But you’re not even participating. Why?’

With a heavy heart and a sour taste on his tongue, Tommy picks up a quill.

‘I don’t think we should continue this exchange.’

Tommy barely manages to move the inkpot out of the way when Prince bursts into action, wings
beating with raging intensity. The bird isn’t eager to deliver the letter; he looks like he wants to tear
it to shreds and maybe take Tommy’s fingers along with it too. He makes the stupidest attempt to
try and raise it out of reach – which doesn’t work, because birds, well, fly . With the paper
clenched in his beak, Prince settles atop of the canopy of Tommy’s bed.

An attempt to drag up a chair and reach for the bird earns him a low, warning growl. With the
exhaustion of the day catching up to him, Tommy doesn’t have the energy to try and coax him
down, so he simply sinks to the floor with a heavy sigh. His eyelids stay closed for a minute or two
before there is a sound of flapping and a careful tap on his forehead.

Tommy opens his eyes to Prince hovering over him. He has to crane his neck back to see the bird’s
head fully. Prince stands with his feet on the bed and lets out a soft, apologetic purr. When Tommy
reaches out and pets the bird gently, he nuzzles his head into his hand.

“Please don’t be mad at me,” he murmurs. “It’s just- The letters should’ve remained a secret, you
know? If I announce that I’m the recipient, everyone will blame me for yesterday’s conflict. And
even if I don’t- Techno will learn eventually, and he doesn’t exactly have a high view of Prince
Dream.”
There’s a chance that Techno knows already – it depends on whether Wilbur decided to share the
truth with his twin or keep it to hold over Tommy’s head sometime later. Tommy tries not to think
about it too hard to avoid the spike of dread in his stomach. Maybe it’s good that he’s cutting ties
now; if Prince Dream will be upset with his reply, at least he won’t have a face to connect to the
feeling, and an extra crack to the relationship between two ruling families will be avoided.

Prince finally lets Tommy take the note and tie it around his leg. He pets him at one last time
before standing up with the bird now hopping over to his arm and moving towards the balcony.

“I hope you’ll be able to visit me even when the letters stop,” Tommy says. Prince moves his head
in what looks like a reassuring, serious nod. Shadows flicker in an odd dance where warm
candlelight meets moon’s silver shine, so it might be just his imagination acting out again. Tommy
jerks his arm upwards and sends Prince flying back to his owner.

***

Despite his eyelids feeling like they weigh a pound each, Tommy can’t fall asleep. He continues to
listen to the noises outside his chambers even as the last hints of twilight are swallowed by the
thick cloth of night. The head maid urges the servants to hurry with the evening cleaning; they fix
misplaced rugs and paintings tipped to the side and soon the corridors are silent save for the noise
of one guard shift coming to replace the other.

The rest of the night goes by with Tommy flickering in and out of consciousness. A candle on the
bedstand keeps track of hours he restlessly burns. Tommy lays on his side, and if he listens
carefully enough, he can hear the hiss of the flame munching on a cotton wick. When he does
manage to fall asleep briefly, his dreams are full of blood and panic and fear; he wakes up with a
smothered gasp, back there, in the same room, where a ghost of his brother’s presence would tell
him not to be a burden.

All that’s left of the candle is a cold hard puddle of wax and a few drops that dripped over the
plate. Someone will have to scrape that off in the morning, Tommy thinks dimly. There is a ribbon
of lighter blue in-between two curtains shoved together, but he can’t tell how much more time is
left until the dawn. Tommy puts a hand on his chest, feeling his ribs struggling to keep his heart in
with each frantic beat, and understands that it doesn’t matter; he can’t stand this torture any longer.
Blinking forcefully through his swollen eyelids, feeling more tired now than when he went to
sleep, he lets out a shaky sigh and stands up.

If the sight of the crown prince, stepping out of his chambers in a blue cloak trimmed with fur,
alarms the guards in any way, they don’t show it. In the reflection of metal chestplates, Tommy
can see his own sullen, tired eyes, standing out sharply against pale skin; his hair dangles past his
ears with no ribbon to keep it in a tight ponytail. He pulls the cloak further up his shoulders and
briefly passes the guards with a glance.

Tommy doesn't have the rotation of his knights memorized; there was a high chance that Wisp
wouldn't be on duty tonight and only through sheer force of luck does he spot the captain’s blue
uniform. Wisp pulls his helmet off, but his eyes are still trained on the rug under Tommy's feet.

"Nothing's wrong," Tommy reassures, even before the question could be asked. "Just thought of
taking an early morning stroll."

Wisp's lips move, but he doesn't say anything. An understanding passes between them. Wisp
gestures something to the other guards; Tommy turns around and continues his path along the
corridor with only the captain himself trailing his steps.
There was a time in the palace where the princes could go wherever they want: sprinting through
the empty halls, sneaking into the kitchen to snatch some pastries before lunch, climbing the roofs
of the garden gazebo. After Techno was promoted to command over the palace security, he
toughened it both on the perimeter and in their personal escorts.

Tommy was infuriated; not only did armored figures loom over him like guarding dogs, but at the
head of his security was a man who reported to his every step to Techno directly. Wisp served in
the Imperial army, in Techno’s personal division; he participated in suppressing the riots in the
south following the Empress' passing. Those couple of years owned him a title, the General’s trust
and a fancywork of scars to show off at the training drills.

Among the knights, he was a respected authority. To Tommy, he was just another snitch in a stupid
bulky helmet. At age fourteen, he approached Wisp with a couple of papers, glue and scissors in
his hands.

“Your Highness...?” the knight sounded concerned for his own safety.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Tommy had said with a vicious smile.

A few days following that, Wisp walked around with imperturbable seriousness whilst having
goofy paper eyes glued to his helmet. It’s one of the best – and last – good memories Tommy has
of that year; the next month, he almost became an orphan and a child emperor overnight.

They make it to the gardens. The guards stationed at the doors let them through, and Tommy feels
like he can finally breathe freely again. It'll be a few months before the Northern winds will come
howling and bring a cloud front heavy with snow. For now, it's just the chill of the air that creeps
up on Tommy and makes him curl up further into the cloak. He buries his nose into white furs,
feeling them tickle his cheeks and chin. It still smells like Techno, and if Tommy closes his eyes
tightly enough, he can imagine his arms embracing him from behind.

Brows creased, lips pursued, Techno’s face would've always had this deeply concerned expression
more fit for a battlefield than here, in the present, where he’d simply fix a cloak on Tommy so that
he wouldn't get cold. Each time he is dressed too lightly for the weather, Techno silently pulls the
one off his own shoulders. Tommy sometimes ‘forgets’ his warm clothes on purpose to get another
cloak. He never returns them; Techno never asks for them back. Maybe he knows, too, that
Tommy needs them much more than he does.

“May I speak my mind freely?”

Wisp suddenly speaks up, startling Tommy out of his thoughts. The crown prince runs a tongue
over his dry lips.

“About what?” he asks.

“About what you and General Technoblade were talking about-” Wisp glances at a soft shade of
pink slowly draping over the treetops, “Yesterday, I suppose.”

Servants, ladies-in-waiting, guards – a presence so constant around every royal figure that it’s easy
to forget that they are the most careful listeners and spectators of everything that happens in the
palace. Tommy hasn’t known that Wisp overheard a part of their conversation with Techno until
now. After a long moment of silence, Tommy nods.

“The crown prince should trust his own judgment more.”

“You and me both know how well it turned out for me last time,” Tommy musters strength to put
on a crooked smile.

“Your Highness is older and wiser now, and knows better of who he should and should not trust.”
Wisp pauses. “With all due respect– The General means well but he turns a blind eye on the things
he does not wish to acknowledge.”

Tommy sends him a sharp glare. “Choose your words carefully. What would your general do if he
caught you bad mouthing about him?”

“Have my head, most certainly,” Wisp’s lips twitch in a humorless smirk. Despite Tommy’s
warning tone, he risks casting a long, sad glance at him. “Even though I only speak of what I see.”

Tommy opens his mouth and finds that he has no words to answer with. Despite giving Wisp a
permission to express himself with honesty, he hadn’t expected the slap of his bluntness. A part of
Tommy, an unsure, stumbling thing, grips that statement with desperate teeth and claws. Wisp has
seen it all: sobs muffled with fabric, fresh scratch marks hidden behind long sleeves and collars, fits
of erratic breathing and gagging at the sight of spilled rich-red wine that looks too much like
dripping blood. Wisp has seen all the times when Tommy needed Techno and he wasn’t there .

Even when Tommy didn’t have to replace him with a piece of fabric holding a phantom feeling of
human warmth, Techno’s comfort was scarce and fleeting. Tommy’s choice was between a sword
and a spear, but at times he felt like those sparring matches weren’t even meant for him but his
brother. When Tommy wanted to do it his own way – spilling his emotions out, yelling, screaming
– he was told to suck it up. Not in those words, not so harshly, but the meaning was all the same.

Selfish selfish selfish . Tommy bites the inside of his cheek. No, he isn’t being fair to Techno –
Techno cares about him, loves him, and means him well. Tommy feels a strange fire, an
uncomfortable weight, an urge to argue with Wisp and to prove him wrong. (Is this how Techno
felt protecting Father?)

The pause lasts long. Wisp clasps his arms behind his back. “Forgive me, Your Highness, I spoke
out of turn. Do you wish to return to the palace now?”

“No,” Tommy shakes his head, determined. “What I do wish is to see my brother.”

Techno should be in the stables by now. He takes Carl for rides early in the morning, when the
sunlight is as gentle as silk, to avoid blistering burns. It shouldn’t be an issue today, though: the air
feels cold on Tommy’s cheeks, and the sky slowly turns into a battered cloth of gray clouds. It
might rain soon.

The stables hug the outer walls surrounding the palace. As soon as they come into view, Tommy
recognizes Techno, back half-turned to him, leading a chestnut horse by the reins. With a
newfound energy in his steps, Tommy speeds up his stride.

“Tech-”

The name dies on Tommy’s tongue. He stops, taking an unsure step forward to steady himself. He
would recognize that ridiculously tall figure anywhere – in the saddle, hunching over Carl’s neck,
sits Ranboo.

There is a cloak draped over Ranboo’s back, slipping from one his shoulder- of course it does,
Techno’s shoulders are much broader, wider than his. The cloak Tommy’s wearing now used to be
the same until he hemmed it a bit.

Tommy doesn’t realize he stopped breathing until black starts dotting his vision. He forces his
airways open through a wrench in his throat, and shudders together with the first gulp of air. They
are talking, him and Techno. Tommy can’t hear them from this distance, only vaguely makes out
of the friendly tone. Techno says something, Ranboo chuckles – it’s awkward, but Techno smiles
and it’s relaxed and Techno never looks so relaxed with anyone but him.

Techno’s head snaps in their direction. Tommy jumps away, closer to a wall of bushes and out of
his sight. He sways and almost runs into Wisp with his back; the knight catches and puts him back
to his feet, “Kid-”

“I’m fine,” Tommy says, voice empty. His chest aches; he brushes Wisp’s hand off and whirls
away from him. “I shall return to the palace at once and- attend to my duties, maybe.”

The cape on Tommy’s shoulders feels like it’s burning. He pretends not to feel Wisp’s pitying gaze
on him.

***

The palace will be bustling with people this evening now that nobles from all around the Antarctic
Empire have flocked to join the foreigners for the last day. Tommy should be doing the last-minute
checks, making sure that everything is ready for the Special Banquet – but instead he sits in his
office, head sinking into his hands, doing nothing but thinking of everything at once. The twist of
knives in his chest keeps his mind clear of sleepy fog for a good chunk of the morning before the
exhaustion of his body catches up to him, and he blacks out.

He gets woken up by the sound of the door thrown open. Tommy shoots upright, hand
automatically grabbing a knife hidden under his coat- but snaps out of it before he can bear his
weapon at Marchioness Beau, who blinks at him sheepishly in the doorway.

“Bad timing?” she chuckles, despite catching a glimpse of metal in Tommy’s hands.

“One could say so.” Tommy shuffles back down to his chair, shoulders falling. He glances at the
windows and, to his relief, finds the sun still hovering high over the palace towers. It would’ve
been a catastrophe if he had slept over the start of the Banquet. He wonders for a second how did
the guards let Marchioness Beau through when he specified that he’s not to be disturbed- but he
thinks he might already know an answer.

"I see that you have not been relieving yourself of your fatigue, Your Imperial Highness.” The
Marchioness measures him with a critical gaze. “Would I be correct to assume that you will refrain
from sharing the cause of your insomnia?"

She notes the dark bags under the crown prince’s eyes but opts to ignore the deadly glare that he
sends her way. The Marchioness clearly came here with a purpose; Tommy assumes it hasn’t
changed since the last time they spoke.

"I appreciate when my subordinates do not cross the borders of professional and private matters,”
he raises his voice a bit so that Wisp outside would hear him, too.

"Why, Your Highness, you should have just told me so!"

The Marchioness crosses the room in one quick stride and puts her arm on the desk against
Tommy’s. He doesn’t make a sound, stunned in his bewilderment. This lady really doesn’t have
any fear, does she?

“Perfect, the skin tone should match.” Marchioness Beau throws dark twin braids over her
shoulders and pulls out something out of the pockets of her skirt. Tommy blinks. He didn’t even
know that skirts could have pockets in them.

“Elaborate,” Tommy says, regaining his voice.

"Many of our guests will be seeking a greeting from the crown prince tonight. If he appears worse
for wear after yesterday's commotion, people might speculate that the consequences were more
dire than a few offended royals."

She does make a good point, but Tommy doesn’t understand what it has to do with the circular
container she displays to him. “What is that?”

The lady beams. "It's the true magic in a world where innate gifts are scarce and nearly extinct. A
concealer can mask almost everything - an inconvenient scar, traces of disease, or simply give
one's face a brighter glow-” she throws a pointed look at Tommy, “but for a certain sleep-deprived
prince, it might help him appear more awake and less like he just walked out of a coffin."

For some reason, laughter bubbles in Tommy’s chest. He tries to keep his face in a stern frown but
fails to stop his lips from twitching upwards.

"Your talents are wasted in high society, Your Ladyship. You should try your hand at commerce
instead. Though I'd work on the part where you insult your clients."

"I'm touched by your concern, but I must refuse; I still very much desire that allowance."

The container clicks open. Inside, a cream-like substance smells faintly of oils and flowers.
Marchioness Beau scoops up a bit with two fingers and pats it over a small birthmark on her hand –
it disappears, concealer blending with the rest of the skin.

“Do you always carry makeup on you?” Tommy asks.

“No, I’ve been saving it for this exact occasion,” the Marchioness answers without a blink as she
seemingly pulls out a brush out of thin air. “Now, do you want me to assist you?”

Tommy ends up putting the concealer on himself after a demonstration of how to do it without
gouging his own eyes out. Once they’re finished, Marchioness Beau flips a small mirror open and
lets Tommy take a look at himself.

“It’s too noticeable, isn’t it?” he asks, despite the bags now being hidden out of sight.

“Under a magnifying glass, maybe, and only to a person who uses this trick regularly themselves,”
The lady shoves the mirror back into her pocket, but the container and the brush stay laying on the
desk. Tommy tries to hand them over, but she shakes her head with a cheeky grin. “I have plenty in
storage. Please consider this a small gift from me.”

Tommy suspects that this might be the Marchioness’ way of bargaining her way into his favor, but
discovers that he doesn’t really care. The gift was helpful, her company – manageable. The heavy
weight he’s been carrying around since the morning releases its clutches if only slightly. “Thank
you,” Tommy says, and it’s honest.

“It’s my pleasure and honor,” the Marchioness curtsies and tries to step out of the office at the
exact moment Wisp steps in. The knight lets her out first; the lady glances at him and then at
someone outside the doors. Her expression turning from cheerful to cautious is all the warning
Tommy gets before Wilbur barges into the office.

“You let the palace’s worst gossipmonger in here, but not your own brother?”
Wilbur’s face twists in a theatrical display of hurt. Tommy feels the start of a headache pounding in
his temples. Wisp glances in uncertainty between two princes. “Accept my apologies, I tried to
intercept but-”

There are no restrictions for princes’ movement around the palace unless specified by the Emperor.
Tommy nods and sends Wisp away; as soon as they are alone in the room, he directs all his
attention to Wilbur.

“Cut the circus,” Tommy props up his chin on clasped hands. “What are you here for?”

“You’re very blunt as of late,” Wilbur notes. Tommy’s unimpressed stare makes his smirk drop
first to irritation and then to seriousness. “I want you to add Ranboo to the guest list.”

Tommy closes his eyes and opens them again with a deep breath. He doesn’t know what irritates
him more: Wilbur’s request or the fact that he sounds genuine, no creak of the errant notes that
Tommy was so used to. "You know I can't. There are only twenty guests at the Banquet, no less,
no more."

"Well, I already told people that Ranboo will be attending."

It feels as though the temperature in the room both plummets and spikes. Tommy has never
considered himself intimidating – not in a way the Emperor is – but perhaps the face and the eyes
are not the only things his father has passed to him; no matter how Wilbur tries to act nonchalant
and confident, there’s tension when he shakes himself out of his stupor and leans, back and one
ankle pinned to a wall.

"You should've consulted me or His Majesty first."

Wilbur's face turns sour. So he did talk to their father, then, and received a refusal; good to know
that the Emperor hasn’t completely lost his senses. Tommy wants to laugh in Wilbur’s face for
assuming that his answer would be different.

"Surely there's somebody you can remove in place of Ranboo. Somebody not-so-important."

“Well,” Tommy says. “I could always cancel your invitation.”

The lie drips from his tongue like poison. The Imperial family members are not included into the
guest limit; Tommy physically can’t kick Wilbur out unless the Emperor commands him to, but the
look on Wilbur’s face makes it worth over a thousand rules broken and bent. Sweetly sickening
satisfaction drips down his throat and makes him light in the head, as if he had just downed a glass
of wine.

Tommy is drunk, drunk on resentment and revenge, and he likes the feeling that the pit in his chest
hurts less over its pleasant fog. If Wilbur is allowed to misappropriate his name, why should
Tommy keep holding back?

Because Wilbur always has better cards . Tommy is reminded too late; the realization comes as
soon as brown eyes flash crimson and regret rolls over his body in the form of a shiver as Wilbur’s
lips stretch into a vast smile.

" Or ,” Wilbur presses, innocently tilting his head, “you could give up your own place for Ranboo.
Father and Techno clearly prefer him over you, anyway."

Something inside Tommy breaks .

 " Get out," he grits through a clenched jaw, head ducked, nails digging into the hard wood of his
desk. From the edge of his fogged vision, Tommy can see Wilbur smirking and pushing himself
from the wall.

"Aw,” he coos, “why so aggressive-”

"GET OUT!" Tommy screams, grabbing an inkpot and hurling it at Wilbur. Wilbur ducks, and it
shatters against the wall, glass shards and ink gushing all over him. When he straightens up, eyes
wide and hands raised, there’s a trail of black liquid starting from his temple and flowing down to
his chin.

"…Theseus?"

But Tommy isn’t done yet. His chest is heaving, his ears ring; he grabs the next closest object on
the desk and squeezes it. Wilbur jerks away and stumbles out of the office. Tommy’s gaze drills
the door where his brother just stood and slowly puts down the heavy folder.

Wilbur only said it to upset him It's not true, a lie, because Wilbur is liar, liar, liar -

Tommy loses track of how much time he stands there, shaking violently and muttering under his
breath (a minute, five, fifteen?) before the door creaks open again and two people peek inside:
Wisp, and slightly behind him, a maid. Tommy’s expression chases them both away and he is left
alone with a huge ink stain that sinks into the wallpapers and drips on the floor. The longer he
stares at it, the more it starts to look like Ranboo’s face – smirking, triumphant, so fucking happy.

A new surge of anger and frustration shudders Tommy; he clenches his fingers into a fist and
strikes the wall with a loud cry.

Crack . Tommy howls, sinking to his knees, cradling his right hand – broken knuckles covered in
ink and blood – to his chest. Glass digs into his skin through pants; Tommy barely feels it, his head
lolling forward and thudding against the wall.

Pain kills his anger and all that’s left of him is an empty shell and a quiet, broken [Link]'s
something warm on Tommy’s face. He uncurls his hand, the one that doesn't make his muscles
writhe in agony, skims it over his cheek and -

Oh. He'll need to put the concealer on again.

Chapter End Notes

Art of the last scene by gwynyy

Chapter summary
Chapter starts with Dream POV. He is talking to Sapnap about what happened at the
dinner. It's shown that Dream and Sapnap are very close and have become friends
when Sapnap burned down a boarding school Dream was studying at undercover.
Dream's motivation is shown: he went along with Ranboo's lie to later expose him and
Wilbur in front of Tommy. Dream thinks that Tommy is talented but underappreciated
by his family. Dream himself has an unusual talent for seeing potential in people, like
with Sapnap or now with Tommy, so he's determined to get him to his side.

POV switch to Tommy. Tommy returns to his room after dinner. Prince the bird is
waiting for him. The letters asks him why Tommy is not participating in their bet.
Tommy writes a reply that says they should stop exchanging letters. Prince gets
frustrated over that but Tommy explains that he doesn't want to worsen the relationship
between Empire and Essempi.

Tommy can't sleep. He has violent nightmares that eventually lead to him getting no
rest. Tommy decides to go on a pre-dawn walk, and Wisp escorts him. Wisp is one of
Techno's subordinates who was assigned to command over the prince's personal
guards when Tommy was about 13-14. Wisp says that Tommy shouldn't go along
with Techno's words because Techno is ignorant to certain things. Deep down Tommy
knows that Wisp is right but he feels an urge to defend Techno. He goes to the stables
to see his brother only to find him teaching Ranboo to ride a horse. Tommy flees the
scene before he can be spotted by Techno.

Tommy is in his office after he blacked out from exhaustion. Wisp lets Marchioness
Beau in. Beau notices bags under Tommy's eyes and proceeds to make him have a
glow-upTM aka handed him a concealer to hide the bags. Tommy cheers up a bit.

Wilbur walks in. He demands that Tommy invites Ranboo to the Special Banquet.
Tommy tries to handle himself but he's still shaken up from earlier events, so when
Wilbur says that Phil and Techno would prefer Ranboo over him, Tommy snaps. He
screams at Wilbur to leave and throws objects at him until shocked Wilbur flees.
Tommy then proceeds to have a very bad breakdown.

Author notes
How are we feeling, guys?

With Dream ready to jump into attack and Tommy burning with hatred, everything is
about to move a lot faster now. I'm sorry for hurting you this chapter tho, next one will
have a lot more comfort.

Comment your emotions, thoughts and favorite moments because I love reading
everything you have to say! I may not respond but please do know that I note every
single one of you and some even become my key inspiration for the following
chapters.
 And your feelings, they show on your face
Chapter Summary

“Prince Theseus,” Duke Sam says slowly, and Tommy puts on his best greeting smile.

“Has the food been to your liking?” He makes a vague gesture towards the table,
catching one last glance Wilbur casts at him before he is swept away into a
conversation by another guest. Tommy suppresses a sigh of relief, but he is too quick
to relax as Duke Sam’s next words drop on him like an anvil.

“Is this the state of the Antarctic Empire?” he asks.

“...I can’t say that I know what you imply, Your Grace.”

“I mean that the Emperor doesn’t bother showing his face, whilst his youngest son is
performing adult duties.”

Chapter Notes

Sorry for the wait folks, have a long chapter!

Props for beta-reading go to Snow.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tommy fails to wash off the ink from his knuckles. A simple attempt to rub at the skin sends a
lightning of pain through his hand. It doesn’t look half as bad from the outside; his hand is yet to
be covered in a splash of ugly purple bruises, but it hurts so much that Tommy bites down on his
lip to prevent himself from whimpering like a wounded animal.

Techno would’ve killed him for not calling for the Imperial physician– but what new information
would they have told Tommy? ? He can tell that some of his bones are broken; and if not broken,
then surely fractured. Whatever the case, Techno would insist on him skipping the Special
Banquet. Tommy can’t afford that. The Banquet is the most important event of the season and his
last chance to speak to foreign royals before they return to their countries tomorrow and the day
after. Sickness, minor injury, fatigue – such excuses tend to get lost when word spreads from
mouth to mouth – in the end the bare truth would be that the crown prince skipped an event that he
himself was hosting.

That the two princes were hosting. Prince Theseus and Prince Wilbur: Wilbur, who Tommy threw
an inkpot at; Wilbur who looked at him with an expression in equal measures shocked and
sorrowful. If Tommy were any more naïve, he might’ve thought that Wilbur regretted his words.
As it is, however, he isn’t sure if his brother is capable of such emotion anymore.

It must’ve been too much, even for Wilbur – ink and glass don’t feel pleasant on one’s skin.
Tommy would’ve laughed darkly if he didn’t feel so empty inside. The little energy he had to
begin with was burned in the feverish heat as he clawed at his own throat, trying to loosen the
collar and let the air rush through. Tommy wasted too much time on gathering himself, and he was
sure that however great Wilbur’s bewilderment was, he’s done perplexing over it and now prepares
his next step.

Tommy has lost himself. Wilbur poked a wolf with a stick and was bitten, but in return, Tommy
exposed his vulnerable throat. He knew he shouldn’t have shown weakness in front of Wilbur, but
he felt so angry in the moment, and there wasn't any satisfaction in seeing Wilbur scared of him,
only the gut-twisting sensation that one feels after making a mistake. Tommy doesn't know what
Wilbur will do now. And thinking about it terrifies him.

The sun rolled over the skies over an hour ago. In its dying light Tommy was still shaking with
silent cries, but now he just sits on his knees, head sullen, over a basin filled with water. He ordered
it to wash the ink off but now his reflection taunts him, moonlight sharpening the pathetic parody
of the steadfast crown prince he was supposed to be. Eyes red and swollen, bottom lip bitten down
to blood, wrists covered in crests from his nails breaking skin – Tommy hates that he had gotten
used to seeing this side of himself. He hates this new normal of him crying his eyes out every other
evening. He hates Wilbur for driving him down to this state.

Wilbur insulted and humiliated him in public.

Wilbur twisted his words and the image of him in their father’s eyes.

Wilbur sought out his greatest weakness and turned Ranboo into a knife to repeatedly stab Tommy
with.

For the past few weeks, Tommy has shed so many tears that he could fill this basin three times
over. Enough is enough. Tommy is stronger than this. That was the first and last time he'll ever
give Wilbur the satisfaction of seeing him hurt.

Gather himself up, don't let the cracks show . Tommy grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut as
he slowly lowers his hand into water. It’s freezing cold already – the first contact makes him
shudder, shoulders spiking up to his ears, but he forces it still until the needle-prickling sensation
turns to numbness. It crawls up his arm and leaps to the rest of his body, sucking the tension out of
his muscles and steadying his breathing. Fingers brush over the seething anger that coats Tommy’s
soul, and under its icy crust is born pure, cold hatred.

Tommy goes to his wardrobe. He puts on the outfit prepared for him beforehand, trying not to
startle his hand too much. The neckerchief is tossed aside immediately; instead, Tommy grabs a tie
that’s easy to tug on. Smearing the concealer over his face turns out to be the hardest part of them
all, but it’s not like he had much practice to begin with, and he’s satisfied with the result once the
bags under his eyes are no longer visible from any side.

Finally, Tommy roams through the shelves and finds a pair of tight gloves. He pulls one over his
injured hand. The sleek black fabric hides the swelling, the ink and the newly forming bruises, and
the unbreakable Antarctic crown prince is back in his full icy glory. In the dim lightning of a
candle on the other side of the room, Tommy’s eyes hold a new sort of flickering fire – mayhem
and grief and anger blending dull blue irises into blood-red. He has seen a similar gaze on Wilbur’s
face, just a few hours ago, when he said the words that started this whole mess. It’s ironic that the
moment Tommy starts hating his brother is the same he resembles him the most.

Tommy doesn’t know what will happen now, but Wilbur is not going to leave him alone anymore,
and he is done enduring every word and strike. If Wilbur wants to go to war with him – then it’s
his choice. Tommy will make sure he regrets it.
***

The Special Banquet is to be held in the Blue Sky room, in an entirely different section of the
palace to where the rest of the guests will be. Like all major rooms meant for big gatherings, it has
a chamber attached meant specifically for the Imperial household: somewhere to share a private
word or to take a quick rest during a lengthy evening of diplomatic negotiations. Tommy can’t seek
comfort and privacy in a place that the rest of his family had access to, but with Wilbur missing
from his chambers in the Northern wing, it’s his next best guess on where his brother can be.

The person inside greets Tommy with an impatient tap of a foot against the floor, a quirk of an
eyebrow and a fox-like tilt of his head. Tommy's heart sinks, until the boy sitting on a low stool
leaps to his feet and into brighter lighting.

The illusion of Wilbur’s sly smirk twisting the child's mouth is gone. Bouncing on his feet and
waving at him from the other side of the room is just Fundy. Tommy feels ridiculous for getting
spooked like that. It must be the lack of sleep fueling his imagination, but, blinking away the
surprise in his eyes, he still glances at Fundy in a new, careful way.

With how well Tommy gets along with Fundy, it's easy to forget whose son he is. The closer
Tommy looks the more similar Fundy seems to how he remembers Wilbur from their shared
childhood. He hasn’t realized it until now because his brothers were already teens in his earliest
memories. Fundy has more baby fat on his cheeks, and his eyes are clear of the swirling fire that
Tommy was used to seeing in Wilbur’s, but the resemblance is still obvious in everything but the
color of his hair.

“Uncle Theseus!” A hand tugs at Tommy’s sleeve. Fundy stands in front of him, head thrown back.
He looks upset by the lack of response on the crown prince’s side. Tommy instinctively moves his
injured hand behind his back; kneeling to get them on the same eye level, he gives Fundy an
apologetic smile.

“Fundy,” he greets. “I do not envy the poor maids that had to get you dressed in this.”

Fundy wears a pristine white shirt and a sleeveless surcoat over it, both tailored specifically to fit
the child’s proportions and ironed into smooth perfection. There are traces of somebody attempting
to brush the wild orange of his hair back, but a glare from under wavy bangs and a brush on the
floor shows that the efforts were both fruitless and unwelcome.

"Dad said that I have to put on formal attire if I want to attend the Banquet, but if one more person
calls me adorable, I'm going to claw their eyes out."

"I'll take that into consideration," Tommy chuckles. He looks around the room, but it's empty save
for a servant who is quick to shuffle out of the doors the moment the crown prince’s eyes land on
him. "Where is Prince Wilbur?"

"We're alone, you know," Fundy throws Tommy a belittling look, as if it’s him who spent years
mastering manners and decorum and Tommy is a mere child that he’s scolding. "You can just call
Dad by his name."

Tommy's lips part. Titles can be dropped when two people are close, whether that'd by blood
relation or friendship- not the case for him and Wilbur anymore, but it’s not something that he’s
going to explain to Fundy.

When Tommy was younger, Wilbur used to argue with Father a lot. In his early teen years, he
already had a sharp blade of a tongue and patience as thin as a wooden chip. Both sides argued
loudly, unaware of a boy in the next room pressing his ear to the wall, taking each word in like a
sip of poison or the strike of a whip. To this day raised voices make Tommy’s hand itch with a
desire to cover his ears and hide.

Fundy’s intelligence is far beyond that of his peers, and even if he doesn’t see the depth of the
crack between two brothers, Tommy has no doubt that he feels the strain in their interactions. He
wants to grant Fundy the blissful ignorance that he didn't get to have, so he had done his best to
keep the boy blind to the other side of their family that wasn’t all about shoulder rides with Techno
and generosity of the Emperor showering him with toys and gifts.

"Of course," he says, not meeting Fundy’s eyes. It's vague what he's agreeing on, but that's the aim;
the boy just blinks at him in a confused way. Tommy looks for a way out of uncomfortable silence
and his gaze lands on the discarded brush.

“I was wondering if you could help me with my hair,” Tommy says, one hand clasped around the
wrist of the other and shifting weight from heels to toes. He couldn’t fix his ponytail earlier with
one hand, so it’s not as much of a lie as it’s a timely used opportunity.

Fundy brightens up and snatches the brush from the floor. He strides up to a chair and climbs on
top of the cushions, gesturing Tommy over. “Sit down,” he commands.

Tommy drops on the floor in front of him, crossing his legs and leaning back to give Fundy better
access to his hair. On the opposite side of the room stands a tall mirror: he can both see and feel
small fingers carefully untying the ribbon and a brush pulling at the tangled strands. Fundy sticks
his tongue out in concentration, chin tilted forward and bangs getting into his eyes; it’s so adorable
that Tommy musters out a small snicker despite the constant pulsation of pain in his hand.

Fundy casts Tommy an angry glance, and tugs a bit too harshly on his hair, making him yelp.
“Oops, sorry,” Fundy grins innocently. “So do you want me to braid it, like Uncle Techno’s?”

Tommy’s smile withers, and his eyes, momentarily lighting bright blue, grow dull again. His mind
spirals back to what happened in the morning– Techno with Ranboo, Ranboo wearing one of
Techno’s cloaks, taking the spot that was reserved for Tommy.

Maybe he misunderstood something. Ranboo could’ve tricked Techno into liking him – like he did
with Father, and even Wilbur, if his defensiveness was anything to go by. The thought would’ve
made him feel ridiculous just a few weeks ago – he who can’t tell two corridors apart,
manipulating somebody? – but after what happened at the dinner last evening, Tommy knows
better than to underestimate Ranboo.

But Ranboo won’t be attending the Banquet today. It’ll be just Tommy, his family, and a handful
of foreign guests. Surely with Ranboo not there to distract Techno, he’ll remember who his real
younger brother is.

“Yes, please,” Tommy says quietly. “Like Techno’s.”

***

They end up going to the Sky Blue room together. Celeste and white marble of the floor intervenes
in cloud-like patterns, walls of pure lazuli stand tall, seemingly holding the dome of night sky
above. With the ceiling made entirely of transparent glass, it’s no longer of use once snowfalls
start, so it stays locked for the post part of the year, reserved for an occasional gathering during the
warmer months.
Fundy never has been to this room before, so he leaps at the opportunity to explore it. He bounces
between banquet tables full of dishes and silverware, tugs at the curtains, interrupts other guests’
conversation to slip his own two words before Tommy can step in and chide him. A shy smile and
a naïve blink of big yellow eyes is all it takes for his every action to be forgiven, but if he keeps up
the same pace, Tommy is going to collapse soon.

There are colored spots already dancing in his vision. Background music, albeit soft and
unobtrusive, doesn't do favors in relieving Tommy's headache, and his injured hand reminds of
itself with wrenching pain upon the smallest of movements and twitches. Taking a warm bath and
falling asleep is beyond his dreams already – the only thing the crown prince wants is to find a
chair to glue himself to and drift mindlessly for the rest of the evening.

Alas. This time, Tommy finds Fundy standing near the entrance, chattering at a lady in a light-blue
gown. Tiny tears of sapphire stones start at the hem of the skirt, leading all the way up to a lacy
collar and partially woven into coral-pink hair. As soon as he realizes who that woman is, he jumps
up to Fundy and places a hand on the boy’s back; he bows, forcing the boy to duck forward with
him.

“We greet Her Majesty the Queen.”

“Prince Theseus,” Niki says.

A hand of pure white skin and delicate fingers gestures to Tommy to straighten up. He does so,
respectfully avoiding looking into Niki’s eyes, but still catches a glance of a smile residing on her
lips, no trace of irritation or offense to be seen.

For a woman of her status, Niki is far too gracious and forgiving. She doesn’t throw manners out of
the window like Wilbur does but diplomatically chooses not to point others’ mistakes while her
every gesture and word remains in the highest degree flawless. Niki is royalty in the best of its
guises; admiration that Tommy had for her as a child had progressed into uttermost respect once he
understood the full power that one’s image holds in the court. He can only strive to reach her level
of eloquence one day; for now, he feels simply honored to stand in her presence.

Fundy attempts to duck under Tommy’s arm and sprint away, but a firm grip on his shoulder keeps
him pinned.

"Prince Fundy seems eager to get to the dessert table,” Niki points out, chuckling.

“Because I’m hungry ,” Fundy pouts. “Aren’t we done with the formalities already?”

Tommy winces and makes a point to hire a new etiquette teacher for his nephew- because clearly,
the old one has failed at their job to teach him anything about proper behavior in the presence of
royalty. He’s about to shush and scold Fundy for his lack of manners, but Niki speaks up first.

"Well, far be it from me to stand in-between you and your sweet tooth,” she says, tilting her head.
“Prince Theseus, would you...?"

Tommy sighs and releases his hold on Fundy. In a blink, the boy is gone, only the sound of his
footsteps counting down the seconds before a new incident occurs. He turns to Niki, ducking his
head apologetically. “Forgive my nephew, for all he's still learning."

"Please don't apologize,” Niki flicks her hand, “you know full well my stance on excessive
decorum.”

Another apology clings to Tommy’s tongue, but he holds it back so as not to make the conversation
awkward. "I can't address Her Majesty with any less respect than she deserves,” he argues.

They both watch Fundy, letting the silence between them speak of what neither chose to put into
words. Sadness touches Niki’s features like a soft stroke of watercolor. “He reminds me of
somebody,” she says quietly, her voice dropping formality that usually coats her every word.
“Somebody that I dearly miss.”

Tommy keeps his back straightened even as though he knows that the woman beside him is no
longer the Queen but simply Niki: Niki who baked pastries so good that he refused to eat anything
that wasn’t made by her hands, Niki who guided his hands with knitting needles through
complicated patterns and Niki who Tommy once told, ‘You know, you’re like a big sister to me.’

At seven, Tommy was a nuisance that came as a package to having Wilbur as her best friend.

At ten he was her student, a boy with too many ambitions and too little patience.

At age thirteen he looked newly crowned Niki in the eyes and saw the same broken glint that had
warned him before his brother’s disappearance. Tommy failed to help Wilbur when he needed it,
and he wasn’t going to make the same mistake again. Before Tommy left Drywaters the next day,
he ran up to Niki and encased her in a tight hug; the mere offer of comfort earned him more than a
few disapproving gazes, but it was all worth it when she brushed his hair in return, expression
touched and a soft thank you on her lips.

Niki left as the crown princess. Three years later, back to the Empire came a Queen. But Tommy
wasn’t the same anymore, either; he refused to call Niki by her name, wouldn’t meet her eyes and
avoided with ease her questions regarding his well-being. She sat him down one day, in a garden
pavilion they used to practice dancing at. You saved me that day , Niki said to him. So let me do the
same for you.

Tommy stood silent. His tongue refused to form any words, and he felt guilty- because it was Niki
who was asking, Niki who always listened, Niki who he sought comfort in presence of. He wanted
to apologize, tell her that he wanted it but couldn’t . The whispers of don’t trust anybody , and
you’re not worthy of her attention were louder than Tommy’s heart. He bowed to her, muttered an
excuse and took his leave.

Niki talked to the Emperor the next day. Tommy wasn’t close enough to overhear them, but when
he tried to approach, a lady-in-waiting - a daughter of a noble family from the Antarctic Empire,
one of Niki’s friends who agreed to leave the country to serve her abroad - shook her head and
stopped him.

Whatever Niki has said to the Emperor, he didn't like it. Because the next day, she left the Empire -
two weeks earlier than she was supposed to - with one less person in her court she arrived with.
Tommy has never seen that lady-in-waiting again.

Avoidance had already cost Tommy a brother. When Niki accepted the invitation to the Empire
this year, he dreaded that she would loathe him like Wilbur does. By the sad look in her eyes – not
pity, never pity – Tommy understands that he worried over nothing. He wants to fidget under the
concerned gaze that seems to pick apart every tiny detail of his impassive expression but at the
same time it seals the truth that he already long since knew: if Niki doesn’t hate him, then Wilbur
doesn’t have an excuse to, either.

"Prince Fundy is certainly treating himself well,” Niki finally comments- and yeah, that’s a
concerning amount of cookies on Fundy’s plate. Tommy has half a mind of stepping in, but he
can’t leave the queen’s side until he’s dismissed. “I couldn't help but take notice that you haven't
had a bite or a sip of anything yet."

Tommy’s stomach churns. Doubly so when he thinks of trying and lifting a fork with his wrecked
hand- or answering questions of why he suddenly became left-handed.

"My appetite is at loss as of late. Besides, I'm content to supervise and make sure that my dear
nephew stays out of trouble."

"If that's the case, it would be my pleasure to watch Prince Fundy for the rest of the evening to
allow you a reprieve,” Niki hums.

Tommy can't help a look of shock on his face. "No, no, Your Majesty. I wouldn't dare to burden
you like this-”

"Are you calling your nephew a burden?" Niki throws him a teasing side-glance.

Tommy recollects himself. "Of course not. It's just that it's my responsibility to watch him."

"Odd. I thought that taking care of children is their parents’ responsibility."

Tommy opens his mouth, then closes it again. "Of all family members, as I perceive it,” he finally
unseals his lips.

"Well, I'm practically Prince Fundy's aunt, aren't I?"

As always, Niki takes the upper hand in verbal brawls. Tommy doesn't find anything to say to that
but the idea of having her – a Queen – babysit Fundy doesn’t sit well with him.

“I assure you that it would be no trouble,” she says, as if reading Tommy’s thoughts. “Tonight is
not for creating networks or renewing trade deals, but for enjoying ourselves in pleasant company,
which Prince Fundy has already proved himself to be.”

“But- ”

“I’ll be gone in a few weeks’ time,” Niki says, and for the first time since they started talking,
looks directly at him. “But while I’m here, it would make me happy to see you enjoying yourself,
too.”

Tommy’s gaze falls to his feet again, but now there’s warmth thrumming underneath his skin.
Maybe social standings did dig a trench between them, one that Tommy wouldn't dare to trespass,
but he would be forever grateful to Niki for letting him feel like somebody cares for him again.

"Thank you, Niki," Tommy whispers.

***

The evening feels like it’s never going to end. Once Tommy is done greeting the guests with quick
words and pointed dip of his chin, he finds a chair at the far side of the table and entertains himself
by watching a piece of lemon in his drink. It drifts at the top, spins around with the glass- nothing
too exciting, he took it just so he could concentrate on the chill on his fingertips and not the anxiety
that starts to drum his mind. Niki had asked him to relax and enjoy the evening- but it’s been quite
some time since the Banquet has started, so where is the rest of the Imperial family?

“Da- I mean Prince Wilbur!” Fundy’s exclamation snaps Tommy into sharp awareness. He turns
his head to see the boy jumping up into Wilbur’s arms. Wilbur lets out a surprised oof and lifts him
up with a chuckle, but his brows stay furrowed as he surveys the room- looking for something,
searching for someone.

Wilbur puts Fundy down as soon as he spots Tommy and exchanges a few words with him and
Niki. Tommy is already on his feet and backing away a few steps for balance. He brushes his hand
against the chair momentarily, and the explosion of pain in his knuckles turns his expression from
a frown to a sharp wince. Wilbur, about to approach, stays over at the doors and freezes there. It’s
like there is a sword of two blades between them, pressed into the flesh of each other's throats:
neither dares to move and risk it sinking any further.

Wilbur brushes bandaged fingers down his cheek where a faint trace of black still stands out– but
it’s quick, almost mechanical. He looks lost, and that uncertainty of not knowing what is
happening in his head puts Tommy on edge. He feels like a cat hissing at a shadow: baring its teeth
and arching its back, fear plunging him into defensive mode even though there’s nothing
threatening him yet.

It’s weak- it’s cowardly, and Tommy had just promised himself to get his revenge on Wilbur but he
can’t resist the urge to put more distance between them. He backs away, one step after another,
until he bumps with his back into someone.

“My apologies-” Tommy spins around and tilts his chin up to look into the person’s face, “Grand
Duke Sam.”

The man is more intimidating up close than Tommy has anticipated, not as much because of his
imposing figure as because they haven’t properly spoken once before. Grand Duke Samuel- or
more known as Duke Sam, is told to rarely leave his domain, and any rumors on his character or
life are scarce and in-between. His duchy is thriving as cities are expanded, he is known to lend
vast support to the merchant guild, and he’s an author to several books that contain surprisingly
broad and contemplative analyses on the state of the laws in the Antarctic Empire. Tommy had
grasped a range of discussions that could occur but nearly not enough information about the Duke
himself.

Conversations with nobles always feel like a dance of sorts, figuring out the pattern that makes the
other person talk, or how much flattery he needs to win them over. Not uncommon is for Tommy
to deal with people who like the sound of their own voices, but that clearly didn't apply to the
Grand Duke. He seems to be on the opposite side of the scale: calculating, observing, one who
knows his own worth and would purse his lips distastefully at a mirror shoved to his face.

It’s the type of person Tommy is the most wary of: people like the Grand Duke, people like the
Emperor, who always have more stored in their mind that they let into words and expressions.
Straightening under the gaze of piercing dark eyes, the crown prince knows that the calculations
and judgment are happening on both ends.

For a second, Tommy weighs his options: step into a loaded field of a conversation he doesn’t
know nuances of, or face Wilbur fidgeting in the corner of his vision- and it’s not much of a
choice, not really.

“Prince Theseus,” Duke says slowly, and Tommy puts on his best greeting smile.

“Has the food been to your liking?” He makes a vague gesture towards the table, catching one last
glance Wilbur casts at him before he is swept away into a conversation by another guest. Tommy
suppresses a sigh of relief, but he is too quick to relax as the Grand Duke’s next words drop on him
like an anvil.
“Is this the state of the Antarctic Empire?” he asks.

“...I can’t say that I know what you imply, Your Grace.”

“I mean that the Emperor doesn’t bother showing his face, whilst his youngest son is performing
adult duties.”

The sheer disrespect of the Duke’s words make Tommy’s smile drop for a second. When he
manages to drag it back on, it’s a lot more strained than before. He finds himself fiddling with a
button, seeking coolness in the perfect metal circle under his fingertips and avoiding the intense
stare of the Duke who - Tommy only now realizes - looks deeply indignant. His views are not
strong only on paper, then.

It makes sense, given that the age of majority is much greater in Badlands than in the Empire. The
laws haven’t changed much from a century ago, when the Empire and Kingdom of Esempi were
still at constant war, only that now at fifteen you’re not handed a weapon and shoved into a
battlefield but rather expected to bring income to your household and face criminal trial if needed
to be. Slaves are no longer used as cannon fodders, either, but rather are a cheap working force for
nobles who are too poor or greedy to pay for quality.

“I know your concerns about the efficiency of a government that includes somebody as young as
me, but the Empire is not the same as your duchy,” Tommy says. It’s not a place where you can
speak of the Emperor with disrespect.

The stone-cold expression on the Duke’s face shifts. “You’ve read my books,” he says,
disbelieving, and Tommy nods. “They are written entirely in Ender, a dead language.”

“I’m much more competent than people give me credit for,” Tommy gives him a half-hearted
shrug. His eyes sting uncomfortably at the memory of the nights spent over parchments that were
all but crumbling with dust. He allows his gaze to stray from the Grand Duke and to Fundy; it
seems as though the boy finally managed to tire himself out because he is drowsing off on a chair,
head on Wilbur’s lap. Wilbur and Niki are talking to each other in hushed tones that Tommy
wouldn’t be able to hear even if he was standing next to them.

“No fourteen-year-old can - or should - be competent enough to rule over an Empire.”

Tommy’s eyes snap back to the Grand Duke, his heart skipping a beat. “That was a special case,
and three years ago," he argues. “It’s my duty as the crown prince to step in the Emperor’s place
whenever he has more pressing matters.”

For a few months after the assasination attempt, the Emperor couldn’t walk, let alone participate in
meetings or leave the palace. It’s been three years since then but the memories that float up to the
surface are so vivid that it takes the pain of a bitten-down tongue for Tommy to prevent himself
from sinking into them.

Tommy isn’t sure why he’s telling any of it to Duke Sam - the Emperor’s choices don’t need any
explanation, and yet suddenly the air he inhales seems too hot, his clothes - too tight, and his
fingers are tugging at the poor button with almost violent intensity. He blames it all on the Grand
Duke and his eyes that stare at him incredulously, as if suspecting a lie.

“So the Emperor is so occupied that he neglects his child but at the same time has enough time to
spare on a random stray?”

Snap . Tommy stares at the button on his palm, but shoves it into his pocket once he realizes that
the Duke’s eyes are still on him. He can feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins, anger
boiling in his blood - same defensive reaction he got with Wilbur earlier.

“Neglected?” His voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater, and he grimaces. “That’s- that’s
ridiculous. I’m not- you’re mistaken.”

“Am I?” the Duke says. “From what I’ve seen, Emperor Philza treats Ranboo more like his child
than he does you.”

His voice sounds softer now. To Tommy, it feels like pity, and it makes his cheeks burn with
humiliation and anger. The crown prince is not someone to be pitied- Duke Sam doesn’t even have
anything to pity him for.

Tommy is Emperor Philza’s son. His blood, his heir, his shadow- and Ranboo is nobody . Like the
Duke himself said, a random stray.

A random stray that he breaks palace rules for. A random stray whose words he believes over
Tommy’s. A random stray that is being treated like he’s part of the Imperial family.

Tommy’s chest burns.

The ink stain on his knuckles sinks into skin like fire.

It takes Duke Sam’s concerned gaze for Tommy to realize he tried clenching his hand into a fist
and now cradles it to his mid-body with a hiss of pain.

“That’s not true,” he says weakly.

“What parent doesn’t realize when their child is hurt?” Duke Sam says, and Tommy has a strong
feeling that it’s not only his hand that he means.

It’s at that moment that Emperor Philza walks through the entrance and from across the room, he
vaguely gestures to Tommy to come over. In any other case the crown prince might’ve been
hesitant to drop a conversation so abruptly, but now he all but escapes the Grand Duke’s side.

"I assume that no issues have occured in preparations for the Banquet,” the Emperor says, as soon
as he is finished greeting a couple of nobles standing the closest to them.

Tommy thinks back of the incident earlier- Wilbur asking him to add Ranboo to the guest list, his
outburst of rage and the ink stain on the wall. The throb of his hand becomes unbearable; his
fuming skin begs and pleads for the coolness of the air, but the best he can do is tug at the edge of
the glove and hold back noises of pain.

Techno would notice. The unnatural way that Tommy holds his hand, the way he bites on his
lower lip, how his chest heaves a bit too fast to appear calm. Techno would notice but Emperor
Philza is not him; he pays no mind to Tommy’s fiddling, only raising an eyebrow when the pause
lasts for too long.

"None, Your Majesty," Tommy dips his head. “But… May I ask, where is Prince Technoblade?”

“Ranboo was anxious about being alone amongst strangers, so Techno stayed behind with him in
the main hall.”

Tommy touches his temple, where a small braid starts, running all the way to the ponytail at the
back of his head.
"Oh," he murmurs. "I see."

He wonders how noticeable it is the way his face falls, but maybe not as much as he thinks,
because the Emperor turns away, and Tommy is left standing alone in the middle of the room.
Most of the guests are dressed in blue, he only now realizes. A nice gesture of appreciation to the
hosts of the event, but amongst them Tommy is a splatter of dull gray that doesn't belong in the
picture. He stands right under a giant crystal chandelier; showering in light, yet he never has ever
felt so much like a shadow.

The Grand Duke is right.

Wilbur was right.

People are talking. Music flows through the air. The sounds are all muffled and turned into
indistinguishable hum. Faintly, Tommy registers Niki’s concerned glance on himself, and he gets
moving towards double glass doors that he can feel a gust of wind from.

Once he's outside, Tommy feels like he can breathe again. He walks forward until the railings cut
his way, separating the veranda and the gardens. Tommy leans forward until he can reach and
pluck out a flower growing on a bush.

He looks forward, at the outer walls. On the other side and under the hill the palace stands on, a
festival keeps the capital alive. If Tommy closes his eyes, he can pretend to feel the warmth of its
flickering lights.

They used to visit the festival, just the five of them. With a group of guards, of course, but when
Tommy thinks of the festival those minor details are brushed away like pinches of dust. He can
remember the bursts of color in the sky, sparkles flying like under the strike of a hammer on
sizzling hot metal, the sickening sweetness of honey lollipops and the crisp of roasted nuts on his
tongue - he can remember everything but not his family's smiles.

What a sorrowful feeling, to grieve for people that are still alive.

Thinking of it now, Tommy feels stupid about living in denial for so long. Muttering, again and
again, that it's okay that things have changed. That he shouldn't miss the sweet dream that was his
childhood and accept his family as it is now.

Tommy was wrong. His father hasn't changed, and it was never about the duties either. The
Emperor iis as caring and patient as he used to be, just not for Tommy, never for the cruel,
heartless Prince Theseus.

It has taken somebody on the outside saying it outloud for Tommy to realize that Ranboo is getting
everything that should have been his . First he stole his father, then best friend, now he’s stealing
his brothers too. What is he going to aim next for? His crown ?

Tommy knows that it’s impossible, but he still curls his fingers, squeezing the flower in a fist. The
sound of steps has him whirling around and pinning his back to the railings. Prince Dream,
standing in the archway, raises his hands apologetically.

"I’m sorry, I didn't mean to startle you."

Tommy breathes out, trying to calm himself down. "No need to apologize. It seems I've been too
deep in my own thoughts." Tommy glances one last time at the gardens and makes his way back to
the archway full of light and music. If Prince Dream came here, he must've been looking for some
privacy, and Tommy doesn't dare to reserve the shelter of night for himself only.
Dream turns to him half-way through, "Actually, there's something I'd like to discuss with you, if I
may."

Tommy foot freezes on a step, heel pressed to the floor. "And that would be...?"

"I've read your letter,” A pause. “I understand that I should've kept our letters a private matter."

Tommy puts his foot down. Carefully, slowly, he turns around to face Prince Dream.

"You knew it was me who you were exchanging letters with?"

Tommy's voice stays in the same indifferent tone as ever, but he can feel his expression crumbling
both with surprise and dread. Where did he make a mistake? How long has Prince Dream known
the truth for?

Prince Dream moves his mask to the side of his face. Instead of frowning and accusing him of
slandering and insulting the Royal family, Prince Dream let's out an awkward chuckle and runs a
hand through his hair - a shy attempt at easing tension.

"Please don't be alarmed. It was through no fault of your own."

"Then how..?"

"Ranboo knew the contents of the first few letters. So I assumed that somebody who's seen part of
the exchange must've informed him. A former aide of yours has recently started serving Ranboo,
and then yesterday you said that you know the real recipient of my letters, so I made a solid guess.”

Tommy had nothing to say to that. With his reaction, he eliminated any chances of denying Prince
Dream’s words and therefore the responsibility for his lie. Though it wasn't as much as a lie as it
was avoidance, he still partially fueled the disaster that was yesterday's dinner, and the letters-

"You said you wish to stop the exchange," Prince Dream says, in a concerned tone, and the trail of
Tommy's thoughts runs into a wall. “Would you rather talk to me in person from now on?”

Tommy’s head snaps up, staring at the prince in disbelief. When the initial shock subdues, he
narrows his eyes - in a careful, observant way. Until a few weeks ago, the only thing he had known
about Prince Dream were a few rumors that managed to cross the borders and travel the Empire.
But now that Tommy has seen the heir of Esempi himself - spoken to him personally, a few times -
he doesn’t think he is any less confused than before.

Prince Dream, who impulsively challenges an Antarctic prince for a duel in his own palace, the
man with a laugh like a kettle and owner to the bird Prince - the most wonderful creature that
Tommy has ever met - that same prince is said to be the most threatening person of the southern
court. Tommy would think that whoever spread the rumors got him completely wrong, but life has
taught him to look deeper than outward appearances.

(‘Don’t trust anybody’ , Quackity said to him.

‘Not even you?’

‘Not even me, ’ Quackity confirmed. ‘I’m using you as much as the next person, but I have the guts
to be honest about it. ’ )

No matter how exaggerated and twisted rumors can sometimes be, there is always a core to them;
an ounce of truth that is hard to see over the layers and layers of gossip tossed on top. In this
particular case, Tommy extracts a gem of helpful information – Dream holds a lot of power, and he
constantly seeks more.

Tommy uncurls his fist, looking at crumbled petals left from a pretty flower earlier. There is only
so much patience that a person can have in one day. Tommy is exhausted, and angry and hurt - he
has no strength nor desire to dance around the topic anymore.

"What do you want, Prince Dream?" he asks, not raising his head.

His question and tone take the prince by surprise. "What do you mean?"

"You barely know me but defended me against Emperor Philza. You knew I was your penfriend
yet prefered to cause a scene over calling me out on my silence.” Tommy throws the flower away
and looks straight in Prince Dream’s eyes. “I’ll tell you straightforwardly - if you’re looking for a
powerful ally, then you’re digging in the wrong place. I have no real influence outside the walls of
this palace, and even inside; one word from the Emperor overrides my any wish or will. You'll
have better luck with either of my brothers."

Understanding and a tint of sadness sip into Prince Dream’s expression. He makes a step towards
Tommy. “You’ve got it all wrong,” he says carefully.

“I don’t accept pity, either,” Tommy glares, taking a step back. "I might be a miserable sight, but
I'd prefer to be stabbed rather than be someone’s charity case.”

Prince Dream stops. He stands, thoughtful, contemplative; looking at the way Tommy’s shoulders
flew up and frown deepened, he came to a conclusion of his own. He walks all the way to the
railings, right to the spot where Tommy stood before, and rests his elbows on top. In the lasting
silence, Tommy can feel himself relaxing slightly. One step after another, he approaches Prince
Dream and freezes a few feet away to his right. Far enough so that the proximity wouldn’t feel
threatening but close enough that he can see the flicker of light in the green eyes.

"To be honest, I don't have a lot of friends,” Prince Dream says. “Wherever I go, I'm always in the
center of attention, and one might think I never feel lonely. But as the next in line for the throne of
Esempi, there’s no one I can truly open up to, because I must always be mindful of how other
people perceive me."

It’s still Prince Dream who speaks, yet Tommy feels like the words are taken straight out of his
own soul. He made an impression of a person bold and ignorant to what others think of him- but it
was all an act, a mask.

Tommy silently looks into Prince Dream’s eyes, at his own reflection.

Staring in his, Prince Dream sees his own.

“I know how you feel,” Tommy says, and it’s as though a connection snaps into existence: a flash
of green to blue that has him blinking and instinctively looking away. Even then, he feels an
invisible thread, a weak but persistent tug that cheers and sings- because finally, for the first time,
somebody has understood him.

"Then you know why I was happy for the opportunity to share my thoughts freely with you, not as
a prince but as myself,” Prince Dream says. "Therefore, I'm asking you not to make a rushed
decision to cut our friendship off."

Tommy hesitates, both with his answer and looking into Prince Dream’s eyes. He knows if he
looks up to them he won’t be able to disagree.
"I can even call Prince Wilbur a bitch if that would help," Prince Dream says suddenly. Tommy
chokes on his own saliva and starts cackling. Prince Dream's lips stretch into a vicious smile, and
he says, bringing his hands to his mouth: "Prince Wilbur is a bi-"

"Stop!" Tommy cries out, grabbing Prince Dream’s arm, but he's laughing despite his best efforts
to stifle the sounds down. "Somebody might hear you!"

Something shuffles in the bushes. Tommy barely notices it, but Prince Dream pauses and throws a
pointed look over the veranda, “Yeah, someone might.”

“Chill out, I just got here,” a familiar voice says, making Tommy jump.

Sir Sapnap climbs out of the bushes, swiping off a few leaves that got stuck to his hair and clothes.
He bends in half before the princes eloquently, and for a second Tommy is worried about how
much of their conversation did he overhear- until notices a box in the knight’s hands.

"Sir Sapnap... Are those fireworks I see?"

Sapnap looks at the box like he sees it for the first time. "Yes, and I'm going to launch them."

The grin on Sapnap’s is nothing short of concerning. Tommy blinks at the knight who strides away
from the veranda, fireworks in tow. “That seems like a fire haza- Prince Dream?”

But Prince Dream already jumped over the railings with a stuttered curse, landing on the ground a
few feet below.

“Where are you going?” Tommy asks, bewildered.

“Somebody needs to make sure that he doesn’t burn your palace down,” Prince Dream throws
casually, like preventing his knight from committing arson is part of his daily routine. He stops for
a second, frozen before a step - and in the distance, Sapnap does too. “Do you perhaps… Want to
join us?”

Tommy looks at them with his mouth open. Just a few days ago an offer like this would have
scandalized him - just as Prince Dream swearing, and Sapnap’s bold behavior - but now the
thought of going back to the Banquet seems less appealing than tripping with his throat on a knife.

The Emperor wouldn’t want him disappearing mid-event, Techno wouldn’t want him anywhere
near Prince Dream, and Wilbur… Tommy doesn’t care what Wilbur thinks, actually. He’ll have to
face consequences for this, but they always come regardless of what he does- so why not break
decorum this once?

Besides… Tommy kind of wants to see something set on fire.

Tommy climbs over the railings and jumps to the other side. He strides up to Prince Dream and
Sapnap, leveling his expression on habit.

“I’ll show you the best place,” he says, ducking his head to hide his burning cheeks. This is new,
and he feels embarrassed about the excitement thrumming in his veins. “You know, so that you
don’t burn my palace down.”

Prince Dream and Sapnap exchange a glance. “Fuck yeah.”

Tommy ends up leading them to a circular pavilion paved with white stone. It’s surrounded by a
crown of marble columns, all different sizes, and apart from veins wrapping up around them, there
are no other plants in close proximity that could be accidentally set on fire. Sapnap bends over the
fireworks, preparing them for a launch, while Prince Dream and Tommy sit at some distance with
their backs pressed to the same column, watching the night sky.

In any other case, Tommy might’ve been worried about his reputation, but the only people to
witness him now are the other crown prince and Sir Sapnap, who Prince Dream has shown to be
very trusting of.

It’s silent. It’s comfortable. Tommy’s soul feels at ease. He thinks he could fall asleep like this; fall
into a long rest free of nightmares and troubles and memories.

Tomorrow, everything will go back to normal again. Wilbur won't suddenly stray from his goal to
make his life miserable. Tommy won't become anything more than his title and duties to the
Emperor, and Techno- Techno might linger in the capital a bit longer than usual, but he still is
going to leave, and Tommy will watch the wind sweep away the dust under Carl's hooves.

All of that will happen later, but all that Tommy cares about is now: the fireworks, the sweet scent
of flowers in the air and his constantly throbbing hand. He pushes himself forward, knees bend to
his chest; gritting his teeth, he pulls the glove off his right hand.

Just as expected, it looks ugly. Purple swallowed his knuckles whole, with less intense splatters up
on his fingers. His hand is terribly swollen but hurts a whole lot less once free of the glove;
Tommy throws it somewhere over his shoulder - never again.

Prince Dream is watching him from the corner of his vision. As soon as Tommy realizes, he tries
to hide his hand out of view.

“I fell,” Tommy says, looking away. “An inconvenient accident.”

It couldn't be more obvious that he’s lying, but Prince Dream doesn’t call him out on that.

“You should get it looked at by a physician,” is all he says. “If it doesn’t heal right, some damage
might be permanent.”

Silence settles once again. Tommy thinks back of the conversation they had on the veranda, and
unease churns his stomach. He won’t be able to go back to resting until he puts a period on the end
of that paper.

“So, what we were talking about earlier…” Tommy starts, and he’s unsure of what to say next, but
it seems as though he doesn’t need to speak at all.

"I understand that you want to avoid conflicts within the Imperial household, thus I'll keep our
interactions a secret,” Prince Dream says, “But please give me a chance to prove that my offer of
friendship doesn’t come from pity or ill intent.” He pulls off a neckerchief from around his neck,
and extends a hand towards Tommy. “Will you trust me?"

Tommy hesitates. He knows that he shouldn’t be so trusting, that he shouldn’t be here in the first
place. But he has been alone for so long , and a little part of him - however weak or pathetic or
childish that might be - is starved for warmth and understanding.

He turns to that inner feeling, to the seeds now resting on the soil hardened with years of distrust
and hurt. If he nurtures them, they could turn either into beautiful flowers or a sprawling weed- but
he won't know which it is until he tries.

Carefully, Tommy puts his injured hand into Prince Dream’s.

 He doesn’t jerk away even as a whistle of a firework startles him, and consequent thud of Sapnap’s
feet against stone follows. Tommy throws his head back just as the sky bursts in colors of green
and red.

When Tommy looks back at Prince Dream, his hand is already wrapped in cloth. The makeshift
splint is tight enough not to press on the injury while keeping him from moving it around too
much.

Tommy nods with gratitude and pulls his hand away. “Thank you, Prince Dream.”

“You can call me just by name,” Prince Dream- no , Dream says.

***

They run out of fireworks to launch some time later.

Tommy would be content with spending a few more hours outside, but Dream admits to him,
shivering and an embarrassed edge to his tone, “I’m cold.”

In the midst of everything Tommy managed to forget that Dream is unused to the chill present in
the Empire even during the warmest months. He bursts apologizing, not stopping even after the
prince reassures him that it’s of no concern, and offers to take him indoors. The Banquet must be
coming to an end now, so Tommy doesn’t see any reason to be returning there and instead leads
Dream and Sapnap to the main hall.

As soon as they enter, he is put on edge by the buzz of voices in the crowd. Nobles seem to be
discussing something intensely in groups of two and three. Tommy spots Marchioness Beau,
keeping her distance from everybody else, fanning herself with a puzzled look on her face..

“What happened?” Tommy asks.

“Baron Quackity,” the lady says. “He recognized Ranboo as his missing younger brother.”

Chapter End Notes

CHAPTER SUMMARY
In the aftermath of his breakdown, Tommy feels resentful towards Wilbur. He decides
not to tolerate his treatment anymore. Tommy still needs go the Banquet, so to hide his
injured hand he puts on gloves.

Tommy comes seeking Wilbur in chambers near the Banquet room. He finds Fundy
there instead. Tommy notices how similar Fundy is Wilbur in ways that he previously
have not paid attention to. By Tommy's request, Fundy braids his hair, 'Like Techno’s.'

The Banquet starts. Tommy is watching over Fundy. Niki enters, and they talk with
Tommy. Tommy reminisces on his near-sibling relationship Niki in the past and how
they grey apart due to Niki becoming a Queen and being too busy with her own
country. Niki still cares about Tommy; she notices that he is tired, and since Wilbur
has not shown up yet, offers to watch Fundy. After some arguing, Tommy agrees and
thanks her.

Tommy grows anxious that the rest of his family hasn't come yet. Wilbur appears,
seemingly looking for a chance to talk to Tommy; Tommy is still shaken up by what
happened earlier so he retreats until he bumps into Sam. Sam talks in a accusing
manner that the Emperor is absent yet his child is forced to perform adult
responsibilities. He points out to Tommy that he is being neglected and that Philza
doesn't even realize that he's hurt. Tommy denies stubbornly. However the Emperor
then comes, and pays barely any mind to Tommy, proving Sam right. Techno doesn't
show up at all; he's accompanying Ranboo at the other party for the rest of the guests.

Tommy is shook by realization that Wilbur and Sam are right. Distressed and upset, he
seeks privacy at a veranda overlooking gardens. Dream finds him there and says that
he knows that Tommy is his penfriend. Tommy rethinks what he knows about Dream
and makes conclusion that Dream must be seeking some sort of benefit from their
friendship, or is pitying him. Dream denies both. He says that he wanted to continue
talking to Tommy because he, as the crown prince, better than anyone understands the
burden of this title and how he always has to be mindful of how other people see him.
Tommy relates to those feelings and finds understanding in Dream’s words. Dream
asks him not to cut their friendship off. While Tommy thinks of his answer, Dream
calls Wilbur 'a bitch', makes Tommy laugh, and a wild Sapnap appears from the
bushes with a box of fireworks.

Sapnap announces that he's going to launch them; Dream joins to secure the fire
hazard and with some hesitation, Tommy tags along. While Sapnap is busy with
fireworks, Tommy and Dream talk. Dream asks Tommy to trust him. Tommy agrees.
Later at night they join the rest of the guests and find some sort of commotion
happening. Tommy finds Beau and asks what is it about; Beau tells that Quackity has
recognized Ranboo as his missing younger brother.

AUTHOR NOTES
In 10+ days I haven't updated, this blew up INSANELY. I loved the comments, and
the bookmarks; loved seeing new people; I know a lot of you are here from the Tiktok
Rosa made so I want to say, welcome everybody aboard on the wild ride that is
Butterfly Reign. Buckle in because this is a rollercoaster of emotions :>

Check out all the fan content people made for BR! All the links are in the end notes
below (scroll and you will see them under bold text). Please tell me if you have
published an art/animatic/one-shot or anything that is really connected to BR so I
could link it too. I also now regularly check #butterflyreign tag on Tiktok and will see
what you've created there as well (though I'm not making an account just yet). If you
want to chat or ask any questions, see my discord server and tumblr links below!

P.S. Viscount Lotteshu :)

Art by gwynyny
 Deep down from your soul (Wilbur's interlude Part 1)
Chapter Summary

“I don’t know. Maybe I do really look like a freak,” Techno said, raising his hand to
look at the sunlight sipping between his spread fingers. “Even the noble kids think so.
They won’t say that to my face though.”

WIlbur’s tongue felt thick in his mouth. His hands itched to punch somebody: those
street kids, children of courtiers and their parents, too, for insisting on touching
Techno’s hair even when the prince clearly was uncomfortable with it. Instead, he
slapped his hands over Techno’s forearms; almost automatically, Techno searched his
hand and squeezed it back.

“You are not a freak,” Wilbur said, looking him in the eyes, confident, protective,
fierce. “And I don’t want to ever hear you say that again. Let people think whatever
they want. We don't need them. We don’t need anybody but each other-”

“And also the servants, maids, cooks, guards, our parents-”

“Mother and Father are not around much anyway, and I could live without the rest,”
Wilbur argued. “As long as we are together.”

Chapter Notes

Credits to Snow for beta-reading!

 ART BY GWYNYNY

Potential warnings for: unhealthy relationship, obsessive behavior and codependency

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Techno and Wilbur were born at the time of growing tension between all countries of the continent.
Not only the citizens of Esempi were suffering under King Schlatt’s tyranny; the waves of disorder
and conflict spread far over the kingdom’s borders. Emperor Philza did his hardest negotiating
peace and managing the income of refugees, while Empress Kristin led the diplomatic delegations
aimed at building a stronger alliance with the Kingdom of Drywaters.

In theory, the twin princes were to be under the vigilant care of their servants and tutors; starting
their education, learning court manners. In reality, Captain Sparklez - the head of Imperial guards -
would have to call a search party for Wilbur and Techno each time they would slip away from
adult surveillance and sneak out of the palace through secret passages.

Little was known about what the Imperial princes looked like; a nicely dressed boy on a crowded
street, shyly pinning himself to a wall, wasn’t attracting attention with his status but with the pure
white of his skin and short straight hair. Techno glanced at a group of older kids nearby with
growing cautiousness; he knew that it wouldn’t be any good when one of them approached, a sneer
on his lips, and rudely shoved him with his shoulder.

“Look, a ghost!” the kid exclaimed.

Techno staggered back. Shell-shocked, he only ducked his head lower, looking like he wanted to
merge with the wall and disappear. The wall, however, wasn’t too keen on helping Techno; he was
still very much prominent in broad daylight. Fueled by his lack of reaction, the other kids started
chuckling to each other - a sound void of humor, pumped with taunt. A few pointed fingers at him,
which made Techno turn away and hug himself tightly. “A freak, he is a freak!”

A loud whistle pierced their ears. A string of sausages flew through the air and landed straight into
the first kid’s arms. He looked at it confusedly but broke into a squeal when a bunch of dogs
lunged at him, baring their teeth. He whipped around and ran, forgetting to drop the sausages,
chased by the barking animals.

Techno turned around, shoulders slumping in relief, and found Wilbur jumping down from an
empty cage, smiling smugly. He tossed the lock over his shoulder and strode up to Techno,
slapping a hat on top of his head.

“Sorry I took a while, I was looking for the perfect fit.”

Techno dragged the hat off to glare at the wide brims, decorated by a giant pink bow and artificial
flowers. “...I don’t think it’s going to help me to get bullied less, Will.”

Wilbur’s previous playfulness was gone in an instant; he pressed his lips together and frowned.
“Don’t listen to them,” he said. “They are just a bunch of jerks.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I do really look like a freak,” Techno said, raising his hand to look at the
sunlight sipping between his spread fingers. “Even the noble kids think so. They won’t say that to
my face though.”

WIlbur’s tongue felt thick in his mouth. His hands itched to punch somebody: those street kids,
children of courtiers and their parents, too, for insisting on touching Techno’s hair even when the
prince clearly was uncomfortable with it. Instead, he slapped his hands over Techno’s forearms;
almost automatically, Techno searched his hand and squeezed it back.

“You are not a freak,” Wilbur said, looking him in the eyes, confident, protective, fierce . “And I
don’t want to ever hear you say that again. Let people think whatever they want. We don't need
them. We don’t need anybody but each other-”

“And also the servants, maids, cooks, guards, our parents-”

“Mother and Father are not around much anyway, and I could live without the rest,” Wilbur
argued. “As long as we are together.”

“Sap,” Techno immediately chimed in.

“You’re the one holding my hand.” Wilbur said the last part grinning; Techno rolled his eyes but
his fingers stayed tightly wrapped around his twin’s. He perked up, first to hear the commotion
brewing nearby and notice the flash of blue Imperial uniforms.

“Uh oh,” Techno said. “I think we just got found.”

Wilbur threw a look over his shoulder and met eyes with Captain Sparklez across the street.
Techno almost dropped his hat when Wilbur yanked him to the side, “ Shit , run!”

***

It seems as though it's the core of twins' existence to be opposite halves fitting perfectly at the
edges.

There were more than enough spacious chambers in the northern wing, so it was by Wilbur and
Techno’s whim alone that they occupied the same room. As children, the twins couldn't fall asleep
without feeling each other's presence, through intertwined fingers, through foreheads pressed to
each other, as if their very souls demanded the other to be close by.

Their fates were sealed together long before they were born, Wilbur and Techno grew up into two
parallel strings of the same instrument. One sonant and the other quiet, one boisterous and the
other tempered, unpredictable and reserved, bass and soprano – the strings were never meant to
cross, and never meant to be separated. Unless one of them snapped, that is.

It all started when Phil started showing preference towards Techno, Wilbur thinks. He was always
smarter and more observant than other children of his age, and very early on he noticed the open
preference that Father showed towards Techno. Betrayal, resentment, jealousy; Wilbur didn’t know
the names of the emotions he felt. They were odd, they were confusing, and more than anything he
simply wanted them to go away. In the mornings, Wilbur used to carefully braid colored beads into
Techno’s hair; they would climb out of the bed wrestling, with screams and yelps, and chase one
another to the door. And now more often than not, Wilbur woke up in an empty room alone.

“...Tech?”

No answer followed, and Wilbur curled up into himself under the blankets and sheets – too many
for him alone, too cold without his twin. For his whole life, Techno was Wilbur’s only friend and
company, and his heart couldn’t decide on whether it was Techno who stole Father from him or the
other way round.

At six years old, Wilbur had a strong craving for attention. He sought kind gazes, compliments and
praise, scarfing them like a starved dog. He would always be present at every tea party, ball and
banquet at the palace. And while the courtiers were ready to chuckle and flatter the young clever
prince when he joined adult conversations or said something particularly witty, Wilbur had a sour
aftertaste of knowing that he wasn’t seen as anything more than his title. He swallowed it all and
painted a new stroke on his mask – a delicate piece of charm and lies. There is no player limitation
for the game of pretend, after all. The courtiers pretended that their smiles were genuine, and
Wilbur pretended that their attention was enough to make up for what their parents could not give
them.

Wilbur was on cloud nine when he was chosen as the crown prince and first in line for the throne
of the Antarctic empire, until Father had told him that it was a formality, one that brought a whole
ton of new study subjects for Wilbur to master. A few he shared with Techno – most he didn’t.
While Wilbur was busy memorizing the noble house names and court manners under the
surveillance of strict teachers, just behind the windows, Father play-sparred with Techno.

A bitter chuckle would escape Wilbur’s lips whenever he remembered that in the future, but at the
time he genuinely believed that Father preferred Techno over him because he was slacking in his
physical training. Each time they spared, Wilbur would inevitably end up with his back pressed to
the floor and a training sword at his throat, smug Techno looming over him. Face puffed and red
from anger, Wilbur would slap the wooden blade away, leap to his feet and shout that he doesn’t
want to train anymore.

“You’ll get it with enough practice, Your Highness,” Captain Sparklez, who tutored both twins,
reassured him, bandaging the calluses on his hands. Wilbur only pursed his lips, hissing in pain
each time raw skin was startled with touch.

“Don’t lie to me,” he snapped. “No matter what I do, I’m not going to be as good as Techno.”

Captain Sparklez stopped for a second. He finished the last layer of bandaging and, taking
Wilbur’s hand with both his, looked the prince in the eyes. “You and Prince Technoblade are built
differently. His hands are meant to wield a sword. In your fingers, I see a musician. Perhaps
picking up a musical instrument would be of pleasure to you.”

The suggestion was sudden but it stuck with Wilbur. Everybody loved music thus Father must
enjoy it too. It was alright that Wilbur couldn’t turn into as good of a fighter as Techno; he could
be a musician and be appreciated as much. For his and Techno’s seventh birthday, Wilbur asked
his parents for a guitar, and soon started taking lessons with a tutor. He latched onto a new hobby
with newfound eagerness and, to his own surprise, started enjoying it beyond the initial reason of
pleasing his parent.

The thought of actually coming to play a song to Father was a nerve-wrecking one even as though
his fingertips danced between the strings with confidence that adults fail to achieve in years of
practice. In the end it was Techno who practically dragged him into the Emperor’s office, the
guitar clutched tightly in his arms. Starting accord quivered in the air. Father glanced at him from
where he was looking at a pile of papers but said nothing. Wilbur wetted his dry lips and, with an
encouraging nod from Techno, began to play.

His breathing evened out, his vision tunneling on his hand hovering over the guitar’s neck, the
sweat rolling down his forehead no longer bothering him with persistent itch. The office, Techno,
Father – everything was forgotten in that moment, and the only thing that existed to Wilbur in this
universe was him and the instrument that he learned to love with his very heart.

The scribble of a quill stopped with an ear-shuddering screech; a string pulled too hard whipped
Wilbur’s fingers, and the universe came back crushing on him.

“Wilbur,” Father sighed, putting the quill down. He sounded like the very act of pronouncing
Wilbur’s name was something bothersome and exhausting. “Can’t you see that I’m occupied?”

The little tender flame that still lived within Wilbur was violently stomped out; he was grieving, at
that moment, for the love that he no longer could hope for. Wilbur stood up abruptly and stormed
away, trying to hide the tears gathering in his eyes.

Techno leaped to his feet and pounced to grab Wilbur’s arm, “Wilbur please - “

“Leave me alone!” Wilbur yelled, shoving an elbow to Techno’s face.

When Wilbur realized what he had done, his twin was already jerking away, clutching his bleeding
nose. Techno’s one strike would have sent him flying across the room, but he just looked at Wilbur
with wide, betrayed eyes. Never has ever Wilbur hurt his twin before; the guilt was instant, like if
he was tossed into a freezing-cold lake. He took a step forward; Techno shuffled two back, and
Wilbur made a wounded, confused noise. He didn’t mean it. He didn’t want to hurt Techno.

Father stood up abruptly, the chair screeching on the floor and a horrifying expression on his face.
Wilbur’s stomach flipped. Adrenaline pumped lava through his veins and his heart fluttered like a
trapped bird.

Shouting and yelling all went past Wilbur’s ears, tuning down to unrecognizable, insignificant
buzz. The world was dipping in and out of focus, but one thing was persistent – Father’s ice-cold
eyes, looking at him, only at him. And for some reason… It felt good.

That day, Wilbur made two discoveries that would stick with him for the rest of his life. One,
attention doesn’t need to be positive for his craving to be satisfied. Two, when Wilbur chases his
own desires- well, sometimes his close ones get hurt in the process.

***

Techno avoided him after the incident. Wilbur didn’t know how to apologize. Techno never got
mad at him before and now they don't talk at all. He lay at night, white as the bedsheets around
him, thinking over and over again, Techno hates me, Techno despises me, what am I going to do?
Poison of those thoughts slowly spread through his body, killing him from inside, and they were
sealed for him true later that week. While servants took Techno’s things out and brought them to a
room further down the corridor, Wilbur glared from a corner, sharp edges of an emerald earring
hurting the palm of his clenched fist.

A soul born in a pair doesn’t handle loneliness well. Where the connection between the twins
burned fire and flames were now pitiful embers, and the hollowness welcomed a beast into
Wilbur’s heart. It feasted on his feeling of abandonment, turning him, a child demanding and
impatient by nature, snappy and embittered.

Eventually others noticed the changes in him. Not immediately, not in time, but as weeks went by,
people of the palace started complaining about Prince Wilbur. Teachers and tutors said that he
refused to study and quarreled with them all the time. Attendants discussed him with great distaste;
it was impossible to please the crown prince, and the slightest of demeanors led to tantrums,
shouting and objects thrown and broken in a fit.

He hated everybody and everybody hated him. Wilbur was called a spoiled, vicious child, a little
monster , even – all it did was fuel the feverish light in his eyes and the triumphant smirk of his
lips. Every scolding and punishment made him more aggressive and at the same time twice as
stubborn as before; he reveled in the attention – an actor in the spotlight, criminal at the tribune, a
reborn man showering in red sunrise. Still, it never was enough. He wanted to be seen, he wanted
to be heard, and for that, he needed to do something more .

A scream echoed across the Northern wing. In less than a minute, the doors of Wilbur’s chambers,
thrown open, were jammed with people. Maids and guards and servants with wide eyes whispered
to each other in shock, but everybody stepped aside when the Empress came running, the skirt of
her dress fluttering.

Windows broken. Dishes thrown over and hauled into walls. Curtains yanked from the windows,
nightstand thrown over and missing a leg, pitiful book covers laid in the ashes of their own pages,
one by one fed to now molten candles. And amongst that havoc and wreckage, stood shuddering,
deadly pale Wilbur.

A pained expression flashed on the Empress’ face; she barked out an order and the crowd was
gone. In a blink, she was by Wilbur’s side and pulling him into a hug. Wilbur's legs gave up under
him; he fell forward, into her embrace, and the tears and wails burst all at once. She guided him to
sit on the bed, and while he cried, face in her lap, Mother stroked his hair and reassured him that
it's okay, nobody's mad at you, I'm so sorry I couldn’t help.
They talked that night. Or mostly Mother talked, and Wilbur listened, feeling defeated and empty. I
understand , she said. And I'm here for you, but it can’t keep going on like this . Wilbur listened to
her words, but not because he felt guilty - he didn't regret anything, not yelling at the palace staff,
not destroying expensive furniture or stressing his family out - but because she looked so sad
saying this that it wrenched his heart. Father might not love me , he said to himself, eyelids falling
shut, but Mother surely does.

He thought it would be fair: if Techno has Father, then Wilbur should've had Mother all to himself,
but in practice the Empress hasn't shown to have a clear favorite. She loved Wilbur and comforted
him when he cried and congratulated him on all the small achievements; but the same affection
was bestowed on Techno alike. Wilbur would be sharp in his observance, watching like a hawk so
that an extra gift, a nickname or a sweet nothing wouldn't slip past him and to his brother. Fuming
with jealousy, Wilbur begrudgingly agreed to share Mother with Techno.

The Empress must’ve talked some sense into the Emperor, too – he was more patient, started
peering closer at Wilbur, inviting him to his hunting trips with Techno. Wilbur was having none of
it, however – anger and resentment turned him away each time from regretful and pleading looks.
He continued to be the nightmare of a child but kept his violent outbursts in control, knowing how
disappointed Mother would be if he didn’t.

If you want to be heard, speak louder – that’s what Wilbur thought before, but then understood that
it wasn’t about the volume but about the resonance. While Techno learned to sharpen swords and
throw spires, Wilbur mastered a weapon of his own – a silver tongue and fangs dripping with
poison.

Wilbur learned to survive in the court; swapping different masks and roles quickly became a
second nature to him. A slithering shadow with the same voice as him whispered that one day, he
would be able to rule this theater of liars and tug at every puppet's string - but he slapped it away
every time. Wilbur was disgusted by the very essence of the court, its manipulations and intrigues,
and didn't want them to have anything in common.

Peace reigned in the Imperial household once again- at least until it was announced that the
Empress is pregnant. Wilbur and Techno were to have another sibling, and while the palace and
the capital celebrated, Wilbur stood in the shadows, pale as death itself. The news struck him with
a horrifying clarity that this unborn child was to take away his mother.

Wilbur saying to the Empress that he is growing to despise this unborn baby would surely upset
her, and while his and Techno’s relationship evened out into something more friendly and tame, it
was a strained thread in comparison with their previously strong bond. In the end, he didn’t share
his dread with anybody, allowing the dark sticky hatred to grow in his heart.

The day came. The palace froze in a moment before taking a breath: the air viscous and stiff, dread
churning stomachs and words locked behind sealed lips, incongruous in the dreadful silence of
anticipation. Staff was waiting, daily duties paused. Waited the Emperor, pacing outside the doors
with hands locked behind his back. Wilbur and Techno sat together on two sides of an abandoned
game – picking up the checkers felt like too much labor, like too much disturbance in a universe
where everyone stopped breathing.

And then came the bells.

First quiet and shy, waking up after eight years of sleep, their ringing grew stronger, louder, the
wind picking up the thundering thud and carrying it over the capital. Somebody laughed in relief.
Maybe it was a servant or Techno beside Wilbur – he didn’t know, he didn’t hear. The ringing in
his ears turned to static, numbness overtaking him while a lady-in-waiting led them to the
Empress’ chambers.

The doors were open. In the sunlight peeking curiously through the curtains, they saw their
mother, leaning back on a pile of pillows: tired, but smiling. Father was right beside her, squeezing
her empty hand; the other held a small bundle to her chest. When Techno approached, his face
blank and eyes wide, it was carefully extended to him. Whatever he saw in the folds of blue fabric
made his face soften and light up.

Mother raised her eyes full of tenderness and love. "Wilbur, come meet your baby brother," she
said.

Wilbur felt his heart sink. Mother, Father, Techno – they were all looking at him expectantly.
Wilbur stood at the threshold, tense as a trapped animal, clenching the doorframe so hard his
knuckles went white. He glanced at the baby in Mother's arms – at the happy faces of his family -
and bolted, slamming the door after him.

The echo of shouting voices and baby's cries chased him in the corridors, but Wilbur didn't stop.
He sprinted, feet thumping against marble floor and tears streaming down his face, wishing that he
could outrun the time and return to when his brother wasn't born yet. The bells were still ringing in
his mind; Wilbur wondered whether they greeted a new life into the Imperial family or announced
his death.

***

Wilbur turned to loathe his newborn sibling from day one. He refused to meet his Mother with the
baby in one room and hasn't spoken to her in a few weeks as a result. While the whole palace
celebrated at a grandiose banquet, he sat, legs crossed, strumming his guitar in the solitude of his
room. Mother no longer came to him in the evenings to help with homework and listen to his new
songs – just as Wilbur had anticipated, she was torn between her responsibilities as the Empress
and caring for the child. He was now alone, once again, unloved and abandoned. Bitterness and
hate filled his heart, one directed at a baby whose only fault was in being born.

One of those days, they were having breakfast with their whole family. The Emperor suggested he
and Techno choose a name for the newborn. Techno took the book previously tucked under his
armpit and demonstrated the golden-tinted lettering, ‘ The myth of Theseus .’

That was the first bit of sympathy Wilbur felt for the baby.

“To live as Theseus his whole life? What a fucking joke ,” he mumbled, arms crossed.

“I thought you didn’t care,” Techno raised a brow.

Wilbur looked away. “I don’t.” The dark, malicious feelings were kept to the confinement of his
own skull, and the new member of the Imperial family was from that day known as Prince
Theseus.

Mother couldn't rest for too long. She had to dive back into her duties, leaving the baby at the care
of nannies. Theseus’ chambers were right across the hall from Wilbur's. Wilbur protested, saying
that if anything the baby should be closer to Techno, but the choice was made and nobody asked
for his opinion. He had to get used to waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of baby
crying; at those moments Wilbur could only clamp pillows over his ears and silently wish that
Theseus would just choke on something and shut up .

Usually either Mother herself or one of the nannies would leap to calm Theseus down, but that
night there was no sound of rushing steps, no hushed voices, only the cries that stabbed Wilbur’s
hearing. He withstood ten more minutes before the irritation overtook and he threw off the
bedcovers to stand up. He stomped out of his chambers and into the slightly opened door of
Theseus’, only to find one of his nannies, one that was supposed to be at night shift watching the
prince, passed out in an armchair.

Wilbur curled his lips in distaste, anger building up in his chest and stomach. She wasn’t
performing her duties properly – she wouldn’t even notice if somebody with malicious intent just
walked in and tried to harm the baby. The Imperial family had a lot of enemies who wouldn’t miss
the chance to use that slip-up. Sure, there were guards monitoring the corridors who would stop
any intruder from coming through, but they wouldn’t be able to do anything if the threat was
already inside the palace. If the threat lives across the hall and is now in the room with a
defenseless baby.

One step after another, Wilbur creeped closer to the cradle. His hands started shaking, his mouth
going dry. Cold shivers run up and down his spine, and that wrenching feeling – of guilt, of love to
Mother – was begging him to stop, but it was coming as if from underwater, too weak to drown out
the voice whispered sweetly into his ears, he’s the core of your problems, you hate him, they call
you a monster, so prove them right.

Moonlight spilled through the windows, lighting up two faces – one blank and the other wrinkled,
wails bursting through the gap of opened mouth. Struggling and rolling around, the baby managed
to tangle himself in a blanket, baring half his body to the cold air and the edge of fabric falling on
his face. This was the first time Wilbur ever saw Theseus so close, and not without a pinch of
disgust he noted that the youngest prince looked a lot like Father. Maybe it was for the better.
Wilbur didn’t think he could’ve harmed Theseus if he resembled Mother.

He reached out to remove the blanket from the baby’s face. His fingertips accidentally brushed
Theseus’ cheek, and the cries came to an abrupt end. The wrinkles of the baby’s face smoothened
out, and his eyelids fluttered open, revealing a pair of giant blue eyes that looked at Wilbur with
what felt like gratitude and curiosity. Wilbur stumbled backwards, and Theseus made a whining
sound that made him stop.

Wilbur ran a tongue over his cracked lips and took in a sharp breath. Why did he get startled? It’s
just a baby; a dump small human that can’t harm him – and that couldn’t know that Wilbur wanted
to harm him. Tenderly, Wilbur approached again. Theseus stretched his arms towards him: the
baby was too weak to hold them upright, and they were quivering up and down, tiny fingers
squeezing air in a pleading way. Wilbur stood stunned, frowning and unsure of what to do; he
wanted to turn around and run to his room, but just as he thought of it the baby made a sad face,
tears building up in his eyes like two diamond crystals.

Pushed forward by a sudden urge, Wilbur bent over the cradle, sliding one hand under the baby’s
head and the other along his back, copying his Mother’s movements. Wilbur was always careless
with objects, tossing them violently, ripping apart – he was only cautious with his guitar. Though
that comparison wasn’t appropriate, since Theseus was not an object at all- and that realization, for
some reason, struck him hard.

Theseus grabbed Wilbur's shirt, eyes shining like two stars. He looked like a baby chick, with tiny
golden locks on his forehead and curled around his ears, making a series of peeping-like sounds.
Wilbur pressed Theseus closer to his chest, feeling the heat of his tiny body. The frantic
hammering of his heart slowly evened out until it beat in unison with the quiet rhythm of Theseus’.
This baby was alive; this was Wilbur’s baby brother.
Now that Theseus was in his hold, the previous hate dissipated like a distant nightmare in the
afternoon, leaving a pang of guilt in its wake. Wilbur wasn’t sure what was the reason - maybe it
was the trust in those big blue eyes, maybe it was the realization of how pure and innocent the baby
was - but his body overflowed with something new, tender and so, so warm. It felt like a field of
dandelions bloomed in his chest; the sun descending from the sky and into a fragile tiny body to be
cradled in Wilbur’s arms. His heart, hardened in ice against rejection and abandonment, was slowly
melting; affection and love previously withheld by doubt and distrust overtook him all at once,
finally finding someone to latch on.

Wilbur thought about his own loneliness all the time, how he is hated by his family and now in his
arms was a baby more in need of love than he is. What if Wilbur can give him that? Wouldn't
Theseus pay Wilbur the same when he is able to consciously feel and understand?

The thought of it warmed Wilbur’s heart impossible more. He will love Theseus like he did
Techno, he will love him like Mother does. No, Wilbur already loved him more - because Mother
had to split her attention between her children, and Wilbur was ready to put his heart into those tiny
palms and give up himself whole. Theseus will become his closest family, his only attachment;
Theseus will be Wilbur’s, and Wilbur is going to be Theseus'.

"Everyone abandoned you, didn't they?" Wilbur whispered, tenderly moving hair out of the baby's
eyes. Theseus babbled back at him, and Wilbur cooed. "It's okay, songbird, I've got you."

Wilbur readjusted his hold on Theseus so he could press a kiss to his forehead. He started pacing
the room slowly, his eyes trained on the baby, rocking him back and forth. Soon enough, the
shadow of sleep passed over Theseus’ face and pushed his eyelids down. Wilbur could’ve put him
back into the cradle and leave, but the thought of parting with this warmth, giving up the
comforting weight of the baby in his arms seemed ridiculous and painful.

Wilbur spent the rest of the night with the baby. Theseus woke up crying later again, and Wilbur
soothed him down by humming a soft lullaby. He fell asleep so quietly and soundly the second
time that it was almost impossible to hear his breathing. Whenever dread would flood Wilbur’s
senses – what if Theseus stopped breathing altogether, what if Theseus had died? – he would press
his ear to Theseus’ chest and be ushered into calmness by the steady thump of his heartbeat.

By the time morning came, Wilbur was exhausted, but his chest was light in a way that he has
never felt before. This , Wilbur thought, his eyelids falling shut tiredly, what caring for someone
must feel like .

He opened his eyes again when he heard the pattern of Father’s steps, and found him standing in
the doorway, glancing in surprise between him and the snorting nanny. Wilbur fixed the blanket on
Theseus, bringing it up closer to the baby’s chin. “Be quiet,” he muttered, yawning. “My brother is
sleeping.”

***

From that day on, Wilbur spent almost every hour of his day with Theseus. He guarded his sleep,
rocked the cradle when the baby whimpered, and kept him entertained by making funny faces and
showing him different toys. Love that flared up in Wilbur so suddenly and strongly chased his
boredom away and soon started bearing fruits: he was first to see Theseus smile, first to hear his
bubbling laughter; the baby always preferred him over the nannies, and even to Mother from
Wilbur’s arms Theseus went with great reluctance.

Parents were glad that Wilbur had warmed to his brother, but weren’t taking his care too seriously,
assuming that it was just another of his passing whims. They were proved wrong soon enough;
Theseus got sick and while Mother spent nights awake taking care of the baby, Wilbur fidgeted at
the doors and refused to rest either.

“Theseus needs me,” he would say, worried and pleading. “I can’t sleep when he’s in pain.”

Mother gave in eventually, allowing Wilbur to replace her watching Theseus every now and then.
Soon enough, the baby recovered and was bubbling at them, as talkative and energetic as before.
The Imperial physician said that Wilbur’s care helped him get better faster – and it was a praise
that made him beam unlike any other word he has heard before.

Ever-present frown on Wilbur’s face was replaced with a smile; his tongue no longer curled into
sharp remarks but instead showered his brother in sweet nicknames. Theseus was quickly growing
into an energetic, restless child – some adults couldn’t catch up to the boy once he learned
crawling. Too busy looking after Theseus, Wilbur no longer had time to clash with his tutors and
terrorize his servants, and the Imperial palace breathed out in relief. His parents glanced at each
other, making some sort of decision, and he was allowed to spend as much time with Theseus as he
wanted for as long as he would do well in his studies.

Wilbur was more than satisfied with such a deal. The faster he could finish his morning classes, the
sooner he could rush to Theseus waiting for him in the playroom. One of those days, they were
building towers from wooden cubes – or to be exact, Wilbur built the towers, read exactly one page
from his book in the time it took Theseus to destroy all of them, and the cycle repeated again.

The sudden silence on Theseus’ part was what had alarmed Wilbur. He glanced up from his book
and found the toddler sitting right in front of him. “Wilby,” he chirped, offering Wilbur a cube.

Wilbur got emotional. Very emotional. It took exactly three seconds for the waterworks to start.
First it was one tear, then another, and in a blink, Wilbur was crying his eyes out. Theseus had
confidently babbled ‘Mom’ every now and then but he didn’t learn to say ‘Dad’ yet and he just
pronounced Wilbur’s name in the most adorable way possible. Wilbur’s sudden outburst of tears
surprised and confused the boy, but the pure sweet soul he was, Theseus crawled up closer,
clumsily stood up on his knees and patted the top of Wilbur’s head, “Wilby.”

In the beginning, Wilbur was afraid that his love for Theseus was a spark born in the heat of a
moment; a short-lived flame that would die out once short on fuel. But months and years have
passed, and even when Wilbur was exhausted, when his fingers curled into the shape of Techno's
missing hand, when courtiers stuff his eyes with lies and when noose of pressure and
responsibilities would tighten the silky choke, when he drowned in his own mind, shackled to the
bottom by the monsters it housed - there would always be laughter breaking through the static in
his ears; a halo of sunshine in the name of Theseus to scare the darkness away.

Eventually Wilbur understood that his love for Theseus would never wither; if anything it grew
stronger every day. I love you , Wilbur thought on early spring mornings, brushing a thumb over a
trace of pillow on the cheek of a sleepily drooping boy. I love you, Wilbur’s lips moved as he blew
dandelions into the boy’s face and smiled at his squeal of childish glee. I love you , he said,
swooping up the boy out of a pile of crunching autumn leaves and pressing a kiss to his mud-
stained locks.

“And you didn’t want to come inside,” Wilbur said as they settled in front of a fireplace after an
exhausting game of snowball in the palace’s courtyard. Even changed into dry clothes, Theseus
was still shivering, his teeth clattering against each other; Wilbur was warmed up by then but his
stomach hurt from how much he laughed. He tucked Theseus into a blanket; the boy was quick to
wrap himself into it, only his head and disheveled hair peeking out from the top.
“I’m a big man,” Theseus argued. “Big men don’t get cold.”

A servant pushed a tray towards them with two steaming mugs that smelled like heaven. Wilbur
took one of them and kneeled at the foot of the armchair, putting him on Theseus’ eye level. “Do
big men not drink hot chocolate, then?”

Theseus wrinkled his face, his mind going through complicated thought processes. Wilbur tried his
best not to laugh.

“Hot chocolate is a very manly drink,” the boy finally declared, and stretched his arms towards the
mug demandingly. Wilbur carefully passed it into his hands, and as he watched Theseus gulp on it
greedily, his eyelids drooping, he felt the happiest he has ever been in his life.

“I love you,” he said, just because he could.

It started to hurt to stand on his knees so long. Wilbur tried to push himself onto his feet, but
Theseus was faster; mug put back on the tray, his hands came to rest on the sides of Wilbur’s head,
just above his ears.

Wilbur chuckled softly, “What are you-”

Theseus pulled his head closer until their foreheads bumped together; familiarity of the motion,
reflection of the past and warmth of the present both made Wilbur’s chest throb. Seriousness
seemed foreign to the boy’s chubby round cheeks and hair fluffed up like golden feathers, but all
Wilbur saw were the eyes that burned with fierce adoration. It felt like flowing directly into his
heart, stitching it back together, mending the damage - and just like that, Wilbur felt whole again.

“I love you too, Wilbur,” Theseus said. At that moment, Wilbur knew: for his brother, he would
destroy this world and build it from the grounds up again.

***

Theseus was growing along with Wilbur. They were eating together, sleeping together; Theseus
trailed Wilbur at his very step, hand clutching the older boy’s hand or shirt. Nobles and servants
started seeing the youngest prince more, and as much as Theseus enjoyed meeting new people and
rumbling on and about, in the end he would always come running back to Wilbur and demand to
play together. What an adorable child , people said. Look how much he loves his brother.

All the compliments that Theseus received felt like Wilbur’s own, but so did the remarks- and
those were the moments where the traces of the selfish, loathed Prince Wilbur could be seen.
Wilbur had changed, and while the utter adoration on Theseus' part helped to soften the rough
edges of his character, he still couldn’t care less for how other people felt, he still was snappy,
losing himself to anger easily whenever somebody tried to scold his baby brother.

“You’re going to make Theseus as insufferable as you,” Techno once chimed in, glancing in
disapproval as they both watched Theseus throw a fit to a maid that brought him the wrong toy.

“Mind your own business,” Wilbur sneered back. He picked the boy up and ordered the maid to be
locked up in a tower for her slip-up.

In Wilbur’s eyes, Theseus was flawless, and he didn’t tolerate people arguing with that. He felt a
burning need to protect Theseus from other people’s judgment, and even from their own family. He
was always there, arms crossed, whenever Phil was giving the boy shoulder-rides or reading him a
book. Wilbur’s patience ran short quickly, and he would be shoving the Emperor away and
scooping Theseus up into arms, “Let’s go, we can’t be bothering His Majesty.”
He was convinced that Phil would try and harm Theseus in some way, or that his love for Theseus
wasn’t real, or wasn’t strong - not as strong as Wilbur’s, anyway. Nobody loved him as much as
Wilbur did with the exception of Mother. Only with her Wilbur was happy to see Theseus smiling
without the fuming clutches of jealousy- but not so much with Techno.

One day, returning from his geography lessons, Wilbur walked in on his twin playing with
Theseus. The boy gripped a wooden toy sword, swinging it around clumsily. He ‘stabbed’ Techno
with it in the stomach; Techno fell backwards with a dramatic gasp, making the younger prince
burst into giggles.

“I’ve slaughtered the minotaur!” he announced, pointing the tip of his sword into the ceiling. “I’m
the biggest man alive!”

Wilbur stiffened, hot pulsation growing in his temples. Theseus was laughing, Thesues was
smiling, but it wasn't directed at him. The maps and atlases fell from his grip and rolled on the
floor, making both prince’s heads snap in his direction.

"What are you doing?" he snarled, striding up to them with his fists clenched.

Techno stood up to his feet, shaking off the dust from his clothes. “Playing with Theseus,” he
answered nonchalantly, but the cautious glance he threw at Wilbur betrayed that he wasn’t as
relaxed as he wanted to appear to be. “What’s the matter?”

Wilbur straightened his shoulders and glared at Techno from under furrowed brows. Theseus,
sensing his mood, abandoned the game and was now looking between the twins in confusion.

"You can't do that without my permission,” Wilbur clenched his jaw.

"Why?” Techno put a hand on Theseus’ shoulder demonstratively. “Theseus is as much my brother
as he is yours."

“No he’s not!” Wilbur roared, grabbing Theseus’ wrist and yanking him away from Techno.
Techno let go of the boy immediately, and the momentum sent him flying past Wilbur, eyes blown
wide. Theseus stumbled over his own foot, dropping to his knees, the wooden sword falling out of
his hand and clattering on the floor.

Theseus burst into tears, out of surprise or pain or both. His pitiful wails torn through the bubble of
Wilbur’s anger. He was in a crouch in an instant, reaching towards Theseus with a guilt-sunken
face, but the boy flinched away from him and leaped to his feet.

“I’m so sorry, songbird. Come here,” Wilbur said, trying to give a gentle tone to his shaking voice,
but Theseus clung to Techno’s leg and hid his face in the fabric of the older prince’s pants.

Wilbur’s heart shattered. His Theseus, his brother and his treasure, was afraid of him. He made
another attempt to soothe the boy but he started screaming when Wilbur did as much as touch him.
Techno, who stayed stiff and silent so far, offered him to stay back and let Theseus calm down on
his own.

It was torture, listening as his brother’s cries turned into quiet whimpers. Wilbur was supposed to
be inside, supposed to be comforting Theseus, but instead it was him who scared the boy in the
first place. Wilbur couldn’t enter and neither could he leave; he stood outside the doors until his
knees buckled; and even then he slumped against the wall and hid his face in his knees.

At some point Father came; he took one glance at his feverish face and quivering form, pressed a
hand to his burning forehead, and ordered the guards to escort him to his room. Even then, Wilbur
fought and screamed and thrashed, and only with the soothing on Captain Sparklez’s part he finally
let himself be wrestled into bed and pushed back to rest against the headboard.

***

Soon Wilbur felt too sick to talk, let alone stand up. He dipped in and out of consciousness, always
too hot or too cold or panicking and desperately calling for Theseus. Mother and Father took turns
taking care of him; he could hear their voices and see their faces in the blur of his wakefulness. At
night a week after he fell bedridden, he opened his eyes, exhausted by the very act of lifting his
eyelids, but with a mind clear enough that he recognized two figures settled on the edges of his
bed.

“-thought that Theseus would have a positive effect on Wilbur, but now it’s obvious that their
dependency is doing them more harm than good.”

Wilbur closed his eyes again so that his parents wouldn’t notice that he was awake. His heart was
beating so loud that he was afraid it would sell him out anyway.

“What can we do?” Mother murmured, sounding sad. “You see what happened with Wilbur. We
can’t just separate them.”

“We will take things at a slow pace. Try to limit their interactions, and if that doesn’t work out…
We’ll have to distance them.”

Wilbur couldn’t help the gasp that escaped his lips, but was able to hide it by rolling to his side and
shuffling the bedcovers. Mother and Father fell silent for a minute or so before Wilbur felt a hand
gently brushing his hair and a light kiss pressed to his cheek. Both of them left the room,
continuing their conversation in hushed tones, oblivious to the horror that overtook the now very
much awake boy.

Separate , Wilbur heard his death sentence in that word- because Theseus was his life, his
songbird; Theseus taken away from him would be a fate worse than dying. Yes, he scared the boy
off with his scream, but wasn’t the sickness keeping them away from each other enough of a
punishment on its own?

All years of previous resentment were nothing in comparison with a hurricane of pure hatred that
wrenched Wilbur at that moment. He didn’t harm Theseus- he would never think of it, and yet
Father spoke of him as he was the culprit of the problem when it was Techno who provoked him to
aggression in the first place.

Wilbur couldn’t let them isolate him again - he wouldn’t survive it the second time. He wanted to
scream at someone or punch something in frustration but neither was possible in his weakened state
- and neither would help him in getting out of this situation. He dragged up a pillow and sunk his
face into it, thoughts grinding in his mind, emotions spiking like shrills of a violin.

It wasn’t too late. He could still prevent this, and if it meant shaking hands with the monsters that
he tried so hard to avoid… Then so be it.

The next day Wilbur was up on his feet and walking with Techno’s help. Theseus was allowed to
come visit him, too.

“Wilbah!” the youngest Antarctic prince exclaimed, ramming into Wilbur’s stomach. There was
not a trace of his previously skittish behavior; they hugged each other so tightly that it felt like a rib
or two cracked. Wilbur sat down on the bed and tucked him to his side like he did thousands of
 times before and Theseus hummed happily and went into rumbling about a brunette boy he saw at
the stables.

“So I don’t know his name but he hangs out there a lot and he called Captain Sparklez Dad once so
he must be his son-”

“You can tell me the rest in a minute, songbird,” Wilbur interrupted. “Techno?”

Techno glanced at from where he was looking out the window, deep lost in his own thoughts.
“Huh?”

“For one, get away from the sunlight, you’re going to get burned,” Wilbur said. “And two, I’m
sorry.”

Techno opened his mouth and closed it shut again. Wilbur wondered what surprised him more - his
apology or that Wilbur showed concern towards him. Wilbur coughed pointedly, glancing at the
windows; Techno came back to his senses and moved to sit further into the shadows. “For what?”

Wilbur sighed and allowed guilt to sip into his features. He played a lot of roles and tried on a
whole parade of different masks but feigning remorse was something that he hadn't one before.

“I was in the wrong,” he said. “You have as much right to bond with Theseus as I do.”

If Techno noticed the faint trace of a lie on Wilbur’s too-widely stretched lips or narrowed eyes, he
opted to ignore it. “Alright,” he gruffed out. “As long as you understand it, I guess.”

“No, no, I really mean it,” Wilbur said. “It seems as though Theseus is curious about the stables
and now I wonder.. Maybe you could teach him horseback riding someday soon.”

“Fuckin’ yes!” Theseus leaped to his feet. “Please, Techno, please !”

He jumped Techno and pulled on his shirt, keeping on begging and pouting. Techno sat bewildered
for around a minute before he gave in with a heavy sigh. “Sure,” he said. Theseus leaped, throwing
his hands into the air, but the twins paid little attention to him cheering; too busy staring each other
down.

What are you planning? Techno’s eyes seemed to ask.

In return, Wilbur only smirked.

Chapter End Notes

 ART BY GWYNYNY

Chapter full summary

Chapter starts from Wilbur and Techno’s childhood. They were born at the time of
troubled times between countries so they were mostly left to themselves growing up as
their parents were busy negotiating peace and building alliances. The twins sneaked
off into the capital through secret passages. Techno was bullied for his albinism,
Wilbur stood up for him and reassured that other’s opinions don’t matter because they
always would have each other.

Wilbur thinks that the rift in their relationship is put by Phil’s favoritism. He felt not
only jealous but also like Techno was being taken away from him, and that first
planted fear of abandonment in his heart. Wilbur, being an attention seeker by nature,
was trying to make up in the court for what he couldn’t get in the family. There he
started learning to play roles and to lie, and eventually his efforts led to him being
chosen the crown prince at six years old. It was a formality but it also meant that he
and Techno would study separately, with Wilbur’s classes more inclined to his future
reign, while Techno got to spend time with Phil.
The twin still sparred together and Wilbur always lost. He was thinking of it as the
reason why Phil didn’t like him that much. Captain Sparklez. the captain of imperial
guards and their sword fighting tutor, told him to try himself in music. Wilbur got riled
up by the idea and started taking lessons, growing to love to play the guitar. With
Techno’s encouragement Wilbur played for Phil but Phil shooed him away as a
distraction. Wilbur got upset, and trying to go after him, Techno got hit hard on the
face.

Wilbur didn’t mean to harm Techno and immediately regretted his actions, but Techno
started avoiding him and moved out into a different room. Guilty and convinced that
Techno hated him, Wilbur grew snappy and embittered. He became rude to the palace
staff, neglected his studies, and was acting out on purpose. Eventually this led to
Wilbur having a breakdown and being comforted by his mother, after which he grew
dependent to her love.

When it was announced that Wilbur and Techno would have another sibling, Wilbur
was internally growing to hate the child, and it only became worse once the baby was
born. By Techno’s wish the new prince was named Theseus. One of nights Theseus
wasn’t stopping crying for a long time so Wilbur to him and found the nanny fast
asleep. Wilbur felt a passing urge to hurt the baby. Theseus’ behavior and clinging to
him take him by surprise. Wilbur realized how innocent and trusting the baby was;
starved for closeness, he latched onto newfound love for his brother and watched him
for the rest of the night.

Wilbur’s attachment grew only stronger with time. Phil and Kristin were skeptic at
first but seeing how it positively affected his behavior decided that Theseus would
have a good effect on him. Wilbur continued to study to be the crown prince while
simultaneously spending time with Theseus; the boy’s second ever word was ‘Wilby’.
Wilbur repeated to Theseus many times how he loved him and Theseus started to say
it back.

Becoming protective of Theseus, Wilbur shielded him away from Phil and Techno.
One day he found Techno playing with Theseus which led to an argument and Wilbur
spooking Theseus on accident. Theseus was scared of Wilbur and avoided him; Wilbur
was so worried and guilty that he had a fever and fell sick. Wilbur woke up at night
and heard his parents discussing separating him and Theseus because their attachment
was unhealthy. Wilbur became desperate and horrified of Theseus being taken away
from him.

Next day Theseus and Techno came to visit Wilbur. Theseus told Wilbur that he saw
Captain Sparklez’s son. Wilbur interrupted him and apologized to Techno for his
behavior and asked if he could take Theseus horse-riding soon. Techno agreed but he
noticed that Wilbur wasn’t being genuine and had some sort of plan forming in his
head.

AUTHOR NOTES
Thank you everyone who comments on my fic and makes fan content for it! Check out
all the awesome fanart, tiktoks and animatics in the links below!

Though in no way Wilbur’s backstory is meant to justify his actions or make him
likable, you will see why he acts the way he does in this and part 2
ART BY GWYNYNY
 But you're still looking down from your golden throne (Wilbur's interlude
Part 2)
Chapter Summary

"What are you doing?"

Wilbur spun around and staggered into a wall. In the shadowed side of the corridor,
Techno crossed his arms on his chest, his chin tilted up and eyes gleaming silvery
blue. Wilbur was sharply aware of how he looked, sneaking around the corridor in the
depth of night; muscles tensing akin to overstretched strings, he shoved his satchel
further over his shoulder and out of Techno's sight.

"I'm-" he stuttered over his own words; wetted his dry lips and continued with forced
calmness, "taking a night stroll. What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be
by His Majesty's side?"

The lie didn't sell. Wilbur felt it in the air, the way it trembled around Techno. "You
can fool anybody but me. I know you too well, Will," Techno said, his shoulders
curving forward. "So let me rephrase that. What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Chapter Notes

READ THE TAGS. THIS CHAPTER INCLUDES POTENTIALLY TRIGGERING

ELEMENTS.

This chapter is so LONG and I'm sorry for that lmao but those scenes have been in my
head for ages, and now it's your turn to suffer

(Also huge thanks to Snow for beta-reading this massive chunk of text)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Theseus met Tubbo, and they quickly became friends, despite the prince having close to no
interactions with his peers before. Theseus was loud, rude, too brash and persistent by the court's
standards, but the captain's son seemed content with following the more confident kid's lead. That
was part of the reason Wilbur was able to bridle his jealousy and allow this friendship to develop in
the first place; looking at how constrained Tubbo was around him, avoiding eye contact and
nodding along at his every word, he thought, we can work with that.

“I’m glad that my little brother is making new friends,” he said to Tubbo with a smile that had a
little too many teeth. “I’m looking forward to the three of us spending time together.”

Wilbur pretended to be oblivious to the looks shared behind his back, less and less wary each time
he sent Theseus off with Tubbo or Techno; he didn’t show that he heard the sighs of relief on the
Emperor and the Empress’ side. Maybe Phil’s plan to force Wilbur into isolation would’ve worked
out one day if the older prince wasn’t awake on that fateful night. Instead of accepting and letting
the strings attaching him to Theseus to go loose, he learned to hide them better.

Following Wilbur was Theseus' second nature; his trust in his older brother was absolute. If Wilbur
told that the Emperor didn't want to see him, Theseus would droop one second and bounce with
excitement as soon as Wilbur suggested a new game for him and Tubbo to play. As an extension of
their closeness, Tubbo saw that every Theseus' choice was made for him by Wilbur, from the
people he talked to, to where he would be in the palace at any given moment of the day. Wilbur
limited Theseus and Tubbo's time together whenever his jealousy felt like they were getting too
close. Tubbo was too young to understand the full extent of the older prince’s control, but unease
and doubt would be written in the furrow of his brows each time Wilbur sent him away.

"I'm his brother," Wilbur used to say, his voice viscous honey, loud enough for the sweet tone to
reach the listening ears. "I know what's the best for him.”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Tubbo mumbled, keeping his eyes locked on the tips of his toes.

Wilbur hummed, satisfied. He settled a hand on the top of Tubbo’s hair, ruffling it just a bit too
roughly – not a sign of fondness but a warning. “What is said and seen between us, should stay that
way,” he said, leaning a bit closer to Tubbo’s ear. “This is a secret I trust with you, Tubbo. You
wouldn’t betray the trust of your prince, would you?”

Tubbo didn’t. He kept his mouth shut and followed Wilbur’s lead, and cautiousness that gripped
him at first slowly started letting go. In a way, Tubbo was a testing ground for Wilbur’s
capabilities, and now that he had seen how easy it was to manipulate one person, his next goal was
the entire palace.

Theseus was an impressionable child; everything that he saw left a lasting impact on his young
mind. Swearing was the most innocent of the habits that Theseus developed under Wilbur’s care.
The youngest prince was easily irritated; his mood swung around a lot and the smallest of
inconveniences shoved him into tantrums and violent outbursts that often ended with him lunging
at other people with raised fists and bared teeth. Wilbur knew that his family blamed it on him and
he didn’t care, but he saw it in the way that parents would look at Theseus, that sooner or later, the
issue would be brought up into the light.

After that conversation overheard in the fever of sickness, Wilbur was drowning in a constant state
of dread and paranoia. What if he wasn’t doing enough? What if Theseus would be taken away
from him if he couldn’t prove himself a good influence? Or even worse - somebody else will point
out Wilbur’s flaws to Theseus, and the boy will grow to despise him. Both of those scenarios
terrified Wilbur: the latter more than the former. He did his best to keep his anger in check; no
longer he argued with Techno and Phil in front of Theseus, but it wasn’t enough to remold the
shape the boy was growing into.

A chance for Wilbur to prove himself occurred out of the blue. Duchess Clara, Phil’s adoptive
sister and the woman who represented everything that Wilbur hated about the court - had a young
son named Michael who was six years younger than Theseus. Duchess Clara asked to let the boy
be brought up at the palace together with the princes; her excuse was that she, as a widow, and one
in charge of the Imperial family’s lands, could not provide sufficient education and care for him. In
reality it was a ploy to get her kid’s roots settled into the court early, Wilbur knew - but Phil took
the bait and had the princes greeting Michael at the palace gates a week later.

Michael was very thin, quiet and skittish for a three-year-old. He glanced at everyone shyly,
tiptoed around the adults and was startled by every loud sound. At this age, Theseus was talking
Wilbur’s ears off - albeit sometimes with sentences that didn’t make much sense - but nobody
heard Michael say a single word at all, even as the Imperial physician confirmed that there was
nothing wrong with his vocal cords.

Phil asked Theseus to be kind to Michael and help him adjust in the palace- but the youngest prince
was already nine at the time and wasn’t interested in playing with a toddler. While efforts of better-
tempered Tubbo and his delicate treatment were able to earn them some trust from Michael, all
progress was scraped down whenever Theseus spooked him by thundering through corridors and
talking in a raised voice and commanding tone.

Punishment would only breed anger and hate towards Michael, so Wilbur tried a different
approach. Putting his brother to sleep at night, he started explaining to him how lonely his cousin
is, how he has to live in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by strangers that don’t care for him, and
he couldn’t even tell them if there’s something he needed. The more he spoke, the less it was about
Michael and more about Theseus; about the day Wilbur held him for the first time with arms
promising to never let go.

“You could be an older brother to him, like I am to you,” he said, brushing his hand over Theseus’
hair over and over in repetitive motion. Theseus was tucked under his chin, his face to Wilbur’s
collarbone, lying so still that Wilbur thought that he had fallen asleep, but upon those words the
boy squirmed around to look at him with eyes full of crystal tears. A wounded noise of Wilbur’s
own throat, his immediate urge to soothe, to calm him down was interrupted by Theseus’ whisper:

“Will you be an older brother to Michael, too?”

Wilbur’s heart sank. He cared about his so-called cousin as much as he did about a dead rat on the
other side of the continent; but he couldn’t tell that to Theseus. The boy stared at Wilbur with wide
eyes, full of expectancy- searching for a confirmation that could never be honest on his behalf.

“Of course,” Wilbur said anyway. His smile trembled at the lips, but it was enough to soothe
Theseus’ distress and bring sleepiness into his tear-clogged eyes. The boy allowed Wilbur to wipe
them away gently, and breathed out, leaning closer to his warmth, “You’re so kind, Wilbur. I want
to be like you one day.”

Wilbur’s throat felt too tight for him to muster out another word. Instead he pulled Theseus closer
into a comforting hug, hiding the boy from his own expression of sullen guilt.

Wilbur understood, then: no matter how much of his flaws Theseus was reflecting, they could
never be the same. In his heart, Theseus was a pure, kind soul. In his heart, Wilbur was a liar.

Starting from the next day, Theseus wouldn’t leave Michael’s side. He circled him like a restless
bird, shoving his toys into the boy’s arms, holding his hand as he showed him to his room and
other parts of the palace. Wilbur was there to make sure that Theseus wouldn’t be too rough or
overbearing. Caring for his younger brother for the last nine years, he knew how to approach
children, how to keep them entertained and happy. It was all done with the aim of showing Theseus
a good example, but Michael couldn’t know that, so he got attached to Wilbur with all affection and
sincerity of that age.

The courtiers and the palace staff had noticed the changes in Wilbur’s behavior: that he longer
sought conflict and now wrestled his temper under control, was merciful and forgiving towards the
servants. Remarks and scolding was traded for politeness and respect: people who once were
disdained that the Empire would be one day ruled by the selfish Prince Wilbur now spoke of him
with hope.

He grew out of his immature behavior , they said. Somebody so good with children can’t be a bad
person . Each beaming look from Michael, each word of undeserved praise was another note in
Wilbur’s symphony of guilt – especially when it came from Theseus or his mother.

“I’m so proud of you,” the Empress said once during a ball, and Wilbur wanted to cry. His entire
existence chanted wrong, wrong, wrong , but he plastered on a grin and held it strong up until the
crowd swallowed her and he was left standing alone, save for a shadow that was cast at him from
behind.

“You’re too far lost in this play, little siren,” Duchess Clara crooned, making him flinch. “You
can’t turn back now.”

Wilbur hated to admit it, but she was right. He was too afraid of what would happen if people knew
the truth – whether Mother and Theseus would hate him if they knew what kind of a deceitful
person he truly was. It’s all for them , he told himself, and kept going.

***

As Wilbur grew older, he was involved more in Empire's matters. He was dragged along into trade
deals, handled paperwork, spent hours feigning eagerness in diplomatic negotiations. The Emperor
told him it was all to prepare him to rule the country one day - but Wilbur knew better. He was
trying to further isolate him from Theseus, and the responsibilities that he thought of as bothersome
at best now turned into a form of tormenting mockery.

How ironic it was that the throne of the Empire was to be passed onto the person that cared about it
the least of them all. Wilbur didn't want to study the subjects that Theseus wasn't interested in
listening about, hated wasting his time in the cabinet meetings and he certainly did not approve of a
foreign princess living in the palace for a few months each year – at least not until he actually met
Niki.

She was the second person of royalty that Wilbur had genuine respect for, first being his own
mother. Niki’s eyes would shine, her words burning something fierce every time she talked about
her homeland. The crown princess of Drywaters was a deliberate collection of the best features that
can be found in royalty: humility, selflessness, ambitiousness and competence.

Simply put, Niki was everything that Wilbur wasn’t, and on top of that – a great friend. Theseus
was too young to understand certain things yet, and it felt nice to have somebody to just listen,
without any prejudice and judgment, to what Wilbur wanted to say. It’s from Niki who Wilbur
sought comfort and advice from, and it’s not to Techno but to her that he went when Mother’s
sickness started getting worse.

“I can only imagine how worried you must feel,” the princess said. Staring numbly at the fretwork
of the ceiling, Wilbur heard her words through a thick fog. “But the Empress wouldn’t want you to
be in a downbeat mood on your birthday. I’m not meant to say that, but-” she paused. “Theseus has
prepared a special present for you.”

That made Wilbur perk up. He nagged Niki for the rest of the day, but she refused to spoil the
surprise, so Wilbur barely got any sleep, and the first thing he did in the morning was try not to
shake with excitement as he knocked on Theseus’ door. Any sort of self-control was forgotten,
though, as soon as he was proudly handed out a handmade yellow sweater.

That evening Wilbur stood outside the throne room, thrumming with anticipation. Theseus was
already inside amongst other guests, but Wilbur couldn’t come in without the second celebrant of
the grand gathering.

“You’re still wearing that horrendous sweater?”

Techno appeared out of nowhere, in his best manner of sneaking up on people. Wilbur didn’t jump
but cast a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder.

“Your face is horrendous,” Wilbur pointedly fixed the blue coat he tugged on over the sweater,
identical to the one that Techno was wearing. “I look fabulous .”

Techno crossed his arms and gave him a ‘I very doubt that’ kind of look. “I’m glad to see that your
ego is still intact.”

“Same goes for your sense of humor.”

Techno chuffed out a laugh, and Wilbur joined in with a quiet snicker. For a second, it felt like they
were back to how they used to be before: two brothers, connected by something more than the
blood coursing through their veins.

“How is Mother feeling?” Wilbur asked, once he felt like the silence was comfortable enough to try
and test the grounds beneath the surface.

“She overworked herself again. Father got her to get some rest.”

Wilbur looked away. “Ah,” he said, swallowing through a hard lump in his throat. “Well, I suppose
we shouldn’t have everyone waiting.”

He made a move for the door, but Techno’s voice caught him mid-step, “Will? Can I ask you for
something?”

Wilbur cocked his head, indicating agreement. Techno opened and closed his mouth; his lips
moved, fiddling with words as he picked them out carefully.

“Just this once,” he said. “Could you be benevolent to Father? I know you’re not on the best terms
with him but he tried his hardest to make this day memorable for both of us without Mother’s
help.”

There it was, the other shoe. Wilbur couldn’t say that he was surprised. Techno’s reasons for
approaching him always had something to do with Phil, but it still stirred an old wound, jostled a
piece of debris stuck somewhere in-between his lungs. And yet…

“Alright,” Wilbur shoved his hands into the pockets, throwing his head back and schooling his
features into something akin to nonchalance. “I’ll behave.”

They proceeded to enter the throne room. As soon as Wilbur stepped a foot inside, every single
person turned to him and Techno, bowing. Only Theseus stood out, grinning in the middle of the
gap cleared for them to pass through - he never bowed to Wilbur, no matter how much he got
scolded for it, because it never failed to make Wilbur smile. He ducked his head to hide how his
lips stubbornly tugged upwards but briefly brushed a hand over the boy’s back as they made their
way towards the thrones.

Wilbur tried to not look at the empty seat of the Empress. Instead, he glanced at the Emperor - the
throne coated with gold, at the long lazuli cloak trailing to the stairs, and wordlessly ducked to one
knee, bowing lowly as a sign of respect. Beside him, Techno mirrored his movements. Wilbur
caught his grateful glance from the corner of his vision and smirked, moving his lips: “Happy?”

“We greet His Majesty the Emperor,” they said in unison, and Phil gestured them over to stand up.
With a clap of his hands, the ballroom came alive: a bow brushed the violin strings, and the guests
started moving, forming pairs for the first dance. Wilbur was stuck standing next to the Emperor in
awkward silence. It was always like between them; not that Wilbur didn’t have any resentment to
spill, he just didn’t see any point in it. In his eyes, Phil was too far gone as a father; he was just the
person who would dump the crown on him one day.

“How are you enjoying the celebrations this far?”

Phil’s eyes passed over Wilbur’s sweater; a thought flickered in his eyes but was left unsaid. It
seemed like they agreed on a temporary truce today, so Wilbur bit back a remark and decided to
play along.

“It’s a bit too lavish, don’t you think?” Wilbur tilted his chin at the crowd that barely fit into the
throne room, as massive as it may have been. Smell of food, flowery perfume and sweat all
clogged his nose; Wilbur winced and tried to concentrate on the dancing pairs instead.

A hurricane of gold and diamond blue broke out in the center of the ballroom. Theseus rammed
through the strict rows of two and snatched Niki’s hand out of a hold of some bewildered
gentleman. Theseus’ energy was contagious; with snickers and giggles and swirl of silk skirts,
younger nobles tugged one another into a circle dance. Wilbur was glad that, at the very least,
Theseus was having some fun.

Phil hummed. “All those people came here to meet their future emperor.”

They came seeking a warmer place under the sun , Wilbur corrected internally. And to see whether
I can provide it . He could feel it: all those gazes sticking to him, cold hands tugging and picking
him apart. It was going to be a long evening, so Wilbur shrugged indifferently and sank into his
throne to the right side of the Emperor’s.

He drifted in his own mind, for long enough to miss the moment when the Emperor took Techno
aside to talk. Wilbur only was snapped back to reality when Theseus popped up in front of him, red
cheeks blown-up and forehead coated in sweat.

“’m tired,” he complained, dropping on the armrest of Wilbur’s throne. Wilbur hummed,
something between an acknowledgement and an agreement, not quite coming back to his senses
yet. Theseus’ eyes snapped open, “What happened, Will? Is something wrong?”

Wilbur didn’t know how to break it to Theseus. ‘I don’t want any of this,’ swirled in his mind over
and over again. Wilbur just turned eighteen and his fate was already sealed: no other options, no
possibilities, only carpeted steps leading to a golden cage. A lot of things were wrong with Wilbur,
but the worst of them all was that he was cheated out of his own life.

Following Wilbur’s gaze sliding over the crowd’s heads, Theseus interpreted his silence
differently. “Don’t worry about it too much, Will. I know you’re going to be the best emperor
ever.”

He leaned forward, taking his hand and squeezing it with such genuine concern that Wilbur felt
guilty for making him worry- though some part of him, the part that whispered, mine mine mine ,
gulped his words like a fish stranded on the shore would air. In the end, he could endure anything,
for as long as Theseus was by his side.

"And you'll be the best right hand man, Theseus,” Wilbur smiled and squeezed his hand back.

Theseus laughed, but it was a short, awkward thing. It wasn’t a wordless agreement, and no playful
bickering or heartfelt promises followed; Theseus was just silent, and Wilbur suddenly felt very
cold.
“Theseus?” he tried, cautious, dreadful.

Theseus jostled his shoulder and casted a glance somewhere at the ceiling. His legs were swinging
up and down mindlessly where he still occupied the throne’s armrest.

"Techno is going to be your right hand man," the boy chided. “He’s your twin and second-in-line
for the throne.”

That was just a restatement of a well-known truth, but Wilbur still knew that it wasn’t all of it.
“So? Doesn’t mean that you won’t have an important place in my cabinet.”

Theseus never was one to dance around topics for too long. His legs froze; he turned back to look at
Wilbur with an expression more serious than he had ever seen him bear.

"I'm a thirdborn, Will. We don't get to do jack shit,” he said, and his lips stretched into a grin, “and
that's awesome, because once I grow up I get to do whatever I want.”

“And what is it that you want?” Wilbur asked quietly.

“I want to join a ship crew. See the world, maybe become a pirate captain,” Theseus’ tone turned
dreamy, his eyes - unseeing, like he was imagining himself somewhere far away, gripping the
steering wheel of a galleon cutting through ocean waves. “That’d be very cool, I think. I’d like to
have a pet parrot.”

“You would leave me, if given a chance?” Wilbur’s face was blank but the drop of his voice
snapped Theseus back into the real world.

"Well, it’s too early to speculate on that, innit?" Theseus lifted his shoulders into a shrug,
dismissive and relaxed, as if he didn't just turn Wilbur’s entire upside down. "We've got plenty of
time to figure that out. Dad's not going to retire any soon."

That didn’t make Wilbur feel any better. His mind was spiraling, his body felt cold despite the
sweat cramming his back. Wilbur was so focused on keeping the dangers away from their nest that
the songbird will one day want to fly.

“You don’t even know how to swim,” Wilbur barked back, frowning, and it came out much more
aggressive than he intended. Theseus looked back at him, eyes wide, his body leaning away ever so
slightly, and Wilbur bit down on his tongue, “You’re right, it’s too early to think about it yet,” He
paused. “And you know what?”

Theseus asked cautiously, “What?”

“The physician said that Mother might feel better in warmer weather. I heard Mother and Father
talking about taking a vacation somewhere in the south next autumn.”

And just like that, Theseus was back to a grinning mood. “Yeah, we’re going to go to a real beach!”
He threw his hands into the air and immediately lost his balance, screeching as he fell backwards in
Wilbur’s lap. Wilbur caught him in his arms. Blinking in each other’s faces, the two brothers burst
into laughter, ignoring the odd looks they received from the guests.

***

That vacation never happened. Mother didn’t live until next autumn, passing away shortly after
Summer Solstice. She was sick for over a year at that point. In the beginning, it was just the weak
chest pains; she shooed away the physicians and insisted on attending to her duties as regular. It
wasn't until she fell bedridden, coughing up blood, that the mysterious sickness was declared fatal.

Her passing wasn't something unexpected, but it struck Wilbur all the same. Nothing can ever
prepare a child to the death of their mother and no-one knows grief until they lived through it. He
didn't recognize familiar, dear features on the face of the cold, lifeless body, but as it was lowered
into the ground, Wilbur was saying goodbye not only to his mother, but to his childhood and his
home. There was nothing that connected him to the Empire anymore except for the boy whose
hand he was squeezing.

Wilbur couldn’t say that the decision to run away was spontaneous - the idea was brewing at the
back of his mind ever since Theseus mentioned wanting to leave - but now that it came down to it,
he wasn’t so sure about it anymore. The ground crumbled beneath Wilbur’s feet and yet the
thought of stepping into the unknown was just as terrifying as staying in debris.

Wilbur’s hands shook at the dinner; he dropped a glass and cut his palm on a shard. The Emperor
didn't even flinch; his face sunk deep into his hands. ‘She is gone ,’ those terrible words, said in
Father’s voice, repeated in Wilbur’s head over and over again. That was two days ago, and he
didn’t utter a word ever since, not even when Theseus asked in the morning where Mother was, not
when he tugged, confused and scared, at the blue cloak. Wilbur suddenly felt very angry; he swung
an arm at the servants hovering over him with bandages and slammed his bloodied hand on the
table.

“ Why are you not saying anything ?” he shouted, sprouting up. “Why are you so silent ?”

Theseus shrank in on himself. Techno stared ahead, unseeing and wordless. Wilbur ignored them
both, screaming and shouting; he wasn’t sure when he ran out of air, but next thing he knew, he
was hunching over the table, heaving and shuddering with hot tears.

It was then that Phil looked up. Wilbur choked on his own saliva; he has never seen anything more
horrifying in his life than those heavy, glassy blue eyes. Wilbur’s nature was that he always sought
someone to hate, someone to blame; but he couldn’t see the villain in those eyes. Father looked like
he grieved. He just looked human.

Phil stood up quietly and left, never saying a word. Techno glanced once at Wilbur and Theseus,
then turned to the Emperor and strode after him. Wilbur was left standing with tear streaks drying
on his face, next to Theseus hiding his face in his knees. It was the sound of the boy’s whimper
that snapped Wilbur out of his stupor and drove him to Theseus’ side.

“Do you trust me, songbird?” he asked, gently cupping Theseus’ face into his hands. Instead of an
answer, the boy sunk into his arms: a small, exhausted heap of sobs. That, in the end, sealed his
plans; Techno made his choice, and Wilbur made his.

That night, Wilbur prepared haphazardly, putting on his travel clothes, throwing golden coins and
jewelry into a satchel. He barely took anything but money, reasoning that anything else would only
slow them down. Wilbur left his guitar and only paused at the yellow knitted sweater, Theseus’
present- it was painful to toss it to the side, but where they were going, they would exchange a
thousand more gifts like this and create new memories. First thing that Wilbur needed to do was
get them out of the palace.

He slid the door open, and ducking away from lantern light, creeped closer to Theseus’ chambers.
Wilbur decided not to tell him anything until the very last moment; he didn’t want to risk anybody
cutting his plan short. Sleepy and confused, Theseus was more likely to follow Wilbur without
questions.
"What are you doing?"

Wilbur spun around and staggered into a wall. In the shadowed side of the corridor, Techno
crossed his arms on his chest, his chin tilted up and eyes gleaming silvery blue. Wilbur was
sharply aware of how he looked, sneaking around the corridor in the depth of night; muscles
tensing akin to overstretched strings, he shoved his satchel further over his shoulder and out of
Techno's sight.

"I'm-" he stuttered over his own words; wetted his dry lips and continued with forced calmness,
"taking a night stroll. What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be by His Majesty's side?"

The lie didn't sell. Wilbur felt it in the air, the way it trembled around Techno. "You can fool
anybody but me. I know you too well, Will," Techno said, his shoulders curving forward. "So let
me rephrase that. What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Techno's usual cold nonchalance was gone, replaced by seething fury. Wilbur could feel it
radiating from his skin, and the jerk of Techno's foot, a step barely withheld, had his heart picking
up pace.

Wilbur bit his tongue down, sobering from the metallic taste on his tongue; he had never been
afraid of his twin before, and he refused to be now.

"What I should've done ages ago," Wilbur straightened, brows set into a stubborn glare. "I'm
getting the fuck out of here, and I'm taking Theseus with me."

Techno breathed in: a sharp, whistling sound. Like he knew what Wilbur’s answer would be, but
he hoped until the last moment for a different outcome. His anger was wrestled back into
something more tame, but thrumming just beneath the surface, ready to jostle back at any moment
was something more sinister - a threat, a warning.

"Really, Will?" Wilbur never has heard so much disgust in Techno’s voice. "Theseus just lost his
mother, and you want to take him away from the only family he has left?"

Laughter boiled deep in Wilbur's stomach and bubbled in his throat. "Family?" he raised his voice,
incredulous. "Are you talking about Phil? About yourself?” Wilbur spat to his feet. “Don't humor
me, Technoblade. I'm Theseus' family, the only one he needs."

Techno took a step forward. "And who are you to decide that?"

"I'm his brother, the one who raised him,” Wilbur moved forward, mirroring Techno. “ I was there
when you and Phil were too busy playing the perfect son and father. I was there to comfort him
when Mother was sick. I care about Theseus more than any of you did!"

"You only care about yourself!" Techno roared, cutting the distance between them down to a few
feet.

Air clogged Wilbur's throat, making him choke and heave. "You call me selfish?" he screeched as
soon as he regained control over his vocal cords. "I dedicated my entire life to loving Theseus after
you and Father threw me out like a piece of useless trash!"

" Do you even hear yourself ?" Techno threw his hands into the air, his voice breaking and
something in-between a growl and a scream. "You're so caught up with yourself that you don't
realize how much people around you do for you. You created this imaginary world where
everybody hates you so you could keep pitying yourself and isolating Theseus!"
A noise from behind Theseus’ door had them both shutting up and listening to it with rapidly
beating hearts. It sounded like he stirred in his sleep, dropping a pillow or a stuffed toy on the floor,
but soon silence consumed the corridor again, only interrupted by the sound of Wilbur and
Techno’s heavy breathing.

"You know nothing about what my life is like,” Wilbur whispered. “You don't know what it's like
to feel abandoned, what it's like to bear the weight of the crown.”

“How terrible it must be, to have the whole world revolving around you.”

Wilbur clenched his hands into fists, his spine springing upright.

“If my life seems so easy to you, you can have it.” He yanked his earring off, nearly ripping his
earlobe in the middle, and flung it at Techno’s feet. The emerald trinkled pitifully and rolled away,
Techno’s widened gaze following its short path.“The crown, the throne - I'm leaving, and they are
all yours, Prince Technoblade ."

"You're not going to survive a day out there on your own,” Techno said, lips pursed, but Wilbur
was already reaching for the handle of Theseus’ door.

Techno slapped a hand over Wilbur’s wrist. "You know what?” he snarled. “ Fine . You can go and
die all I care, but I'm not going to let you drag Theseus down with you.”

“You cannot tell me what I can or cannot do,” Wilbur spat, trying to wrestle his wrist out of his
brother's grip. Techno let him go himself, shoving Wilbur away so hard that he slammed his back
into a wall.

“You get out of here now, or I'm calling the guards, and the Emperor will lock you up until the day
of your coronation,” he said darkly, and Wilbur knew that it wasn’t just a threat. It was a promise.
The fact that nobody came running to the sound of their screams was a huge convenience on its
own; the servants and the guards were sent away to let the family grieve in solitude, and Wilbur
would never get another chance like this. He either would leave then and seek a chance to get
Theseus out or both of them would be stuck in this palace forever.

Wilbur took a step back, then another. Each inch that separated him and Theseus was another pinch
of a needle in his skin. "I'll come back,” he promised: to Techno, to Theseus, and to himself. “And
when I do, and Theseus chooses me, you're not going to stop him from leaving."

Wilbur stormed away the back of his eyes burning, his chest expanding and squeezing too terribly
out of pace. He stumbled over his own feet, jostling to look over his shoulder, but Techno never
followed him - the image of his ghostly white silhouette and disgusted scorn got printed at the back
of Wilbur’s eyelids. Part of him wanted to turn around and rush into Theseus' room, fall at the feet
of his bed and break into tears, but that would be admitting that Techno was right. In the end
Wilbur’s stubbornness alone got him to one of the secret passages - he slipped behind the
bookshelf and left the home of his first eighteen years of life.

Wilbur bargained his way onto a ship sailing over the ocean and onto another continent. Drywaters
and Kinoko kingdom were too closely allied with the Empire; if he ever got discovered both royal
families would hand him over on a silver plate. Wilbur needed to go somewhere where Emperor
Philza's power and influence couldn't reach - so he turned his gaze towards the ocean.

Wilbur burned with determination to make Theseus' dream come true: in due time he would find a
suitable crew to join or buy a ship of his own. It didn't matter that the endless waves made Wilbur's
stomach churn with unease; for as long as Theseus would be happy, his own wishes weren't worth a
pinch of dust. Swallowing bile, tucking his legs up to fit into a cramped space of a cabin, he
wondered if Theseus was doing any better than him.

***

The storm played with the ship like it was a child's toy. The masts croaked and cried under the
strain of blistering winds, and the rain pinned Wilbur's soaking and shaking wet figure to the deck.
In the chaos of panicked screams and lighting strikes Wilbur failed to notice when his fingers
slipped and a giant wave hauled him overboard and into an awaiting grasp of black depth.

His eyes burned. His chest burned. He was drowning in ice-cold water and every cell of his body
felt like it was on fire. Wilbur fought till the last moment, kicking and thrashing for the surface, but
his lips burst open and water rushed in. I'm going to die , he realized. I'm going to die and will
never see Theseus again.

Maybe that desperate thought of a dimming mind burst through the waves and turned into a dying
prayer. Wilbur survived. Out of over forty people on that ship his unconscious body alone made it
to the shores of L'manburg to be later found by Sally Soot, a woman with fiery temper and eyes the
color of southern seas.

Years later their first meeting would be turned into something out of a cheap novel that bored
nobles waste afternoons with. When Wilbur woke up on that beach, it wasn't to a beautiful lady
gently brushing hair out of his face, it was to a kick to his ribs that forced a gasp into his windpipe
and had him vomiting up water all over the said lady's feet.

Once Wilbur was able to breathe again, he crumpled to the sand. Floating on the brim of
consciousness, he was still taken aback by the range of colorful swears that Sally spilled - out of
disgust or because she did not expect the lifeless body on the beach to move, Wilbur wasn't sure.
Once Sally was done cussing out the skies, him and his ancestors, a long pause followed, and then
Wilbur felt hands around his ankles.

Sally dragged him on the sand with a surprising amount of strength but not with much delicacy. It
took Wilbur's head bashing against three different stones for him, dehydrated and swallowing
down whimpers of pain, to kick her hands away and stagger himself into a fragile balance of
wobbling knees and feet.

"Fuck off," he rasped.

"Shut up dumbass, I saved your life," Sally spat right back, and Wilbur didn't have any strength to
fight as she hauled his arm over her shoulders. Tell him at that moment that one day he'd marry that
woman, and Wilbur might have considered flinging himself back into the ocean.

For the longest time Wilbur wasn't sure why exactly Sally decided to save him. First Sally brought
him over from that beach to her house and nurtured him back into good health. And when it
became apparent that Wilbur had no one to go to she didn’t kick him out either - not even when he
refused to tell where he came from.

He expected to be thrown out. A part of him wanted to be thrown out, to the streets swallowed by
shadows, where he would be claimed by hunger or a stray knife of a clumsy robbery. He wished it
would plunge straight through his ribs and into his heart. Maybe then it finally would stop hurting
to think that Techno was right all along.

In his core, Wilbur was a forestfire; the flames burned and fed on everything and everyone until
there was nothing but ashes, just a pile of warm soot. Surely there was a limit to Sally's patience.
Surely if Wilbur pushed hard enough, he would see her burn too.

Sally yelled and swore bloody murder but that was just as far as Wilbur was able to push her. Every
other person he ever met in his life had snapped at some point: it happened with Father, it
happened with Techno, but Sally never buckled and it was confusing Wilbur.

It was when news of Theseus’ investiture spread to L’manburg that all of it struck Wilbur at once.
Oh how much he wanted to crack Techno’s skull open at that moment. It was supposed to be you ,
not Theseus, Wilbur screamed at the walls. He hated Techno for being a coward, hated Phil for
making the same mistake twice, but more than anything - he hated himself.

Wilbur failed to be a brother. He swore to find a new home for him and Theseus, but didn’t even
make it out of the Empire's borders. Wilbur failed to be prince; the love for his country was born
dead, a flower that withered before it could bloom. Wilbur failed to be a good son, too; he failed to
let her know how much he loved her - his beautiful, gentle, dear mother.

And now she was dead. And the only other person who cared about Wilbur - the only person who
valued his pitiful existence, the one who Wilbur held tenderly in-between his palms was on the
other side of the continent, forced into the very role that Wilbur had run away from.

The shipwreck didn't kill him. The ocean didn't kill him. In the end, Wilbur didn't need either; the
fire burning inside of him was a murderer of its own: agonizing and slow, taking pleasure in
snapping each string that kept Wilbur from plummeting into the void. He lost everything that he
had ever cared for - so was there a point in living anymore?

"Wilby," Theseus cried - a whisper in his ear, an echo over his shoulder; Wilbur whipped his head
around but the boy never was here in the first place; instead his eyes fell on an old guitar hanging
on a wall. And it was such a painful reminder of everything that Wilbur lost - he momentarily
forgot where he was, grabbed the guitar and smashed it into pieces with one desperate swing.

That’s how Sally had found him, standing on his knees, chin to his chest, his hands a mess of blood
and wooden splinters. She took one look at what had remained of the guitar and said, “It used to be
my sister’s.”

And Wilbur crumbled . He dropped to his elbows and muttered like a madman, “I’m sorry, I’m
sorry, I’m sorry. ” Curling his fingers into fists, he only ruined them more; but Wilbur didn’t
process it until strong hands grabbed his wrists and forced him to stop. When he was finally able to
come to his senses, he met Sally’s bright turquoise eyes and saw her brows uncurve in relief.

“You have so many issues,” she sighed, yanking out a splinter out of his palm with her bare nails.
“Are you done having a breakdown, or should we sit on the floor for the rest of the night?”

Sally helped him to pull out the rest of the splinters and bandage his hands. Wilbur watched her
sweep the trash into a pile. Sipping tea from a chipped clay mug, he struggled to collect his
thoughts: he wanted to ask Sally a thousand questions but settled on just one.

“Why?” he muttered, eyes trained on the steam rising from the drink. “Why are you helping me?”

Sally paused for a moment, the broom frozen mid-swipe for a few seconds, after which it was
propped up against a threshold. “I’ll check again if there’s any left in the morning,” she said,
stretching her back tiredly. “Try to get some sleep. I want to show you something tomorrow.”

***

When Wilbur woke up, he felt like somebody had chewed on him and spit him right back:
exhausted, irritated and burning with shame over his pathetic state the night prior, he was certainly
not in the mood for a walk. Sally, however, kept true to her words; rummaging through an old,
iron-coated chest, she tossed him a simple linen shirt and a brown trench coat. Wilbur put them on
and stared at himself in the reflection of a window.

“I look homeless,” Wilbur pressed his lips together.

“You will be homeless if you won’t stop complaining.” Sally slapped a red beanie over his brown
curls. “Follow me and try not to get lost, ‘cause I won’t be looking for you if you do.”

Wilbur didn’t have any high expectations for L’manburg. It was one of those places that most
cartographers wouldn’t bother marking on a map. A long time ago, it had been a beautiful place;
with bridges and paths lodged over on wooden beams, lantern light playing in the colored glass
windows and children chasing each other to сandy stands. Now the buildings were huddling
together in pitiful crooked heaps, wind whistling through collapsed walls.

I thought you were poor, but it looks like everybody else is too , Wilbur wanted to huff at Sally, but
something made Wilbur cramp his mouth shut. Maybe it was the look on her face - one that
reminded Wilbur of Niki when she talked about Drywaters - or maybe it was the realization
building at the back of his mind that this was still the Antarctic Empire .

Logically, Wilbur knew that not all of the Empire could live in the same luxury that he grew up in.
Poverty was an issue in the faraway regions, especially on the border territories once torn by war,
but thousands of facts forced into Wilbur’s memory from textbook pages and his tutor’s words
couldn’t come any closer to seeing it all with his own two eyes. The streets were cleaner and wider
as they got closer to the town center; newer buildings popping up more often, but it was twice as
crammed with people and animals alike. Too many sounds, too many faces; Wilbur felt, with every
cell of his body, that he was a stranger; an alien, and a traitor.

Up until a few months before, he, the so-called crown prince, hadn’t known a thing about what
people lived like outside of palace walls. It made his chest feel tight in a way that echoed guilt.
Wilbur bit the inside of his cheek and shook the feeling away - he had nothing to be guilty of. It
wasn’t his fault that he was born in a family of royals; now that ran away he didn’t have any more
responsibility over this town or those people at all. Wilbur told that to himself yet his stride came
to be slow and uneven, his eyes straying to look at a street boy with sullen eyes and face smeared in
soot. It wasn’t Theseus, it wasn’t his brother, but his mind told that he could be someone else’s.

A vendor shoved a basket of beheaded fish under his nose - so far furthest possible from fresh,
despite what the old man had barked out - and he stumbled away, closing his eyes and nose shut
and trying his hardest not to throw up. When Wilbur was able to peel his eyelids open, Sally was
nowhere to be seen. Wilbur’s head snapped around in search of the bright torchlight of her hair, but
the kicks and shoves of elbows had quickly pushed him out of the crowd.

“Fuck,” Wilbur gritted out, sinking down to his heels. He was utterly and completely lost.

“Baa,” he heard someone say, and something soft nudged itself into Wilbur’s hand. He looked up
and found a pair of big beady eyes directed into his own wide-open and brown. Wilbur had never
seen an animal like this: it stood on legs so thin they seemed like they could snap from a touch,
and was covered in something akin to blueish gray fur. Altogether, tiny and ridiculously adorable.

The animal bleated again,and raised its front legs to be propped against Wilbur’s knees. His noise
of confusion turned into a high-pitched coo, “Hello, friend. What are you?”

Wilbur carefully petted the fluff on the animal’s head and oh fuck, it was so soft . He could feel a
stupidly large smile growing on his face - a genuine expression free of snarkiness that normally
dripped from his words.

“You have never seen a sheep before?”

Wilbur nearly jumped out of his own skin. Sally stood, leaning against a post, her arms crossed and
an eyebrow tilting upwards; he would’ve grimaced but his lips refused to drop that idiotic smile
until he physically wiped it away with the back of his hand.

“Of course I know what sheeps look like,” Wilbur hoped that a glare would send his point across.
“Aren’t they supposed to be bigger and like,” he spread his hands to two sides, “thicker?”

“It’s a baby. A lamb,” Sally said, and Wilbur his face rapidly turning red. More so when he
realized when an older woman pointedly coughed at them - no doubt the owner of the said lamb.

Wilbur didn’t want to leave it, not when it so desperately pressed its head into his palm, but it was
dragged away by the lead crying and bleating. Wilbur could’ve tried to scoop it up and run, but he
still was feeling guilty before Sally for what happened yesterday and didn’t want to cause her any
more trouble.

Something flashed behind Sally’s eyes; or so Wilbur imagined, because next second she whirled
around and gestured him over. “Come on, it’s right here.”

Wilbur followed Sally out of the narrow street; the rough spruce path expanded into a large town
square. His gaze coasted small shops, decorative vines blooming and hanging from tiled roofs
without any interest - until his foot got caught on a bouquet of flowers. Wilbur tilted his chin up
and froze.

Flowers. Flowers were everywhere: carpeting the pavement, stacked on top of each other as if the
clouds had rained petals for days straight. Even as Wilbur blinked to make sure he wasn’t
imagining things, colors flickered at the back of his eyelids - blue and purple and so much pink that
it made him want to squeeze his eyes shut. Once his gaze fell on what the flowers were
surrounding, however, to the stone figure whose feet they laid a path to, he no longer had any
control over his body.

Wilbur swayed. His knees buckled. Sally’s hand on his upper arm stopped him from slipping and
falling. “You didn’t know of the Empress’ passing?” Sally, for once, sounded sympathetic.

Wilbur almost forgot that most people outside of the palace didn’t know what she looked like. The
stone figure, carved out with care that spoke of something more than skill and practice, was
missing a face; instead a long black veil slid down from a wide-brimmed hat and onto her
shoulders.

That’s my mother , Wilbur’s heart wrenched. It kept twisting and churning and he knew for sure
that if he didn’t force himself to breathe he would pass out soon.

“No, it’s just-” he heaved, squeezing air out of his lungs. “It’s been three months. And those
flowers-”

His question didn’t require an answer; Sally’s eyes guided him around the square, to a young girl
picking out the withered stems and replacing them with fresh flowers, to the dozens of people
doing the same thing.

“Pink carnations, symbols of gratitude,” Sally hummed. “Empress Kristin cared about this town
when everybody else pitied its existence. This is the least we could try and pay her back. You
asked me why I helped you - and my answer is that because you looked like you needed help.
That’s it.”

Wilbur didn’t know what to say. He had a hard time wrapping his head around Sally’s answer. He
was so used to seeking malicious intent in others that the thought of somebody doing something out
of the kindness of their heart hasn't crossed his mind at all. Wilbur was half a continent away from
home and everything that made him the way he is - yet he continued to carry that burden. A
prisoner wearing a shackle on his ankle for years can't remember what it's like to walk without a
limp.

“I don’t know what happened to you,” Sally said. “But whatever it is, you’re here now. This is
your second chance.”

A second chanc e. Wilbur dwelled on that thought, let it sink deeper and deeper as his eyes traced
the tremble of the veil on the wind. He suddenly understood how tired he was; not just his body but
every inch of his soul cried to be relieved from its burden.

This time, when Wilbur stumbled, Sally didn’t try to catch him; she let him sink with his knees into
the flowers.

“A second chance,” Wilbur echoed, testing the word on his senses: it tasted of salt and smelled of
pink carnations. Satisfied, he threw his head back and smiled. “That sounds nice.”

***

Sally ended up buying that lamb for him, and the start of Wilbur’s new life was marked with
learning how to care for Friend.

Next six months spent in Lmanburg went by fast and bright. He was always so caught up with
Theseus, protecting him, and loathing everybody else that he forgot that he could exist outside of
those three things. Wilbur stumbled off the path he mindlessly followed for the past ten years and
for the first time was able to look around and truly feel and see.

Wilbur took jobs around L’manburg: making new acquaintances and sinking into the life of a
commoner. He hadn’t put much thought into how people lived outside of high society before, but
now he had the answer - straining their muscles, from early sunrise to deep darkness. His hands,
previously only familiar with the weight of a quill and handle of a sword, soon were almost as
colloused as Sally’s: skin roughened from the heavy boxes he lifted, small scars trailing his palms
and fingers.

Each night Wilbur went to sleep exhausted, but the ache chewing on his body reminded him, you
are alive. You are alive and you are getting better.

Unfortunately for Sally, Wilbur's newfound will for life only fueled his attempts to get on her
nerves. He showed up at the doors, covered from head to toe in leaves, grinning as he handed her a
rose plucked out of their neighbor's garden, sheared Friend's side in the shape of a heart and
brought him into the house (Friend chewed on their curtains. Sally wasn't happy about that), and
almost burned the kitchen down because he wanted her to try cookies by Niki’s recipe. Wilbur
wasn’t sure his compliments became more than just running jokes; when Sally started getting
flustered instead of annoyed, but before he knew it he was proposing to her on one knee.

“You’re living in my house and we already argue like a married couple,” Sally shrugged. “Might as
well make it official.”
The line between right and wrong, good and bad, had always been blurry to Wilbur. Mother had
been the beam of a lighthouse that he sought in the darkness. In a way she continued to direct him
even after her death, but as seasons changed after one another grief turned into throb and into a dull
ache. Wilbur strove to be a better person - first for Sally, then for Fundy, and as he grew to love
L’manburg - for the entirety of the town.

When the Empress was still alive, she didn't allow for the south to be neglected, but now
L’manburg and surrounding lands were fully under the ruling of local nobles with Baron Quackity
as their head. Quackity was a figure surrounded by mystery and fear. Being an illegimate child -
born from a servant or a slave, depending on who you asked from - he only had stepped in his
father’s place for the lack of any other blood relatives. The previous baron had another son once,
but he went missing after a group of bandits attacked the carriage of the baroness and killed her.

In L’manburg, town guards did as they pleased, and were worse than the robbers and murderers
that they were supposed to be keeping the town safe from. The tributes that Quackity's men
demanded were way higher than a town of fishermen could offer. Lmanburg was treated as a
milking cow that was meant to be slaughtered eventually.

Quackity himself lived in a closed off estate far off to the west, and, if rumors were correct, had
taken a liking to visiting the capital. Despite that, the baron’s subordinates in L’manburg kept a
number of servants to look after his manor in the center of the town. Wilbur introduced himself as a
son of some distant merchant family. Not every commoner could read and write fluently let alone
manage account books and staff of an entire manor, so he got the position of a steward - one that
made him a valuable spy. Everything in Lmanburg was heading towards an uprising, but with
Wilbur’s interference it gained a face and a voice. Just as Lmanburg had become Wilbur’s, Wilbur
was Lmanburg's.

In the end it was what had led to Wilbur’s doom. He got too cocky, too confident thinking that his
past would never be able to catch up to him. A suspicious ship with no flag or name to indicate its
route had decked at the port, guarded by Quackity’s men; Wilbur went to get a closer look, but just
as he cast one glance from behind an old warehouse, he was hauled out of his cover and pinned to
the ground.

The town guards beat him to half-consciousness and threw him into a cell to starve for the next two
days. In L'manburg, criminals were dealt with fast and simple; breathing through the stabbing pain
of a broken rib, Wilbur thought that dying a second time wouldn’t be as scary as the first. He only
hoped that nobody went after his family; and if they did, that both Sally and Fundy got away.

At noon, Wilbur was hauled up onto the platform overlooking a silent crowd. Wooden planks
croaked and screeched under his feet as he stumbled to balance himself. He tried not to look at the
gallows too much; instead he closed his eyes and imagined his mother’s statue. They stopped
decorating it with flowers because the guards would stomp them off, but even without them, she
was just as beautiful as ever.

The noose was fastened around his neck.

Wilbur was wrong. Dying never got any less terrifying.

A whistle and the thump of something heavy falling; Wilbur's eyes flung open to a motionless body
of the executioner at his feet, a bloodied tip of an arrow sticking out of the man's ribs.

"Stay back!" A guard shouted, but his words were drowned in the growing murmur of town folk.
The crowd parted, making way for a massive horse striking sparks out of pavement on each drop of
a heavy hoof. A man sitting on the stallion lowered his crossbow and rode it forward despite the
warnings and tips of spears pointed out at him. His helmet, a complicated puzzle of metal pieces,
vaguely resembled a skull of a boar.

“Who are you?" A guard spat, the one who got Wilbur captured in the first place. The man pulled
at the reins, stopping the horse, and slowly reached for his own head. The helmet clicked off
easily, revealing his face all at once: white hair sliding to his shoulders, pale skin shining on the
sun and an expression that had every sound cut dead all at once.

"I am Prince Technoblade, general of the Imperial army, firstborn son of Emperor Philza and late
Empress Kristin. And that is,” blood-red eyes glazed as they fell on Wilbur, “my twin brother."

***

The first thing Sally did when they reunited was punch Wilbur square in the face. Through the
stars in his eyes, he saw Fundy running up to him and happily embracing his leg. Barely did Wilbur
get any time to come back to his senses before he was slammed into an aggressive hug. He winced
at the pain in his chest, but his throbbing cheek came to rest on top of Sally’s hair, finding comfort
in her warmth and scent.

“Were you worried about me?” Wilbur teased.

Sally flipped him off blindly, and Wilbur wheezed out a laugh. For the next half an hour he
withheld pained winces as she bandaged his injuries and Fundy curiously poked his bruises.

More than anything Wilbur was amused by the look on Techno’s face; all mighty and threatening
just a few hours prior, he was openly shying away from Sally, as if afraid that her wrath would
extend on him too. Instead, Sally sweeped Fundy into her arms and glared one last time at Wilbur.
“I’m sure that you have a lot of catching up to do.” As soon as she left the room, Techno breathed
out loudly and gazed at Wilbur.

How ? his eyes seemed to ask.

"Her love language is violence, and I'm a masochist," Wilbur said. He threw his legs over the edge
of the bed and learned forward.

“Wait-” Techno took a step towards him, probably to prevent him from standing up; instead Wilbur
latched onto his arm and shifted his weight.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” he asked. “Help me to the garden. We will need some space for
this conversation.”

They sat down on a bench outside, listening to the evening song of crickets in the grass. Techno
hadn't changed at all and yet he changed in every way. His hand wouldn't leave his sword alone,
always hovering over the handle or touching on the hilt, tap tap tap . If the rhythmic sound has
eased Techno's nerves then Wilbur found comfort in soft padding of wool on Friend's head. The
sheep was chewing on the sleeve of Wilbur’s sweater - Sally was going to be mad but it made the
situation less frightening and a lot more like out of a fever dream.

"So," Wilbur drawled. “How is the palace? The old man hasn’t kicked the bucket yet?”

Wilbur said it playfully, an attempt at breaking the ice, but for some reason, Techno drew in a
sharp breath. “He’s fine.” A pause. “Theseus, too.”

It was Wilbur’s turn to shudder and look away. Beside him, Techno squirmed uncomfortably but
hadn’t said anything at all. Three years spent apart, but Techno’s skills at supporting a
conversation didn’t seem to improve a tad bit - for some reason, Wilbur found that realization
almost comforting.

“I was wrong,” Techno suddenly said. Before Wilbur could ask him to clarify, Techno added,
“You did survive- thrived, even. You even have a kid now."

"Sally and Fundy are my whole life,” Wilbur hummed.

Techno lowered his chin to cast a look at Wilbur from the very corner of his eye; so wary yet
awaiting, pulling at a string that can snap at any time. "Have you forgotten Theseus, then?" he
asked quietly, sounding like he was afraid of the answer. Wilbur wasn’t sure of which one, so he
settled on the truth.

"Never,” he said. “Not for a minute in those three years did I stop thinking about him."

"Then why didn't you come back?"

Techno turned to look at Wilbur; his eyes glassy, his tone - grief masked by accusation. Wilbur
drew back the urge to remind Techno that he was the one to let him go; in his head, he recalled that
fateful night so many times that old emotions grew over with rust and mold. Maybe, despite
everything, some part of Wilbur missed Techno, and that part pushed him to say, “Can I make a
confession?”

Wilbur felt Techno stilling next to him. He raised his eyes to the blink of stars above. “Each time I
look at Fundy, I ask myself: do I really love him or if it's just the echo of what I felt - or rather still
do, for Theseus?” He looked back at Techno and let the weight of his words sink in. “And it's like
this with everything. Each day of my life I wonder, where do I end, and where my love for Theseus
starts, and I still don’t know the answer.”

Something snapped between them. That line that made them, even if for a few hours, complete
strangers. Sitting next to Wilbur on the bench was no longer General Technoblade but just
Techno.

"I lied," his twin said. "His Majesty- he's not good. There was an attempted assassination about a
month ago and he- he might die, Will." Wilbur didn't know what to feel about it - not about the
news of his father possibly dying nor the way Techno’s voice broke into a weak murmur - so he let
his eyelids sink and darkness consume his vision.

"What about Theseus?" he asked quietly.

"He stepped up to the Emperor’s duties. As the crown prince, he is doing well. But if Father dies-"

Then the Empire will have a fourteen-year-old child on the throne . His younger brother, who
dreamed of stirring a ship, buckling under the weight of the crown. Wilbur choked on a wounded
noise that crawled up his throat; it shrank back and clogged his lungs with the weight of that
horrifying realization.

And yet… When Wilbur spoke, danger was building up behind his words, trembling and eerily
calm at the same time. "Is that why you found me?" he asked. "Now that I am finally happy, when
I thought that I had found my place in life- you come here and ask me to do what you yourself
weren't capable of."

"Because he needs you, Will. Needed all those years,” Techno said. “So please come back home
with me.”
Wilbur opened and closed his mouth. After Techno exposed who he is in front of the entire town,
things couldn't go back to how they used to be. Despite that, Wilbur still had a choice: grab their
savings, take Sally and Fundy and leave. Perhaps now that Niki is the queen she would be willing
to provide them temporary cover in her kingdom, or they could cross the borders with Badlands
undetected.

Frantic plans flashed in Wilbur’s head, but when Techno extended a hand and opened his fist,
revealing an emerald earring resting on his palm, Wilbur took it; because in the end, that was
always his choice. He would always choose Theseus.

"I promise that if Theseus wants me to stay, I'll stay," Wilbur said, clenching the emerald. "But if
he wants to leave with me- you and Phil are not going to stop us."

***

Next few weeks of Wilbur’s life were spent in a blur; he felt like his body was a puppet bouncing
on the stage without its strings while his consciousness had floated away to somewhere else.
Wilbur couldn't remember what he said to father on his bedrest, how he fuzzed around Sally and
Fundy trying to get them comfortable in the palace or how he had survived the wasp nest of nobles
set loose at him.

What he did remember was standing outside with Techno on the day Theseus was returning from a
trip to a nearby town, preparing himself to see his younger brother for the first time in three years.
Wilbur dreamed of this very moment, of grasping his brother and sliding him into a gap in his
heart, and was on the move before the carriage even stopped at the entrance stairs.

Techno took a step, his mouth opening like he wanted to warn him of something, but Wilbur
couldn't wait any longer. He skipped two steps at once and slammed into Theseus, pulling him
close. He didn't cling that desperately to his life during the storm like he did to the back of
Theseus’ cloak; unlike Theseus in his dreams, the boy in his hold was breathing, warm and real.

It took a minute for Wilbur to register that Theseus wasn't hugging him back, and another few
seconds to feel the hands peeling him off the boy's shoulders - he wanted to snarl at them to let go,
to let him have this moment - but the hands belonged to Theseus. Theseus was shoving him away.

"Theseus?" he asked, confused. "It's me. It's Wilbur."

His mind was seeking excuses to Theseus' reaction. Wilbur didn't change that much, Theseus
couldn't have mistaken him for somebody else. But then why was the boy looking at him with
those empty gray eyes? Why did ice coat his expression into one of apathetic disdain?

"Prince Wilbur, I'm glad to see you alive and in good health," Theseus said, bowing. Wilbur
staggered back, his tongue feeling too thick in his mouth, and he had finally taken a moment to
properly look at Theseus.

Wilbur thought that he would spurt in height more but he reached just about his shoulders length,
and with how thin his arms and legs were, weren't going to overgrow him anytime soon. His
cheekbones sunk in, not quite losing the childish roundness of his face but stretching it into an
expression of grave seriousness that Wilbur felt odd seeing on features he used to trace with a soft
pad of a thumb. Bright colors drained out of Theseus like from a painting left under the rain, his
hair no longer gold but dull brass; the sunny smile, the buzzing energy and fiery eyes - everything
that made him Theseus was locked behind steel and ice. His songbird no longer sang, and at that
moment Wilbur knew that leaving was a mistake.
***

“That is not my brother, that is not Theseus. What the fuck did you do to him?”

At first, Wilbur blamed Phil and Techno - because they were here when he was not, and . There
were arguments and there was shouting, and it’s like Wilbur has never left the palace in the first
place. All that progress that he had made in the last three years – erased in a flick of a wrist and a
few twists of a tongue. Wilbur knew that words could build nations, send men into battles they
knew they wouldn’t return from; it was all too easy to ruin a single life, so fragile and defenseless,
with a single pinch of a poisoned dagger. He knew that one day, he would find one plunged into
his own back, but no amount of thinking could prepare him to turn around and see his own baby
brother’s face: blank as it studied the bloodied blade in his hands.

Wilbur forgot food and rest; every waking hour he spent around Theseus, never letting him out of
his sight. He talked and he tried to get him to talk back, but Theseus only grew more irritated with
time. His movements around the palace were trailed by a pair of brown eyes: Tubbo, the crown
prince’s eyes and ears, helping Theseus to avoid meeting his brother.

Perhaps the worst of it all was that Wilbur still saw his younger brother everywhere. In the
memories encased in those walls, in a rare small touch that he and Techno shared, in a word of
praise from Phil that would, even if momentarily, light up Theseus' face. Ways that he used to
show his affection to Wilbur with, that Wilbur taught him were now directed at others: Phil,
Techno, and at a snickering dark-haired man trailing his steps.

Baron Quackity in the flesh. While people under his care suffered this man found a cozy place in
the palace, a duck tucking its wings contentedly in warmth. Wilbur Soot from L’manburg
remembered the starving people and a noose around his neck; Prince Wilbur saw red each time a
look of trust and understanding passed between them.

When Wilbur saw them like this - Quackity’s arm of the other draped over his back like a wing -
protective, comforting and claiming - he felt like dying all over again. His whole life he guarded
Theseus of everything and everyone who could be of potential harm; Theseus learned to rely on
him in everything. Quackity filled in the vacant place that Wilbur left in his wake; but now that
Wilbur was back it rightfully belonged to him .

Quackity was a hard man to catch. It was as though he had known the meaning behind Wilbur’s
dark looks and was gloating at his fruitless attempts to pin him for a conversation. An opportunity
arose one day late at night when a minister had swept away Theseus into a meeting; Wilbur slid the
door to his office open and found Quackity sorting through what had looked like a pile of
documents, half-leaning with his fact against the desk.

“What business does an illegitimate son of a lowly baron have in the Imperial palace?”

Quackity didn’t seem surprised to see Wilbur. He glanced up once, then back at the papers, fixing
them into a stack and shoving into a folder. “I believe it’s not something that a runaway prince
would need to know.”

The temperature in the room had plummeted. Wilbur took a slow step forward. “I’ve been
reinstated with my rights, and you are to regard me properly as your prince.”

“You are no prince to me, Wilbur Soot ,” Quackity said. “I only bow my head to the Emperor and
Prince Theseus.”

Wilbur stopped in his tracks. “So that’s why you are here.” A shadow passed over his face. “To
manipulate my brother for power.”

Quackity waved him off, breaking into laughter; the sound of it made Wilbur’s throat feel dry.
“Oh, no, no,” the baron said, as if he found the possibility amusing. “It’s a partnership of mutual
benefit. Nobody is trying to control and manipulate the other, though I suppose I shouldn’t be
surprised that it’s the first conclusion you jumped into.”

Wilbur’s voice dropped impossibly lower. “What are you implying?”

Quackity didn’t hold back a smirk. He pulled out a coin out of his pocket and twisted it around in
his fingers; gold reflecting in his eyes gave them a sharp, confident glow.

“I did my own fair share of asking around. The whole palace was wrapped around your fingers, and
most never realized who was pulling the strings. But that was years ago.” Quackity tossed the coin
into the air and caught it right back, squeezing his palm and looking Wilbur straight in the eyes; a
challenge, a dare. “One thing you need to understand, Prince Wilbur, is that the palace no longer
belongs to you. Theseus no longer belongs to you nor anyone else.”

Wilbur lunged; fast as a shadow, double as fierce. His hand squeezed Quackity’s wrist; the coin
dropped on the floor with a thunk. “You’re forgetting the position you are in, Quackity,” he said.
“An assault on the life of a member of the Imperial household is a crime punishable by death. One
my word, and you’ll be held responsible on the behalf of your subordinates in L’manburg.”

Quackity drew his lips back in a smirk and lifted his eyebrow. “Is this a threat?”

“It will be, if I see you anywhere near my brother,” Wilbur took a step forward, cutting the distance
between down to inches. “Leave, Quackity, or I’ll make you.”

Quackity had to tilt his chin up to look into his face, but neither the sudden movement nor the
proximity of Wilbur’s eyes, burning with danger, could make him stagger. The eye contact
continued for what felt like hours before Quackity broke into laughter.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Your Highness,” Quackity grinned, but his eyes remained dark
and cold. “Just keep in mind that it’s not going to be so easy to get rid of me.”

He tucked the folder under his armpit and left.

***

First thing in the morning the next day, a servant had come, claiming that Wilbur was needed in the
throne room. The path there he spent in dim thoughtfulness, arms brought closer to his body; it felt
as though the fog outside had somehow crawled into the palace and was coating the air, invisible
but nibbing with cold at Wilbur’s skin. Phil had fully recovered by then; Wilbur thought that his
father wanted to see him in regards to Fundy's soon-to-be coronation, but on the throne that once
belonged to him was Theseus.

The sound of Wilbur’s steps was swallowed by the thick blue carpet. His stomach sank with a
feeling of dread and anticipation. Theseus' expression was unreadable, but his nails drummed a
frantic rhythm on an armrest. In three months since his return, Wilbur learned to read the crown
prince’s new body language, and right now, he was furious .

"Prince Wilbur," Theseus said through a tight press of his lips. "Baron Quackity left the capital in a
hurry this morning. A word has reached me that you had a hand in that happening."

"I only did what I had to,” Wilbur slipped to a defensive tone without even meaning to. “Quackity
is an untrustworthy, wicked man."

“That’s what you think.” In Theseus’ eyes, a storm started brewing. “For the past two years, Baron
Quackity has been one of my closest advisors. And you come in one day and think you’re the one
to decide who I can or cannot trust?”

Wilbur felt like his fingers were sliding off a rope that kept him from plummeting into the ocean. “I
was only trying to protect you,” The echo of Wilbur’s voice thundered through the throne room,
and he tried to keep it from breaking as he continued, “Quackity’s nobody to you. You can’t rely
on him. You don’t need him.”

Theseus fell deadly silent - that sort of silence that stills in the air before a lightning strike. "And
who do I need, Prince Wilbur?” Theseus asked. “ You ?”

A lightning struck. A wave threw Wilbur overboard. He was drowning all over again, and Theseus
didn’t seem to notice; he just sighed deeply and pushed himself up from the throne.

"It seems to me that a misunderstanding has occurred. I don't know who had put that idea in your
head, but I do not require your assistance, Prince Wilbur. So I ask you one final time to keep to your
own matters and leave me to mine."

Theseus walked down a few steps, his long blue cloak trailing after him. It was WIlbur’s last
chance, his last hope- and he latched onto it with the desperation of a drowning man.

Wilbur dropped to his knees in front of Theseus’, cutting his path short.

“What are you-”

“ I’m sorry, Theseus. ”

Theseus stiffened. “Stand up, Prince Wilbur. It’s not fitting for a prince to crawl on his knees.”

There was a spark of something in his eyes; flicker of a lamp in a snowstorm – gone in a blink but
enough to set Wilbur alight with hope. “I’m sorry for leaving you alone,” he repeated, shriveling
with guilt. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t here for you when you needed me the most.”

Wilbur was too afraid of watching Theseus’ face, so kept his head ducked low, his hands
cramming the carpet in his fists. Wilbur could hear his own jagged breathing but not a sound
coming from his brother- and now that a drop of Wilbur’s guilt had spilled through he couldn’t
stop until he let out the entire sea.

“I never wanted to leave you. I wanted to find a safe place for you and me- and I’m so, so sorry
that I didn’t come back for you sooner.” A quick, brittle inhale. “But I am here now. We can still
leave.”

“Prince Wilbur-”

“Theseus, you deserve so much more than this golden cage,” Wilbur risked throwing his head
back. He needed to look into Theseus’ eyes for this. “This throne and this crown hold nothing for
you- all you’ll get from it are more scars and disappointment. Your true place is with your family.
With me.”

Wilbur had turned himself out for Theseus entirely: his heart, his soul, his guilts and hopes and
fears and love. He had dedicated half of his childhood to taking care of his brother and now that he
had found happiness in life, he wanted to share it with Theseus, too.
There was nothing more that he could possibly offer.

But still, it wasn’t enough.

Eyes turning to ice, looking down at Wilbur wasn’t the boy he raised but the reflection of his
father. “You’ve put up a great show, Prince Wilbur, but you’ve interpreted this all wrong. I am with
my family, and this is my home. I’m right where I belong.”

Theseus tried to stride past, and Wilbur gripped his cloak. “Theseus, please-”

The anger in Theseus’ eyes dimmed into something undecipherable. The storm had died, and in its
wake it left a morning fog. “If you really wish to be of service, Prince Wilbur…” he said quietly,
“Then go. Take your real family back to L’manburg and leave me alone.”

***

Fear the hatred born from love, for that it hurts to destroy someone of your own creation. Wilbur's
love burned like a thousand suns and his hatred was a kiss of the lips laced with acid. It just
happened that for Theseus, he felt both.

When Wilbur strode to Theseus' office, he wasn't looking for a chance to poke Theseus and test his
patience but wanted to get Ranboo an invitation to the Banquet. That boy - at first just another
instrument for Wilbur to tune and exploit, was affecting him oddly, awakening feelings in him that
he thought that he was too far gone for.

You're a good person , Ranboo said, and perhaps once that could have been true. Wilbur wanted to
do what's right, and part of him still wants to - or otherwise why did he feel so guilty pushing
Ranboo under the rails? Why would he be standing up to him to Prince Dream if he could feign
innocence and let the scene unfold?

The day prior- he didn't think he pushed too much. In fact, he was sure that Theseus didn't care.
But after he and Ranboo left Theseus with Techno, and a pair of eyes - one green and the other red,
had asked him with sincere confusion, "Why do you talk to Theseus like you want to hurt him?",
Wilbur couldn't help but hate himself.

Because a part of him wanted Theseus to hurt as much as he did. But before that, he wanted to have
his brother back. Wilbur hoped that deep inside, Theseus still cared, and that one day he would
admit that he needs Wilbur. The more Phil got involved in playing a father with Ranboo, the further
he pushed Theseus away from himself and closer to Wilbur’s awaiting arms.

He thought he knew the limits. Wilbur knew Theseus better than anybody else. He knew that the
twitch of Theseus’ nose meant that he was upset, how he drew in a breath to calm himself down,
and how close he was to exploding with anger based on the quiver of his lips, and yet at that
moment in the office he fails to notice every sign until he meets his baby brother’s eyes and sees so
much pain in them that it makes him choke.

“GET OUT!”

Every version of Wilbur, before L'manburg, during and after, comes crashing together in the face
of shaking Theseus and the agonizing wail that tears through him.

"...Theseus?" he asks, and his voice is in the same trembling tone it was when he had hit Techno,
and scared the younger Theseus.

Theseus raises a folder- and Wilbur runs, like a coward he is.

Wilbur isn’t sure how he made it to a fountain outside. His stomach churns, his breaths coming as
fast and shallow - like every other time he got close to a body of water. Six years ago Wilbur had
survived a storm, but his body never fails to remind him that the next time he might not.

Wilbur pulls out a handkerchief and dips it in water. He brings it to the ink stains on his face. He
presses and he scratches and he rubs, dipping it in and out several times, but no matter what Wilbur
does they won’t come off.

"Wilbur... Are you okay?"

Wilbur turns his head; a few steps away from him, Ranboo stops himself from reaching out.

"Of course I am," Wilbur laughs and nearly breaks into a cough. He clears his throat and says,
jerking the handkerchief for Ranboo to see, "just trying... to wash off the ink."

Ranboo looked confused. "But your face is clean, Wilbur."

Wilbur opens his mouth to say, no it's not , but he catches a glance of his own reflection. Smaller,
younger, and brows set into a deep frown.

"What did you do to my brother? " Wilbur in the reflection asks.

***

Ranboo always woke up with a distinct feeling of missing something, like his mind was a puzzle
that he had to slowly gather piece by piece. But this time, feeling bile building up in his throat and
heart thrumming against his ribs, Ranboo knows that he is forgetting something really important.

Ranboo reaches for his journal and puts it on his lap. From faint scribbles of words and phrases he
starts recalling the day from his today's notes. Horseback riding lessons with Techno and a lunch in
the company of Phil and a few other nobles are cast aside as not the sources of his panic. Ranboo
faintly remembers seeing Wilbur kneeled at the fountain - looking like someone had just died.
Upon his concerned words, the prince pushed himself to his feet and asked, "Are you heading
somewhere?"

"Ah-" Ranboo gripped fingers of one his hands with the other, "I actually wanted to apologize to
Theseus for what happened yesterday."

Wilbur said that Theseus wouldn't care about the lie- that he would be thankful to Ranboo for
taking off that burden from him. Theseus didn't look like he didn't care. He looked terrifying but
also very clearly upset.

Wilbur unsealed his lips and shook his head. Ranboo couldn't look away from his haunting-blank
expression until Wilbur broke eye contact, running a hand through his hair. "I don't think you
should be talking to Theseus. He might not be... in a goodstate right now."

Ranboo remembers being confused about what Wilbur meant but trusted his judgment and
mentally postponed the apology to another day. Theseus was probably busy, he reasoned, now that
Banquet was coming up. Techno offered to accompany him in the evening festivities, and Ranboo
agreed for the sake of having somebody familiar in the crowd. And in the evening, he saw-

In the evening-

Ranboo shoots upright. The journal falls from his lap, and there is a knock on the door before
Tubbo peeks in.
 "Uh, Ranboo? You have a guest."

He opens his lips to ask Tubbo to send away but the nightmare of Ranboo’s memories walks right
in.

“Leave us for a moment, Tubbo,” Quackity commands. He sounds like he owns the place, and not
even a pleading gaze from Ranboo can make Tubbo linger before the door closes. Ranboo scoots
backwards in the bed, frantically searching for somewhere to hide; but there is no point. Quackity
is here, pacing the room with his hands clasped behind his back, looking around curiously.

“I see you’ve settled well in the palace,” he takes an apple from a pile of fruits Ranboo was
brought earlier in the day, and takes a bite out of it. “Enjoy yourself a lot, huh?”

Ranboo’s head is a static of panicked thoughts. He forces himself through a deep breath, then
another - like Techno had shown him the other day. He reminds himself that there are people in the
palace on his side.

“Why did you lie about being my brother?”

The playfulness in Quackity’s behavior is gone in an instant. He puts the apple down and turns to
fully face the boy.

“Oh, but I am your brother, Ranboo,” Quackity says. “You better keep that in mind, unless you
want everyone to find out that you’re a runaway slave.”

Ranboo chokes on an inhale. “It doesn’t change anything. Phil- the Emperor, he’ll protect me.”

“The Emperor can’t do anything,” Quackity laughs. “You’re not even from this country, Ranboo!
Protecting you means a diplomatic catastrophe between the Antarctic Empire and Esempi- and
after a stunt you pulled out the other day, do you think that he’ll deem you worth the trouble?”

Sound gets lost somewhere in-between Ranboo’s chest and throat. Phil hadn’t been angry after the
dinner yesterday, but then again - he didn’t know that Ranboo lied about the letters. Theseus did.

I don't know what game you're playing at, Ranboo, but your position here is way more rickety than
you might think. The Emperor and Prince Wilbur will get tired of you eventually.

Quackity watches Ranboo’s expression drop with hands in his pockets and a smirk on his lips. “Oh,
don’t you worry this much. The Emperor is quite fond of you- and I’ll help you to keep it that
way.”

“By blackmailing me?”

“By sharing my family name. Which, if you haven’t already forgotten, has a barony attached to it.
Being my brother will give you the status of a noble that you’ve been missing this far.”

Ranboo’s eyes widen. “You can’t possible mean-”

“If we play our cards right, there’ll soon be a new prince in the Antarctic empire,” Quackity says.

Chapter End Notes

Chapter full summary
Dreading of being separated with Tommy, Wilbur becomes increasingly more
manipulative. He controls Tommy and Tubbo’s friendship, pretends to be a good
crown prince and a caring person, partially by helping to care for Michael, Duchess
Clara’s son. Creating a better image for himself Wilbur excerpts influence over the
nobles and servants as well but in the end feels disgusted with himself for it.

Wilbur becomes friends with Niki. She supports him when Kristin falls sick. Wilbur
and Techno’s eighteens birthday comes along and Kristin is bedridden while Phil is in
charge of festivities. Techno asks Wilbur to be nicer to Phil and Wilbur agrees. In the
throne room Wilbur thinks of how he doesn’t want to be the crown prince. Tommy
comes to cheer him up and then reveals that he wants to to join a ship crew one day.

Kristin dies. Wilbur feels like there is nothing more connecting him to the palace.
After Techno had chose to comfort Phil over him and Tommy Wilbur decides to leave
altogether. At night he tries to sneak in and wake Tommy up but Techno stops him.
They argue: Techno thinks that Wilbur is selfish and Wilbur thinks that Techno
doesn’t know what he feels like. In the end Techno tells Wilbur to leave and Wilbur
tells Techno to take the crown.

The ship Wilbur was on crashes. He later on develops aquaphobia because of it.
Wilbur is saved by Sally and is confused why. He lashes out, has a breakdown over his
own failures. Sally shows him statue of Kristin in L’manburg and tells him that
L’manburg is his second chance at life.
Wilbur and Sally get married. Fundy is born. Wilbur becomes a steward to one of
Baron Quackity’s manors. He spies on a suspicious ship, gets caught and nearly
executed. Techno saves him. Wilbur tells that he still struggles to see himself outside
of his relationship to Tommy. Techno tells that Phil might die and asks him to come
back for Tommy. Wilbur agrees.

Wilbur sees Tommy for the first time in 3 years. He is treated coldly. Wilbur notices
the changes in Tommy, blames Phil for it and follows Tommy around for a few
months. He feels jealous that Tommy shows somewhat affection to Phil, Techno and
Quackity. Wilbur threatens Quackity into leaving. Tommy confronts Wilbur. Wilbur
apologizes on his knees for abandoning Tommy and offers them to leave together.
Tommy says that he doesn’t need to be rescued. He tells Wilbur to go back to
L’manburg.

Ranboo’s words make Wilbur guilty. He asks Tommy for an invitation to Ranboo and
things escalate. He sees himself in Tommy during the inkpot scene and runs because
that realization is too much to handle. Wilbur hallucinates younger version of himself
accusing him of hurting Tommy.

Author notes
Wilbur is a bastard, but now you can know for sure where he is too blame and where
he is not. This had been his backstory from the very start and I'm super happy and
excited to let you read it. Feel free to ask questions, make theories or just scream at me
- I love all of that stuff :>
 Judge me, I know I used to care
Chapter Summary

“What have you come here for?” Tommy asks in a leveled, steel-cold voice.

“Father and Wilbur were looking for you,” Techno says. He notices how Tommy
stiffens, and takes another step, cutting the distance between them enough that he can
reach for the crown prince’s hand and carefully take it into his own fingers. “It doesn’t
matter now. You’re hurt.”

Tommy tries to retract his hand, but the grip on his wrist tightens - not enough for it to
be restraining, but the pressure makes him glance up at blue eyes whose ice matches
his own. Techno looks at him expectantly. Tommy’s jaw tightens; he knows he has no
other choice but to answer.

“It was a training accident,” he says. “I’ve underestimated my own strength.”

“You haven’t trained once this week.”

Heat circulates through Tommy’s body, countering the concern in Techno’s eyes; the
crown prince doesn’t shudder against the heaviness of his brother’s gaze. Two sides of
Tommy clash into one, the sparks igniting him alight.

“And how would you know that?” he snaps. “By having my own guards spy on me?”

Chapter Notes

Wohooo! BR absolutely blew up since last chapter - I want to say thank you for all the
comments, posts, fanart and gacha/tiktok videos that have been created in the
meantime, I absolutely love all of them!

This chapter is relatively short, but I hope you enjoy nevertheless!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Tommy’s body moves on its own: right foot, left foot, a sequence of mindless steps dragging him
along a familiar path. Just a few minutes ago he bid his goodbye to Dream and Marchioness Beau;
he told them that he’d be retiring for the night, knowing full well that he wouldn’t be able to fall
asleep any soon.

The last time Tommy had rested was on the hard wood of his desk, in the very literal sense of the
word passed out from exhaustion. He can't remember one recent night where his sleep wasn’t cut
short by a nightmare or an urgent matter. His muscles sting with weeks’ worth of strain, his
stomach shrivels with hunger and his spine begs to be propped up against a support.

By the time Tommy tumbles into his chambers, his knees threaten to give out under him. He
climbs into an armchair and all but sinks into it. The servants disappear in a matter of seconds, and
Tommy wonders whether it’s the command he mutters or they were scared off by the blank
expression on his face. Either way, in the reign of silence, he can finally let the thoughts rush in,
and the very first thing that comes to his mind is, what the fuck, Quackity?

Last time Tommy had spoken to the baron, he was fourteen years old. Quackity was a great advisor
and a helping hand, and Tommy kept him around for over a year at that point. First, because he
needed a teacher, and after that it was common history sealing them together. Tommy owed
Quackity more than just a few pieces of advice: those few months that he had to step up in the
Emperor’s place, he survived only with Quackity’s help. He was getting back on his feet, building
himself back up - and then Wilbur showed up and ruined it all in a day.

To think that Tommy was angry back then, had tried to express his frustration- it’s a thought full of
bitter amusement. If he could have gone back to that day and looked his younger self in the eyes,
he would grip his shoulders and whisper, in the softest way possible, ‘Believe me, it’s going to get
so much worse.’

The Emperor should’ve lent his full support to Tommy in establishing his authority as the crown
prince. Instead, their father let Wilbur get away even with whatever he wanted – insulting other
nobles, risking the family’s reputation every step of the way and challenging Tommy’s standing.
The joint network created by him and Quackity was destroyed, reconstructed and twisted to fit
another predator’s liking, and suddenly it was Tommy who had become the prey. With Wilbur
circling him, breathing was a luxury, a peaceful day an unreachable dream, and anybody who ever
attempted to get closer to Tommy was chased away by the snap of sharp teeth.

Tommy is seventeen now. Three years after Wilbur forced him to leave, Quackity returned to the
capital- claiming that Ranboo is related to him by blood. The baron had never told Tommy that he
used to have a brother, but he wouldn’t be all that surprised if he did. Quackity is a card turned
facedown; a mysterious lurker, a man whose mood changes from playfulness to grave seriousness
in a flip of a coin.

“I’m a player,” he used to say, flashing Tommy a toothy grin. “I risk it big or I do not risk it at all;
either is going to kill me one day.”

Tommy would’ve thought that such a day would come sooner than later but he knows Quackity
well enough to say that his appearance today wasn’t a coincidence. He couldn’t have waited for
this long, lying low and skittishly avoiding any sort of interaction with the Imperial family to step
up onto a shaky platform of a bold lie. If he could have afforded the risk of confronting Wilbur
before, he would’ve done that already.

Or so Tommy hopes.

By being the crown prince’s advisor, the baron squirmed his way into the very heart of the court.
Quackity had made it clear to Tommy from the very beginning that their relationship is based
purely on mutual profit, but the nature of loneliness is that it doesn’t want to exist. Tommy
couldn’t stop himself from getting attached to the person who steadied him on his feet when he felt
most unsure of walking.

As much as Quackity talked about how relationships are just weaknesses in disguise, he still fell
silent whenever exhausted Tommy would drowse off on his shoulder, still moved his head into a
more comfortable position so that his neck wouldn’t hurt when he woke up. Those sleepy
afternoons filled with sunlight lazily draping over grass – deep down, Tommy knows that they
mattered. Besides - the baron wouldn't risk his own safety based on a lie that can be easily
disproved by Ranboo’s one word. Which means that he either is telling the truth, or there's
something else that Tommy does not see.

Tommy’s head feels heavy, and he drops it forward to prop on his palm. “What game are you
playing at this time, Quackity?” he asks the silence.

The silence, predictably, doesn’t respond, but it warns him of the click of a twisting handle.
Tommy pounces to his feet, and stumbling to retain his balance, almost bumps face-first into
Techno’s chest.

Tommy’s brother looks like he got dressed in a hurry, a white shirt thrown on haphazardly and
hanging loose down his shoulders; his coat is draped over his arms not pulled through the sleeves.
Techno’s forehead wrinkles, as if he is in deep thought or trying to hold a pained wince down. His
gaze hazily crawls up from Tommy’s toes to head; Tommy doesn’t bother covering his injury, and
Techno’s expression drops as his gaze stumbles on purple spilled over the back of his hand.

Internally, two sides of Tommy are fighting. One wants to slump and relax in Techno’s presence,
wants to forgive him and forget about everything that happened today- but the other drowns in the
layers of hurt and exhaustion building up in his body. Something in-between a whine and a growl
creeps its way into his throat, and when Techno brings his leg forward for a step, the crown prince
presses one foot back.

“What have you come here for?” Tommy asks in a leveled, steel-cold voice.

“Father and Wilbur were looking for you,” Techno says. He notices how Tommy stiffens, and
takes another step, cutting the distance between them enough that he can reach for the crown
prince’s hand and carefully take it into his own fingers. “It doesn’t matter now. You’re hurt.”

Tommy tries to retract his hand, but the grip on his wrist tightens - not enough for it to be
restraining, but the pressure makes him glance up at blue eyes whose ice matches his own. Techno
looks at him expectantly. Tommy’s jaw tightens; he knows he has no other choice but to answer.

“It was a training accident,” he says. “I’ve underestimated my own strength.”

“You haven’t trained once this week.”

Heat circulates through Tommy’s body, countering the concern in Techno’s eyes; the crown prince
doesn’t shudder against the heaviness of his brother’s gaze. Two sides of Tommy clash into one,
the sparks igniting him alight.

“And how would you know that?” he snaps. “By having my own guards spy on me?”

The pressure on Tommy’s wrist loosens. “I do my best to keep everybody in the palace safe,”
Techno says, his tone laced with desperation. “To keep you safe, Theseus, because I care about
you.”

A few hours ago, those words would’ve meant the world to Tommy. Right now, they just make
him angry. He yanks his hand out of Techno’s hold, ignoring the sparks of pain bursting in his
eyes, and scuttles backwards with a hiss.

“This- this is nothing !” Tommy shouts, demonstratively shoving his hand into the air. “If you
truly cared, Techno, you wouldn’t let Wilbur hurt me. You wouldn’t stand back and watch as he
turns my life into torture,” Tommy rolls his shoulders back and glares daggers at his brother.
“Look me in the eyes and say that you don’t know that Wilbur has been clashing me and the
Emperor together on purpose.”
Deep down, Tommy wants to believe that Techno’s ignorance comes from obliviousness; that he
isn’t aware of the full extent of Wilbur’s maliciousness. His wide eyes beg for Techno to defend
himself, to prove him wrong – but Techno stays standing where he is, his face in an unreadable
expression and lips sealed. A vow of silence descends upon them, and that is all confirmation that
Tommy needs for the last string of his hope to snap.

“You always see , and you always know. And you never take any action, so quit pretending that
fussing around me is going to fix anything,” Tommy’s shoulders spike up to his ears, the bitterness
of his voice drawling in echo. “If you can’t protect me… then just leave.”

Something bright and pained flashes in Techno’s eyes. Tommy can’t bear the sight of it and turns
away. So many times Techno could’ve prevented his sufferings if he just had taken his side,
whether it be against the Emperor or Wilbur – but he chose to do nothing and watch as Tommy
crumbles piece by piece. In a way, it hurts more than Wilbur’s lies and their father’s harshness.
They don’t care about him, and Techno does, but maybe not enough for him to give up the
comfortable illusion of a family that he lives in.

From the corner of his vision, he can see Techno leave. Tommy tears his gaze from the floor, and
listens to the retracing steps for as long his hearing allows him to before walking up to the closest
corner and sliding down with his back pinned to a wall. His uninjured hand fumbles with his braid
until the hair comes loose and curls freely down his ears and sides of his face. Head lolling
forward, expression void of any emotion – that’s the state that Wisp finds him in when he dares to
take a step inside the chambers a few minutes later.

“Your Highness,” the knight’s face twists in a way that betrays that he doesn’t want to continue,
“will you be seeing His Imperial Majesty now?”

Tommy raises his eyes to Wisp, his eyelids drooping. Right, he almost forgot about that. His
stomach churns with an unruly feeling, knowing that he should expect the worst whenever the
Emperor wants to see him. And right after the big announcement of Quackity being Ranboo’s
brother? Take a wild fucking guess what their conversation might be about.

A month ago, Tommy wouldn’t think another second before springing to his feet and letting Wisp
to lead him to the Emperor, because that’s what he’s supposed to be: obedient, helpful,
professional, the nothing less than perfect crown prince. But now… Tommy stops himself in the
middle of an unconscious push and takes time to listen to a little voice at the back of his mind that
was getting louder and louder ever since he first had seen Ranboo inside the walls of this palace.

The past two months have shown that the emperor doesn’t see him as a son. He is the crown
prince, he is the heir, he is the emperor’s loyal subordinate. And the more Tommy thinks about it,
maybe that’s what he has always been. A shadow. A whining dog so desperate for warmth and
kindness that it’s ready to come crawling on its belly, tail tucked in-between its legs. The owner’s
hands, a long life mapped by calluses and scars, once had been gentle and caring and generous for
love, and maybe that’s why Tommy had believed for so long that their caring touch would stroke
over his head once again, even when the only thing he ever got was a kick to his ribs.

Tommy’s head is a swarm of voices, sentences bouncing in his skull time and time again: one that
says that he’s not worthy, the other plays on his fears like guitar strings and the last is a low
rumbling tone that tells him to endure it all. They are quiet now; silent in the clank of chains being
pulled and shattered, in a sigh of relief and a chuckle as the fourth voice takes its form. It had
always existed in his mind but was a prisoner of the sturdy steel of self-control and sufferance; now
that it’s free, it flexes its shoulders and leans over the crown prince’s ear.

This voice sounds like Tommy, and in a tone that sends a lightning of cold down his spine, it
whispers, no more .

Tommy stands up abruptly. Drifting at the brim of consciousness just a moment ago, his exhausted
body is struggling to catch up. He leans on the wall for balance and straightens himself to his full
height, flicking his wrist in an awry gesture of dismissal when Wisp tries to slide his shoulder in
for support.

“I’m fine,” he states, the phrase he repeated so many times feeling foreign on his tongue. Whether
it’s true or not, it tastes different now; sweet and intoxicating akin to wine. Tommy throws his head
back, baring his neck, and wonders if he looks like a madman. He surely feels like one, and yet this
is the best he had felt in years. As if a latch had come loose or a dagger cut through the rope
squeezing his chest, Tommy can take a gulp of air and feel it filling his lungs, expanding and
expanding until they press against his ribs.

With a chest-rattling inhale and cracking laughter, Tommy feels free.

“Tell the Emperor that I won’t be seeing him right now. If he wishes to speak with me, it won’t be
until the afternoon,” he orders.

Wisp schools his features into a neutral expression and nods, but his gaze lingers a little longer on
the crown prince’s hand. Dream’s words echo in Tommy’s ears, and he adds quietly, “And send
somebody to fetch a physician.”

***

Tommy calls for a secretary first thing in the morning. He orders the man to bring a copy of a
contract – the one that Tubbo had signed when he first entered the position of his aide. The
secretary makes a few changes under his command, and Tommy presses a stamp to the finished
document.

He is in the middle of looking through the list of guests extending their stay at the palace when
Marchioness Beau appears, the papers clasped between her thumbs, hair pulled up in a simple bun
and clothes of casual sort. Tommy casts a glance at the markings of a candle to his right side; three
hours had passed since he sent a secretary to deliver the contract – enough time for the lady to
memorize the whole thing.

“Forgive me for barging in so suddenly, Your Highness,” the marchioness says, “but no matter
how much I look, I don’t seem to catch on to the meaning of this.”

Tommy’s eyes slide over the edges slightly bent from being flipped too many times, and he
recognizes the look on her face as both curious and cautious. He puts aside the envelopes he was
previously looking over and looks straight into her eyes. "Marchioness Beau, I want you to become
my right hand."

Marchioness Beau keeps to the silence, not a muscle twitching on her face. Somebody else in her
place would jump into an offer, ignoring the alarming haste of it, but with the prolonged eye
contact the marchioness makes it clear that she is not a person to trust others blindly.

Tommy can respect that. He gives in with a dip of his chin, leading both his and her gaze to his
laced hand.

“Right hand,” Marchioness Beau says, disbelieving. Very funny , she seems to be saying with her
disappointed look.

Tommy shrugs innocently.

“It’s very hard to sign papers with my left hand.”

“I did not know that you were capable of joking, Your Imperial Highness.”

“Of course not. You must have heard the rumors. I never smile, let alone joke, you see.”

Only years of practice spent on controlling his expressions prevents Tommy from surrendering to
the urge to smirk. Sensing his light mood, Marchioness Beau snorts in a very un-lady-like manner.

“The rumors also say that you have only once appointed an aide, and that you are extremely
notorious in picking out servants for yourself.” The lady puts down the contact on the desk. “It’s
not that I’m not appreciating the offer, Your Highness, but I’m curious as to what made you choose
me over your own secretaries.”

"If I said that somebody I’m closely acquainted with would be more vigilant to their duties, would
that answer satisfy you?”

“I won’t be satisfied with anything but the truth.”

“This is quite bold of you, to accuse the crown prince of lying.”

Tommy adds some ice into his voice, leaning forward, his gaze pinning Marchioness Beau in one
place. A twitch of her shoulder doesn’t slide unnoticed by Tommy, but she withstands his gaze,
even risking to shoot a glare of her own.

“I did not accuse you of anything but withholding information, Your Highness.” Marchioness Beau
understood that this was a test, one that she had just passed. With a low hum, Tommy leans back
on his chair and lets his eyelids droop while he gathers his thoughts.

“A servant is just another word for a spy. You’ve spent enough time in the court to understand that,
Your Ladyship,” he says. “I can’t trust His Majesty’s people because their loyalty will always lie to
him first.”

“Oh my,” Beau pulls out her folded fan and presses it to her lips, feigning a scandalized look. “Will
there soon be a situation where His Majesty and His Highness’ interests will stray away from each
other?”

She’s trying so hard to pull up the image of a hopeless gossiper that other people paint her as that
Tommy almost believes it.

“If I said that it’s possible, can I trust that you will keep that information between us two?” he asks,
cracking his eyes open.

“Depending on what you’re offering,” Marchioness Beau smiles slyly, dropping the fan back into
her pocket, and they both look at the contact lying in-between them.

“I’m offering you a stable position in my court and in the palace, the reputation and influence that
come naturally with it, and a fixed allowance of a decent amount. In exchange, you report to me
about what happens in these walls. The news, the rumors, the gossip – everything that could be of
potential use for me, I want to know of.”

Tommy looks into the lady’s eyes again, no threats or tests or warnings hidden this time, just plain
honesty. She pries into them for a little longer, weighing the offer, and glances down when she
hears the quiet screech of an inkpot pushed across the desk. The lady snatches a quill from a pile to
Tommy’s left, dips it into the black liquid, and letting the excess drip down from the tip, brings it
to hover over the end of the page.

“When does this contact go into effect?” she asks.

“As soon as you sign it.”

She puts her signature down in a blink, and tossing the quill back into a pile, straightens her back.

“In this case, His Highness might be interested to know that Ranboo had confirmed that Lord
Quackity is his brother this morning. His Imperial Majesty had invited them both for lunch today,
and it just so happens that I overheard where it’s going to be.”

***

The servants open the doors of the dining room on two sides, and the sunlight spilling through
drowns Tommy in gold, clinging to the silver buttons of his black vest and hair pulled back into a
ponytail. He waits another second for the three people inside to have their full attention on him
before he dips into a smooth, confident stride, all but sailing through the threshold.

The dining room is the same one that they had a meal in during the day Ranboo was brought into
the palace. It’s almost ironic, because the roles are reserved now: it's Ranboo whose eyes are
darting around in confusion, who shrinks on himself, crushed by the power of a person far more
superior to him. This far he wasn’t familiar with the looming threat that the Emperor’s presence
radiates, but even he can’t stay oblivious to it now that air almost physically reeks of danger.

Quackity, the one who the Emperor is actually trying to scare off, doesn’t cower in his wake. His
Majesty's authority is a dull knife against the aura of his confidence that Tommy knows is not
connected to a half-downed glass of wine in his hand. Since the last time he saw Quackity, the
wrinkle on his forehead had gone deeper, the features of his face – sharper, and only one thing
remained unchanged: a sly, playful smile that resides on his lips. The familiarity of it nearly makes
Tommy drop his steely expression, but the man breaks the spell by standing up and bowing.

“Long time no see, Your Imperial Highness,” he sounds fond. Tommy presses his lips into a thin
line and waits for Quackity to look up.

“Indeed,” Tommy says. Are you an enemy, or are you an ally? his eyes ask.

Quackity smirks, and his gaze falls to something he is holding in his pocket.

“Good afternoon, Your Imperial Majesty.” Tommy turns to the head of the table.

The Emperor narrows his eyes, his chin resting at the top of his intervened hands. Even if
Tommy’s appearance had taken his father by surprise, he doesn’t show it, resorting to an
acknowledging hum.

“Is there any particular reason as to why you have shown up uninvited, Prince Theseus?”

“No other than that I wished to speak with you.”

As soon as their eyes meet, Ranboo and Quackity's presence becomes insignificant. Ice clashes
with ice; Tommy ignores the sinking feeling in his heart and withstands it. In the corner of his
vision, Quackity pushes his chair to the table and wipes his hands with a napkin - getting caught in
the crossfire didn’t seem to be in his plans today.. That’s what Tommy had valued in him so much;
ten seconds into observing their interaction, and the man already knows that the sparks are about to
fly.
“We would not dare to intercept the quality time between a son and a father,” Quackity says. There
is a barely conceived smile on his face and an almost mocking undertone to his voice. “If His
Majesty allows, we will take our leave now. Me and Ranboo and I have a lot of catching up to do.”

Quackity puts a hand on Ranboo’s shoulder, and Ranboo flinches. He raises his eyes to Quackity
but stands up slowly, propping his palms on the edge of the table.

“Are you alright, Ranboo?” the Emperor asks.

The grip on Ranboo’s shoulder tightens ever so slightly. Tommy stands close enough to see the
sudden heave of his chest, quickly hidden by a sigh and a weak smile.

“Yeah I’m just- I guess I didn’t get enough sleep last night. Is it okay if I..?” He vaguely gestures
towards the exit, and the Emperor nods, finally letting Ranboo and Quackity leave the table.
Ranboo rounds Tommy by a long curve, avoiding looking him in the eyes, but Quackity brushes
shoulders with him, and he feels the man’s hand clamped over his, something round and cold
landing in the middle of his palm. Tommy squeezes the object automatically and slides it into his
pocket just in time as the doors close shut, leaving him alone with the Emperor.

Tommy runs a tongue over his dry lips. He knew that the confrontation would come soon; puzzled
over it, knees to his chest, hiding underneath a table on the night he was sent away from the
ballroom with shame. The list of Tommy’s slip-ups had been growing exponentially ever since,
and now that the festivities are over, the consequences are just one step away from catching up to
him.

And yet, he crossed the line with his own will, refusing to be a sheep waiting to be slaughtered.
Tommy is scared, but it isn’t just fear gathering underneath his skin, stealing warmth from his
fingertips as fixes his tie, spiking at every inch he turns towards the Emperor in the form of a giddy
tremor. Tommy is tired of playing the game on others' terms, and it is time for him to change the
rules.

"Theseus. Why didn't you appear when I requested your presence last night?"

"I heard about the commotion that happened yesterday, but I assumed that the Emperor and two
princes wouldn’t need my assistance in handling the issue.”

“You could have at least shown some concern.”

“Why would I?” Tommy asks, quirking a brow. “Last time I checked, Ranboo was your charity
case, not mine.”

The Emperor’s voice was curt, but he didn’t expect Tommy to speak with the same bluntness. His
eyes squint impossibly more, his lips pressed together and twisted in irritation.

"Maybe because you’re the one who invited Baron Quackity in the first place."

Tommy draws back a shudder. Wilbur had already spoken to their father, then. Tommy could bet
that his brother made it seem to the Emperor like he had staged the whole family reunion as a way
of getting Ranboo out of the palace.

This is both an accusation and a test; His Majesty wants to see if he will buckle. Tommy doesn’t
know why it still hurts that his father trusts Wilbur’s word over his, but he doesn’t let it show on
his face.
"It doesn’t seem like Prince Wilbur bothered to let you know that Quackity was on the issued guest
list for months already. He just chose not to accept the invitation until yesterday.”

"You know that Baron Quackity is not on the best terms with the Imperial family. You should
have revoked his invitation."

You could have done that yourself . Tommy closes his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to
recollect himself. He can feel anger seething just beneath the surface, but fire is useless against the
iceberg that is Emperor Philza. Tommy thinks of Marchioness Beau: how she dances on the
borders of cautious and risky, how confidently she steps on red-hot coals and yet never gets
burned. Instead of pouncing head-on into an argument that he can’t win, Tommy presses an
innocently surprised look to his face.

“Pray tell, am I understanding this right?” he asks. “I thought that Your Majesty would be
delighted by the miraculous family reunion, but you seemed to be displeased with Baron
Quackity’s appearance. Do you, by any chance, suspect Ranboo of lying?"

The iceberg cracks. The Emperor recoils, the grip of his fingers tightening on each other, and
Tommy finally understands: believing Quackity is not a question, it's a choice. The Emperor has
been trying to find the truth, speaking with Wilbur and Quackity, accusing Tommy, but ultimately,
he chooses to believe, because it gives Ranboo a title and flings him up in the noble hierarchy.

The only thing that can keep a predator away is another, much more stronger predator. For as long
as Quackity's presence is profitable, he is under the Emperor's protection - the only type of
patronage that can stop Wilbur from getting to him.

Ah, Quackity , Tommy thinks. You sly bastard.

"I see it as though Baron Quackity will be staying in the palace for longer. I'll make sure that
proper accommodations are prepared."

Tommy uses the Emperor’s stupor to leave without being dismissed. He wishes to say that he did it
to have the last word in the argument, but in reality he feltas though one more minute in that room
would make him faint. Tommy’s back is cramped with sweat, his heart runs a mile a minute; he
squeezes his ribs in an attempt to calm it down and ground himself. He didn't just talk back to his
father, he defied the Emperor and got away with it.

And this is just the beginning. Tommy knows that he isn’t being taken seriously; in the Emperor’s
eyes, he is nothing more than a misbehaving child. For now, it works in his favor. Tommy is in no
position to openly challenge the Emperor; as the crown prince, he is fully dependent on him, but it
doesn’t always have to be this way.

Tommy reaches for his pocket and pulls out the object that Quackity had given to him earlier - it
turns out to be a golden coin. Instead of the emblem of the Empire, Tommy brushes a thumb over
the chased face of a jester. On this side, he’s smiling from ear to ear. When Tommy flips the coin,
he is met with a sinister scowl.

Are you an enemy, or are you an ally? Tommy had asked, and Quackity answered him, I could be
both.

Tommy rounds a corner and comes face-to-face with Dream. Surprised to see the other prince, he
doesn't fix his expression fast enough and bares his worry to the naked eye.

‘Forgive me, I don’t look very presentable right now,” he says, and with a forced smile on his lips
he adds: “Are you taking a walk?”

Dream is having none of it, staring at him with care and intensity of a jeweler inspecting a gem.
Colors dance at the edges of Tommy’s vision, and his hands still remember the kind touch; it’s
hard for Tommy to keep his face straight and unbothered under the eyes that have already seen the
most obvious of cracks.

“Did your family offend you again?” Dream asks, blunt.

Last night, Tommy’s pride was too occupied drowning in misery and exhaustion to care about his
dignity, but today it bristles full force and pounds with heat against Tommy’s cheeks.

“You can withdraw your concerns, Dream. I am no longer intending to tolerate insulting or
belittling behavior towards me, whoever it might be coming from,” he says, folding his arms
behind his back. “Remember what you had told me about pity yesterday, and keep true to your
words.”

Dream didn’t deserve the harsh tone and scathing look he gets smeared with, but it’s as though a
dam between Tommy and his anger had been destroyed, and he struggles to keep all of his fury
inside, lashing out on the first person to talk to him first. He means it, though; every last word.
Tommy is done letting everybody trample his pride.

A look of surprise passes Dream’s features, one that morphs into something more serious. “Tell me
how I can prove to you that I view you as an equal, Theseus,” he says.

Tommy thinks about it for a long moment. Thinks about all the rumors that he ever heard or
gathered about Dream. The crown prince of Esempi, brother to King Foolish; the prince who
controls the court with just the pull and twitch of his fingers, the prince that the nobles of the
Kingdom are more afraid of than other nations, the prince who has more influence over the country
than the monarch himself.

That sort of power doesn’t come from good manners or sitting prettily on the throne. One day, as
the first in line, Tommy is going to become the Emperor, but simply having the crown is not
enough. How willing the nobles are to comply with his command, how ready they will be to
buckle to his will, whether they will try to challenge his rights for the throne - it’s all determined
by the reputation he builds himself now.

Tommy’s eyelids, momentarily drooped, pry open, his hazy gaze focusing sharply when it locks on
Dream. “Teach me,” Tommy says, demanding, determined. “Teach me what it takes to be the
crown prince.”

Dream doesn’t answer right away. He stares right past the puzzle of an expression on Tommy’s
face, past his burning glare and somewhere deeper into his soul.

“There is no captain without a crew,” he says, but his eyes are still searching. “First of all, you’re
going to need people on your side who you can rely on. People who you can trust as much as you
do yourself.”

Tommy pauses, his hand clenching into a fist on his side. “And what if those people betray me?”
he asks quietly.

Dream blinks. Whatever it is that he had found in Tommy’s eyes, he must have liked it. The smile
that blooms on his face is something unfamiliar, new - not quite the friendly or welcome type that
Tommy had seen before, instead a dangerous layer to it that strikes a chill down his spine.
 “You find everything that they are attached to,” he says. “And take it away from them.”

Chapter End Notes

Chapter summary
Tommy returns to his room after the Banquet. He thinks about Quackity and
reminisces about their relationships. He wonders if Quackity told the truth about being
Ranboo’s brother.

Techno comes. Phil sent him to fetch Tommy to talk about Ranboo situation but
Techno notices that Tommy's injured. Tommy tries to brush it off and when Techno
presses on, Tommy explodes. Tommy accuses Techno of not doing anything about
Wilbur’s treatment of him. Techno doesn't deny that he knows of it and Tommy asks
him to leave. Tommy thinks about whether he should go speak to Phil but ultimately
decides against it; he's done being the Emperor's loyal dog and from now on wants to
listen only to himself.

Next morning Tommy offers Beau to become his new aide. Beau doesn't trust that he
suddenly decided to do so and they exchange phrases back and forth, Tommy testing
her responses, and finally admitting that he needs a spy in the palace. Beau agrees and
tells him that Quackity is to have a meal with Phil and Ranboo soon.

Tommy barges in uninvited, deciding to confront Phil. He notices that Phil is trying to
intimidate Quackity but the man is not affected by it. Ranboo seems very out of it the
whole time. Quackity notices the tension between Phil and Tommy and skedaddles,
but sneakily hands Tommy something as he leaves. Tommy and Phil are left alone.
Not without Wilbur’s off-stage nudging, Phil accuses Tommy of scheming with
Quackity. Phil is trying to figure out the truth but he ultimately decides to put up with
Quackity's words for now because it lifts Ranboo on the social ladder.

Tommy leaves the scene, anxious after openly defying Phil. He knows that he isn't
being taken seriously because he is just the Emperor's mere shadow but is determined
to change it. He runs into Dream; Dream notices his worry and attempts to comfort
him. Tommy reminds that he doesn't want pity and instead asks Dream to teach him
how to become as powerful and influential as him.

Author notes
Officialize gboss duo (girlboss duo) as an official name for Tommy & Beau

Welcome to Arc 2, aka the arc of Tommy finally standing up against his family.
Buckle up because we're in for a number of very satisfying scenes that a lot of you had
been waiting for. If you're liking the story, don't forget to leave a kuddo and a
comment, they really brighten up my day!

There are some significant changes in the end notes below so please be sure to skim
through for useful information.
 Now I make my own decisions
Chapter Summary

The offer startles Techno into looking away; he glances over his shoulder and at the
crowding guards, who only refrain from murmuring to each other because of the
general’s sharp look. Exhausted from training, holding onto their sides with winces,
they look worse than Sapnap and none in the state for a lengthy duel.

“Those customs are only suitable for war,” Techno states dryly, turning back to
Dream. “It’s not a good omen to bring them up in peace.”

Dream seems unbothered. “I thought you didn’t care about customs,” he says. And
Sapnap, suddenly energetic, pulls his lips back into a grin.
“Of course Prince Technoblade would refuse,” he says to his prince, completely
ignoring the general’s presence, “he knows that there is no soldier in the Antarctic
army that can compare in skill with me.”

This is no longer about Techno’s unwillingness to have the southerners on the training
grounds, it’s about the Empire’s honor, and the rising rumble of the guard’s voices is
proof of that. Wisp puts his helmet off to wipe away the sweat, but before he can make
a foolish decision, Tommy steps up to Techno’s side.

“I can,” he says.

Chapter Notes

Long time no see!

Have a long chapter for a long wait ;)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

With the foreign delegations riding off through the gates one by one, the palace falls back into its
usual slumber. Extra chambers are cleaned and locked away until they’re needed again, the
corridors are no longer filled with chatting voices and Tommy can pass through the hallways
without the prolonged routine of greeting every guest he meets on his way.

It’s a short-term relief, though; the crown prince’s responsibilities don’t end with managing a few
evening festivities. The paperwork that was put to the side as Tommy was busy with the guests
now cramps his desk in tall towers, each threatening to topple over with the slightest breath of the
wind. The sight of it makes some part of him howl in frustration, but he is mostly glad for the
sense of normality it brings. Long afternoons spent in the company of rustling papers and old,
leather-coveted books, the rhythmic tap of his foot against the carpet – everything's back to its
usual self.

“Your Imperial Highness, you have a visitor,” Beau announces, thrashing the doors open.
Well. Almost everything.

Tommy’s hand twitches. He looks over a long stray mark left on the paper before him and drops
the quill with a loud, exhausted sigh. The physician had told him that it will take about a month for
his broken hand to heal, and a week or two more for the stiffness to be gone completely. Tommy
refused to wait for that long and decided to exercise his left hand in writing. Rather unfruitful so
far, if the ugly scribbles, the polar opposite to his usual perfectly aligned documents, were anything
to judge by.

It irritates Tommy more and more with each following day, especially as the third month of the
summer balls in, marking the start of payroll orders. The stewards help Tommy to manage the
palace staff, but it’s on the crown prince’s shoulders in the end to make sure that no maid nor
servant is paid a coin short of their salary.

While Beau has proven herself fluent in both manners of text and calculation, Tommy still checks
every record and every paper to make sure that no mistakes are made. Beau knew what she was
signing up to, and she never complains about the load of her new responsibilities; at the same time,
she finds rather creative ways to let Tommy know how his meticulousness makes her feel.

He casts a glare up and sees the lady smirking at him from the other side of the office, not in the
slightest ashamed of startling him. Beau is simultaneously everything and nothing that Tubbo was;
both are ghostly silent in their movement, but while Tubbo used to creep in with a deer’s
cautiousness, Beau’s sneakiness ends the moment she speaks and catches Tommy off guard with
the thunder of her voice. Tommy ignores the knot of emotions that thinking about Tubbo tightens
and instead focuses back on the desk.

He squeezes his eyes shut for a moment to rid of the stinging sensation, gathers the ruined
document into a fist and throws into the bin without looking – it, of course, doesn’t land, missing
the target by a good few feet and rolling into the corner to the other balls of crumbled paper
gathering there since the start of the day.

Tommy has been curious to see how big the pile will grow before either of them gives up first and
calls for a maid to clean up. He thought that Beau had had enough when she drew closer, but
instead, she smears him with an unimpressed look and kicks the bin closer so it’s right next to the
desk.

It’s a draw.

Tommy sighs again and pushes his chair back. “Your Ladyship, how many times did I ask you not
to disturb me during my working hou-”

“Is this a bad time?”

“Prince Dream!” Tommy is on his feet before he can process another thought. “Not at all, please
come in.”

Dream steps into the office half-way through, looking around curiously. He grasps it all: Tommy
and Beau at the table, tall curtainless windows behind them, bookshelves filled to the brim with
folders, ledgers and sheaves of paper. The mess on the floor earns Tommy a half-hearted chuckle –
his shoulders twitch up in embarrassment – but to his relief, Dream’s gaze rounds back to him and
Beau.

“Reminds me of my brother’s office,” Dream says in a conversational tone. “Though it’s a little bit
bare here.”
Dream is not wrong. For an office this big, easily comparable in size with most bedrooms in the
palace, the desk and a few chairs on a red carpet stand out like an island in the middle of an ocean.
There used to be a few couches filling in the empty space – almost every other night Tommy fell
asleep curled up amongst the cushions, and Techno would carry his sluggishly protesting form all
the way back to his chambers. Eventually, Tommy’s brother had gotten all of them taken out, but
experience has shown that he can just as easily fall asleep sitting if he is tired enough. Which is
almost always.

Tommy pushes the chair towards the table and hums an affirmation. “I prefer to keep my working
space clean of distractions.”

“Do you also prefer not to take any breaks?” Dream asks.

Beau skews a gaze at him, so seething that it could’ve set his hair on fire if that was physically
possible. When Tommy’s head spins around to glare at her, the lady is looking out the window,
fanning herself sheepishly. Tommy blazes his eyes one more time for good measure before he
turns back to patiently waiting Dream. The crown prince’s amused smile makes his cheeks turn
red, and he lowers his head, gazing over the abandoned documents sprawled before him.

“I can afford a break every once in a while,” he says, if only to prove Beau wrong. “Why do you
ask?”

Dream fetches out a piece of paper out of his pocket with two fingers.

“Sapnap has left me a note saying that he left to train with the palace guards early this morning. I
wanted to tell him that I’ll be needing him later in the day, but I don’t know where to look.”

“He must be around the barracks,” Tommy muses.

The other prince gives him a reserved, but confused look that clearly means that he doesn’t know
where the barracks are. Tommy hadn’t shown Dream that part of the palace during their initial tour
– a bunch of guards going through their training drills is not what visitors are usually interested in
seeing.

Tommy wants to offer himself as a guide, but his gaze stumbles on the piled paperwork and bites
back the reply.

“I can have Marchioness Beau lead you the way-”

“Forgive my selfishness, for I came seeking your company specifically, Prince Theseus,” Dream
says. “However, I do not wish to impose either. Perhaps we shall request the lady in question has
the final say?”

They both turn to Beau, and Tommy’s aide, who previously kept silent in the face of two princes
conversing, gestures at the remaining paperwork with her fan. “If Prince Theseus would be so
generous to share, I can finish today’s quota by myself.” She shoots Tommy a sly look. “In my
humble opinion, there is no reason for Prince Dream’s request to be denied.”

Tommy can only stare and wonder when his aide and the foreign prince hadthe time to conspire
against him. Does this count as treason? He is quite sure that it does. In the meantime, two people
are still waiting for his answer, and the way Beau worded her reply leaves Tommy very short of
options.

Tommy skids into a stroll and joins the other prince’s side and pretends not to feel warmed up
when the corner of Dream’s mouth twitches upwards.
***

For hundreds of years, the Kingdom of Esempi and the Antarctic Empire competed for supremacy
over the continent. The desire to control all trade flows and own valuable resources pushed them,
again and again, to clash in bloody skirmishes over territories that often spilled into full-fledged
wars.

Even with all the efforts of Emperor Philza and King Foolish to maintain the fragile bridge of
peace, the people of both nations hold their breaths in dread of it falling through at any moment.
The Empire hates the Kingdom and the Kingdom hates the Empire; such has been their relationship
for as long as the oldest records tell. The two countries who were once enemies became rivals - and
now the crown prince of one of them is teaching the second what neither father nor his brothers
could. What he couldn’t teach himself.

Tommy has no delusions about his own knowledge and experience. History had known rulers who
commanded armies and conquered nations before reaching the mark of twenty years. Compared to
his ancestors, and even to his father, who was crowned Emperor at sixteen, Tommy is a little more
than a feeble child. He had spent enough time waiting for a chance to prove himself capable of
something more than bookkeeping, and finally saw it in a face with green eyes and a gentle hand
squeezing his own - an oath witnessed by the firework-strewn night sky.

Tommy is used to Quackity withdrawing his cards and always having a spare up his sleeve, and it
came to him a surprise how readily Dream flips over his own. He admits to rumors about him
being true, lips skinned to a smile so wide and confident that Tommy, who usually recoils from
Wilbur’s similar expression, can’t help but get drawn in by it.

“I don't shy away from ruling with fear and I’m no stranger to vengeance,” Dream had said to him
the other day. “Some may say that I should be afraid of the amount of enemies I’m making for
myself, to which I reply - why would the spider be afraid of the flies?”

Tommy would assume that it’s arrogance that pads Dream’s honesty if it wasn’t for the
conversation they had during the Banquet. It’s naive, he knows, that he wants to believe Dream
told the truth about seeing a twin soul in Tommy, but in the grand scheme of things it only matters
that Dream is willing to share the knowledge Tommy so greedily craves for.

The walk to the barracks is a long one. Tommy keeps a steady pace towards the northern exit of the
palace. Wherever the crown prince passes, the palace brisks: clerks and butlers, stewards and
maids - everyone seems to move and work twice as hard under his watchful eye.

Usually the two princes would whirl into a lengthy discussion by now, but today, they are trapped
in a bubble of silence. Dream attempts to initiate a conversation a few times but Tommy’s replies
are curt and scarce. The Antarctic prince is first to make it out of the northern exit and step into the
halo of afternoon sun. He waits for Dream at the bottom of the marble stairs, squirming his eyes as
they adjust to bright light.

“You look troubled,” Dream points out when he catches up to Tommy. “Have I, by any chance,
said something to put you off?”

Tommy shakes his head vigorously.

“No, no, of course not. I apologize if it seems like I’m ignoring you,” he says. “It’s just that there is
something occupying my mind that won’t stop bothering me.”

Dream is first to resume their walk, and a moment later, Tommy steps up to lead the way again.
“Don’t apologize,” Dream says. “As your friend, I just wanted to make sure that I’m not making
you uncomfortable.”

Tommy cards fingers through his hair, releasing a deep sigh. “That’s not it,” he repeats. The
prompting look that Dream bestows Tommy with makes him feel obliged to reply - or so the crown
prince tells himself when he can’t explain the sudden urge to get rid of the knotting feeling in his
chest.

“I suppose that the easiest way to put it is that I’m not happy with myself for slacking on my
responsibilities.”

“Your aide seemed to be confident that you can rely on her.”

“I don’t doubt her competence.”

“Then what is the matter?”

Tommy chews on his lip. He is always careful with what he tells the other prince, only revealing
the information that is already accessible to the public- but Dream is easy to talk to, and he keeps
insisting that they both share what’s on their mind… So maybe Tommy can afford a little bit of
honesty.

“I’m not used to passing down my work to others,” he admits, “and it feels like I’m committing a
crime just by doing so.”

Dream hums, understanding. “As your aide, Marchioness Beau is specifically meant to help you.
There is no shame in letting her ease some of the weight you’re carrying when it’s the reason you
have hired her in the first place.”

Tommy thinks back of Beau. She is used to taking care of her family’s domain, and it's no wonder
that she finds Tommy’s control of her work overbearing and was so eager to chase him out of the
office.

“I suppose…” Tommy draws out.

Dream tilts his head to look at him. Sunlight dances on the pupils of green eyes, and Tommy finds
himself staring, mesmerized.

“Sometimes,” Dream hums, “the strength of the people around us is more important than our own.
Part of trusting is about letting them show what they’re capable of.”

Tommy doesn’t find an immediate answer, just like always when their conversations stray to the
topic of trust. Dream talks a lot about how it’s important for a ruler to know where to rely on
others, and while Tommy eagerly absorbs everything else that the older prince says, this is where
he faces internal resistance.

The concept of trust is not unfamiliar to Tommy. Wilbur said that they’re always going to have
each other, Tubbo swore that he’s going to have his back, and Father promised to be his support-
Techno still tells, every once in a while, that family will be there to straighten him up even when it
feels like the rest of the world is crumbling beneath. All of them are liars, and now Tommy has the
strength to admit and accept the fact that the only person he can ever rely on is himself.

“How can I ensure that everything is perfect if I’m not doing it myself?” Tommy says when the
pause between him and Dream stretches for far too long.
A look of something thoughtful and at the same time distinctly sad passes over Dream’s face;
although in the shadow of a cloud momentarily curtaining the sun, Tommy might have read his
expression wrong.

“We’re almost here,” Tommy says, before Dream can squeeze another word in; not an agreement
and not an argument but a way to stray the conversation from things that make his chest fasten and
his head fuzzy.

They see the walls first: gray stone and bricks layered up into the sky, shadowing the barracks and
the training area beneath. Grass here is flattened down to bare soil, repeatedly stomped down by
many feet; the closer Tommy and Dream come, the louder is the screech of metal rattling against
metal.

Tommy knows that Techno is not in a good mood because the guards are panting in full armored
gear, swords and axes strapped to their belts. They run laps in a large circle while the general
watches them like a hawk, his arms folded on his chest. His white hair, normally braided, is pulled
up with a bird-shaped brooch.

Tommy hasn’t talked to his brother since their argument. He caught the sight of Techno observing
him and Dream a few times from a distance; he stared back, almost daring Techno to try and say
something, but he didn’t utter a word, only narrowed his eyes as he left.

It felt like a stone settled deep in Tommy’s heart ever since then. Even now, as they move closer,
his chest feels like a wrenched piece of cloth. A twitch of Techno's earring betrays that he is aware
of Tommy and Dream’s arrival, but his back stays facing them firmly. Tommy gets distracted by
the sight of a familiar helmet in the river of sweating figures. Wisp waves a hand at him as their
eyes meet.

“Save us, Your Highness!” he yells.

The guards' agonized groans turn to wheezes.

"Save from who?" Techno asks, low and dangerous. "From me, perhaps?"

"Negative!" Wisp shouts. "I adore you, General! "

This was not an act of a wise man. Under Techno's destroying gaze, Wisp speeds up to another ten
laps, nearly kissing his knees with each hop.

A person separates from other running figures and trods towards Tommy and Dream. The white
headband that usually keeps hair out of the man’s face has slithered to the side, and sweat coats his
forehead as if he had dunked his head in water.

As soon as Sapnap nears the two princes, he collapses on the ground in a heap of metal. Dream
bends to pick up his sheathed sword, and pokes the knight’s stomach with the tip. Sapnap slaps the
weapon away and snarls, “Fuck off.”

Dream chuckles, “What’s the matter, Sapnap? Can’t handle a little exercise?”

“I’d see how you would feel after two hours of running in armor.”

They banter with each other back and forth. Dream prods Sapnap’s ribs with his boot, and the
knight lunges to grab the prince’s ankle - only for Dream to slide away and gloat at him for being
too slow.
Tommy watches them, not sure if he feels more amused or abashed. The amount of swears flying
out of the knight’s lips first scraped against his ears, but it’s not like any of those words were new
to him. In those few days he came to learn that Dream allows Sapnap more than he’d ever seen a
royal allow their guard or servant. It makes Tommy think of Tubbo - how they sneaked around
those very barracks, stealing training swords to swing at each other clumsily. He cuts off that
stream of thoughts before his chest starts to pang.

"' You're under my command as long as you're on my territory ' my ass," Sapnap groans, rolling to
his back and tilting his chin to look at Tommy. "I'm sorry, Your Highness, but your brother is a
prick ."

A huff traitorously escapes Tommy’s lips - either a laugh or a sound of surprise. Techno’s ear
twitches. He turns around, oh so very slowly, and leers at Sapnap. The rattle of armor and steps
quiets down - the guards drop their pace as the aura of danger whiffs them, and they suddenly turn
very unwilling to attract Techno’s attention, be it with a movement or sound.

“ Fuck ,” Sapnap breathes out. “How good is his hearing?”

“You’re a dead man walking,” Tommy says.

Sapnap scrambles upright when Techno’s shadow casts over him. Pink-eyed gaze spits daggers and
flames as it slithers away from the knight, brushes Tommy merely and fixates on Dream.

“Prince Dream,” Techno says, “I’ll let it slide this once, but I do not wish to see any of your people
near the training grounds again.”

“Just one person can’t be much of a bother to you.” Dream hums, digging the end of Sapnap’s
sword into the ground and leaning on it like on a cane. “I can’t have my knight’s skills atrophy, can
I?”

Techno’s face turns two shades darker and sourer. Tommy hasn’t seen his brother this close to
anger in a long time. Techno narrows his eyes into two slits, “Too bad that it’s not my problem.”

There isn’t a trace of airy and goofy mood that previously hung in the air. With all his frivolous
behavior around Dream, Sapnap wisely keeps his mouth clamped, and so does Tommy. The thread
of tension, gazes drilling - one green, and the other light pink - feels the same as when they nearly
dueled because of Wilbur’s lie.

“How about we solve this the old-fashioned way?” Dream says, unblinking. “My knight against
one of your soldiers. If Sapnap wins, he can train here all he wants, but if not, we’ll both avoid this
place by a long mile.”

Tommy knows what the ‘old-fashioned way’ entails - combat of the champions of two armies,
once a common practice between the Antarctic Empire and the Kingdom of Esempi. The offer
startles Techno into looking away; he glances over his shoulder and at the crowding guards, who
only refrain from murmuring to each other because of the general’s sharp look. Exhausted from
training, holding onto their sides with winces, they look worse than Sapnap and none in the state
for a lengthy duel.

“Those customs are only suitable for war,” Techno states dryly, turning back to Dream. “It’s not a
good omen to bring them up in peace.”

Dream seems unbothered. “I thought you didn’t care about customs,” he says. And Sapnap,
suddenly energetic, pulls his lips back into a grin.
“Of course Prince Technoblade would refuse,” he says to his prince, completely ignoring the
general’s presence, “he knows that there is no soldier in the Antarctic army that can compare in
skill with me.”

This is no longer about Techno’s unwillingness to have the southerners on the training grounds,
it’s about the Empire’s honor, and the rising rumble of the guard’s voices is proof of that. Wisp
puts his helmet off to wipe away the sweat, but before he can make a foolish decision, Tommy
steps up to Techno’s side.

“I can,” he says.

Techno’s eyelids twitch. For the first time this week, a look of something other than indignation
passes his eyes.

“Theseus, your hand is broken,” Techno says.

"I still have my left hand, don't I?" Tommy walks up to a stand with weapons and picks up a sword.
It feels awkward and heavier than normal. He ignores the sound of steps until Techno stands right
next to him and half-hisses:

"What are you doing, Theseus?"

"Protecting the honor of the Antarctic Empire,” Tommy says, not batting an eye.

"You're throwing a tantrum, that's what this is."

“I’m not a child, Techno,” Tommy mumbles angrily. He twists his wrist around until he locks in a
position where he can wield the sword with relative ease, then glances over his shoulder at his
brother, “Don’t treat me like one.”

Techno huffs. “If you want to be treated like an adult, you need to be prepared not only to make
your own decisions but also mistakes.”

For a long moment, two brothers are silent. Techno once told Tommy that he is as stubborn as his
twin is - normally, he’d loath anything in himself that could be similar to Wilbur, but now it helps
him to withstand the heaviness of Techno’s gaze.

Techno seems to understand, too, that Tommy isn’t giving up; he presses a step back with a frown.
When Tommy walks away from the weapon stand, it’s with two swords held in his left hand. He
passes the watching crowd with a glance and finds Dream’s eyes aimed at him, his head tilted in a
way that makes him look distinctly like a bird. He is coming to read Dream's expressions better
and better with each day, and right now, the prince seems intrigued.

A breeze passes Tommy’s face, blowing his hair out of his face. Determination fuels each step he
takes towards Sapnap. Techno deems him incapable of protecting himself, so he’ll prove him
wrong. And, at the same time, maybe impress his new mentor too.

"I don't want to hurt your crown prince,” Sapnap says, looking between Techno and Wisp. Instead
it’s Tommy who drops one of the blades and slices the other on his bare forearm. Sapnap jerks
instinctively, but there is no blood gushing from a deep wound, only a fading red line where metal
made contact with skin.

"These swords are no sharper than a butter knife,” Tommy says, “You wouldn't be able to harm me
if you tried.”
Tommy passes the sword to Sapnap, and the knight accepts it reluctantly. Pieces of light armor
strapped around his arms and torso fall on the ground one by one. Tommy shrugs his coat off, and
it slides off the shortened sleeves of his pale blue shirt, high-waisted and laced by a red sash. The
guards form a big circle around them; Techno and Dream clasp it shut while Tommy and Sapnap
move to the opposite ends.

“I’m not a fan of unfair fights,” Sapnap warns, moving his feet apart into a battle stance.

“Of course,” Tommy folds his right arm to his back, smirking. "I can even tie it up, if you need that
advantage," he suggests, and a roar of laughter passes the guards.

Sapnap needs no further encouragement. He lunges forward, wanting to end it fast so as not to
strain the poor injured prince. Tommy stands still until they’re just a few feet apart and whirls out
of the way, slapping the flat side of his sword on Sapnap’s arm.

Their audience hoots as the first strike lands. Tommy was aiming for Sapnap’s back, but it’s close
enough that a smirk creeps up his face when the knight swivels around, eyes widened. Surprise
morphs into a challenge as Sapnap straightens up and readjusts the loose grip on his own weapon.
Finally, Tommy is taken seriously.

Sapnap charges again, steel catching flecks of sunlight. With one arm locked at his waist,
Tommy’s shoulder moves first – the rest of the body follows suit, and he steps to the opposite of
the blade’s swing. Sapnap knows his strength, Tommy will give him that, but strength is useless in
a quarrel with air.

When Tommy first started learning swordsmanship, his attacks were jerky and aimless. Techno
couldn’t train him out of swinging his weapon left and right no matter how much he explained that
a battle is about more than just brute force – something that Tommy naturally lacked. It seemed
that Techno would give up teaching him soon, until one day he stumbled upon him and Niki in the
pavilion. He watched as Tommy flew by in a swirl of blond and blue – his feet barely touching
stone and yet each step precise as a thread of knitting work – and an idea flashed in his eyes.

Their next training session, Techno blocked Tommy’s path just when he was about to reach for an
axe. “Forget everything that I ever taught you and do what you already know,” he said, handing
Tommy a dagger, “Dance.”

And dance Tommy did. His limbs turn to wind and his feet carve patterns on soil as he skids out of
the weapon’s way. He needs no music to follow the rhythm of the fight; Sapnap attacks guide
Tommy’s dance, turning the knight’s perfect skills to his imperfect art.

With each new attack that Tommy evades, the guards rile them up more. His name thunders a few
times in Wisp’s voice. From the corner of his eyes, Tommy finds both Techno and Dream
watching. His brother – with silent judgment in everything from his crossed arms to the crease of
his brows, while the foreign prince nearly leaps up when Sapnap uses Tommy’s distraction to force
him into defense. Their swords clash together and the prince skids away before another hit could
follow.

“Tired of dancing yet?” Sapnap asks, smirking, as they both take a moment to catch their breath.

“Never,” Tommy says, even as his arm quivers and the beginnings of a fire sting in his lungs.
“You, on the other hand, are slipping.”

Tommy is agile but his endurance is low. Sapnap catches onto that quickly and gathers that little
energy he has left into one fiery strike. Tommy can’t duck fast enough and takes it with his sword.
On adrenaline alone he musters enough power to hold Sapnap’s blade off for a few sweltering
moments before his hand gives up traitorously. Metal scrapes against metal as it drops the blade
and plants a knee to Sapnap’s stomach. The knight doubles over, and Tommy’s now free hand
seizes the sword out of the knight’s grip.

“Surrender,” he says, pointing the tip at Sapnap’s throat.

Sapnap looks down at Tommy’s sword lying at their feet. The prince kicks it away, and the
knight’s eyes flicker back to him.

“You've got the upper hand, Your Highness,” he says, slowly raising his arms. “The honor of
Antarctic Empire is secured.”

The crowd explodes into shouts. A smile stretches from Tommy’s one ear to another. He lets his
arm fall and the sword clatter on the ground, glancing back at Techno in search of his approval.
The traces of an eleven-year-old boy who dreamed to be acknowledged by his legend of a brother
cheers and laughs in his eyes, as if screaming, ‘ I won, Tech, have you seen it?’

Techno has seen it. And yet the look on his face is blank, and the longer it stays that way, the more
Tommy’s smile wilts.

“You’ve got me good,” Sapnap goes by and pats Tommy’s back approvingly. Tommy stares at his
shoulder like he expects for it to set aflame. Is Sapnap… Not offended? He should be- Tommy did
just defeat him with his non-dominant hand. The knight collects the pieces of his armor and straps
them back on, only further prodding Tommy's confusion when he hands the prince his abandoned
coat.

“You’re losing your grip, Sapnap,” Dream walks up to them, hands in his pockets. The odd thing is
that he doesn’t sound disappointed, not even mildly upset. He shoves Sapnap teasingly, to which
the knight snarls without any heat behind his voice, “Shut up.”

Techno’s steps are so silent that nobody but Tommy notices him until he appears behind Sapnap’s
back and nearly makes him jump out of his skin.

“Your knight has lost,” he rumbles. “I hope that you can keep true to your word, Prince Dream.”

Dream nods. “A deal is a deal. We’ll be taking our leave now,” He cocks his head at Tommy, his
eyes full of glee. “You’re full of surprises, Theseus. Thank you for helping me find my guard and
knocking him down a peg. I won’t be wasting your time any longer if you wish to part ways now.
But if not-” he gestures at Sapnap, who nods along even before Dream finishes, “We both will be
happy to have you as company.”

Tommy looks at Techno instinctively, as if asking for permission, but his brother has already
turned away from him.

“Did I ever tell any of you to stop running?” he roars to the guards, and the wind of them blows
away.

Techno pointedly ignores his younger brother’s presence. Tommy can already sense that it’s going
to become a new normal to them. This is what he wanted – the freedom to make his own decisions
without Techno looming over him or hazarding his way – but now when it came down to it, all
Tommy can feel is bitterness.

Despite this, he turns back to Dream. “I’d be more than delighted to join you,” Tommy says.
***

As the sun starts setting down in the evening, Tommy takes Sapnap and Dream to the deeper parts
of the gardens. Here, wide bands of white stone curl to narrow paths, and plants seem to grow
greener, lusher, thriving away from common sight. Neither a noble nor a servant would bother
them here, and they only come across an occasional gardener watering the flowers or quietly
clipping a dry leaf. For a while the conversation bounces around Tommy’s victory in the fight
earlier. Compliments are given, chuckles whiff through the trees – and even if Tommy can’t name
the giddy sensation warming him up from inside, he knows that it feels nice.

“I’m exhausted ,” Sapnap says at some point, tipping his head back as he stretches his shoulders
and brings his elbows together. “I think I’ll call it a night early.”

“Take a bath, you stink,” Dream informs him. With a last portion of light banter, Sapnap leaves,
leaving the two crown princes alone.

They both vow to silence without agreeing to, enjoying each other’s company in the ambience of
sunset gardens: swish of wind in the canopy of branches, shuffle of the path against their shoes and
murmur of a pond somewhere behind thick bushes. Tommy lets his feet carry him on while he
rests his eyelids and wonders if this is what peace sounds like.

“Thank you,” Tommy says.

“For what?” Dream asks. He says it like he genuinely doesn’t know.

“For baiting me out of my office today. For inviting me to take a stroll with you. And more than
anything else, for agreeing to mentor me as a prince.” Tommy opens his eyes to look at Dream and
let him see the gratitude there, too. “I’m indebted to you for your kindness, and if there is any way
you’d want me to repay it- please let me know.”

“You overestimate my influence on you,” Dream shakes his head. “I couldn’t have taught you
anything that you didn’t already master. The nature of advice is that it comes only at the price of
listening.”

Tommy’s brows huddle together. He thinks of Quackity- thinks of all the other people that were
before him. If Dream doesn’t look for anything to ask of him, why would he waste his time on
mentoring him?

“Truth to be told, I admire you, Theseus,” Dream says, as if reading his mind.

Tommy’s next step comes to a stumbling halt. “Admire?” he asks, dumbfounded. “For what?”

“Ruling family of Esempi is even smaller than the Empire’s. Me and my siblings physically
wouldn’t be able to handle an entire nation all by ourselves,” Dream says. “King Foolish isn’t
married, so a queen’s responsibilities are managed by a number of trusted advisors - everything
that you, Theseus, do by yourself.”

“Those are just my regular duties,” Tommy argues. “It’s nothing to admire, and certainly nothing in
comparison to what your influence as a prince is. That’s the reason why I sought your guidance in
the first place.”

Dream spins around to face Tommy, so suddenly that it almost makes him jump.

“Theseus, a week ago, you asked me not to belittle you,” Dream says, “but isn’t it hypocritical of
you when you discount your own efforts? You provide thousands of people employed at the palace
with means to fend for themselves and their families. You make sure that the Imperial family’s
court functions smoothly, and if I speak frankly- the only reason that the nobles of the Empire are
this idle is because their hopes for you are keeping them at bay.”

Tommy’s lips part only to press together tightly the next moment. He doesn’t… think of it this
way. Assigning half his servants to western wing when they were short of hands, sums allocated to
the renovation of staff quarters, bookkeeping accounts and payroll orders - they are a blur of
rustling papers on Tommy’s desk. Nothing important or outstanding, neither about them nor him.

“Somebody always had to take those responsibilities,” he says. “Whether it’d be queens or
empresses or princes.”

Dream shakes his head. “It doesn’t mean that everyone can shoulder them.”

Tommy dips his chin, his eyelids fluttering. Wilbur’s face comes drifting to his vision, sullen and
so terribly broken in the face of Techno’s retreating form. In an attempt to make the image go
away, Tommy shifts his gaze towards the palace.

From this distance, he can see the building in its full massive glory: round towers climbing the sky
like rays of a crown, rooftops gilded in sunset pink and lengthy galleries connecting one wing to
another. The palace’s size is befitting to the functions it serves: housing the Imperial family,
holding the most important of diplomatic negotiations and centralizing a country’s worth of
paperwork flow. The heart of the capital, the heart of the nation – from where he stands now,
Tommy can’t believe that somebody could be in charge of keeping it pumping, lest it be somebody
as small and insignificant as himself.

“Just because you’re used to doing something, doesn’t mean that the credit for it ever lessens,”
Dream says, seeing that he doesn’t find the words to argue. “Where others would buckle, you,
Theseus, thrive.”

Tommy’s hand fiddles with the sleeve of his coat. Thrive, his mind echoes. Guilt pangs his chest.
He’s not thriving; he is miserable, pitifully so, and he feels like a liar that Dream seems to think
otherwise.

“You think too highly of me,” he murmurs.

"No, Theseus, I’m just speaking the truth,” Dream says. ”You have wit and you have talent. The
only thing you lack is some confidence to put them to use.”

The older prince puts a hand on Tommy’s shoulder. He tenses a bit, but starts relaxing under the
older prince’s earnest gaze. He doesn’t believe Dream’s words - but he wants to, even if for a
moment shorter than it takes his heart to beat once, to have as much faith in himself as Dream
does.

Against Tommy’s will, his shoulders sack. The pressure of Dream’s hand tightens for a second and
disappears completely the next, but his skin still burns where it made contact through cloth.
Tommy's heart flutters in his chest with a feeling that he can’t decipher, can’t name or understand,
and that fact troubles him deep down to his bones.

His spell-cast state gets broken when grass shuffles behind them. It must be Sapnap returning ,
Tommy assumes, but when he turns around it’s Wilbur passing a row of yellow hyacinths. Even as
Tommy can’t properly make out his expression in the beginning, he knows that Wilbur is angry –
or at the very least, irritated – from his usual well-measured, leisurely walk stepping up to
impatient leaps.
“Prince Dream, I thought you’d be boarding a ship back to Esempi by now,” Wilbur says. The hair
at the back of Tommy’s neck bristles from the cold draft of his voice. “For how much longer do
you plan on staying for?”

The tactlessness of the question grinds against Tommy’s ears, but he ushers himself to stay silent,
holding his breath as he waits for Dream’s answer.

“A couple of months, at least,” Dream hums. “I want to use the most of this opportunity to get
myself familiar with the people and culture of the Empire.”

Tommy breathes out. Wrinkles of a smile gather around Dream’s eyes. Wilbur shoots them a
seething, narrow-eyed gaze.

"That’s an unusually long time. Surely King Foolish needs you back in Esempi sooner."

“Thank you for your concern, but my brother will let me know if that will be the case,” Dream
says, and Tommy has never heard a gratitude that sounded as dry.

Tension clogs the air between two princes: Wilbur – a rope stretched to its limit, and Dream like a
mast croaking under the strong blast of a wind. It’s clear that neither of them is going to back off on
their own, and Tommy feels a need to ease the brewing storm before the lightning strikes.

"It's not acceptable for you to speak to a guest this way,” he says, drawing in both their attention.
“Prince Dream is welcome to stay at the palace for as long as he wishes to."

Wilbur frowns. “You’re on this, too?” he asks in a bitter, betrayed tone that makes Tommy sigh.

“It’s best if we take our leave now,” he says.

Before Tommy can look for a way out of the conversation, Wilbur wrestles the frown out of his
face. He wraps his fingers around Tommy’s forearm. “I’d like you to stay, Theseus. There’s
something I wish to discuss with you in private.”

Tommy scowls. What he wishes for is to throw Wilbur’s hand off, but he knows that he can’t
avoid speaking to his brother forever, and he’s so tired of being afraid of him that instead of usual
dread, irritation prickles his skin. Dream looks like he’s about to speak up until he meets Tommy’s
eyes and sees something in them that makes him smile again.

“I’ll see you later, Theseus.”

Tommy nods and takes a whirling step to the side. Caught off guard, Wilbur lets his arm go, but
moves after him as soon as he starts walking on the path.

“Since when were you on a first name basis with Prince Dream?” Wilbur asks incredulously when
they leave the heir of Esempi far behind.

“Prince Wilbur,” Tommy purses his lips, “if you’re here to act petty for no reason at all, we might
as well part ways now.”

Wilbur glares at him. “From the way you talk to me, it seems as though you don’t want to know
that Grand Duke Sam and Emperor Philza were talking about you this morning.”

Tommy almost stumbles out of surprise but is quick to correct his posture – which doesn’t, of
course, go unnoticed by his brother. The smug look that had been wiped off Wilbur’s face by
Dream earlier returns in full force. Tommy furrows his brows but can’t deny that Wilbur’s words
got his full attention.

He remembers talking to Duke Sam during the Banquet with humiliation burning his face. After
Tommy’s sharp reaction to the man’s words and his subsequent escape, he thought that he
wouldn’t want to do anything to do with him, so why would Duke Sam be bringing his name up to
the Emperor?

“Fine, let me hear it,” Tommy sighs. A cunning smirk and a quirked brow make it clear that
Wilbur is waiting for something else; his whole attitude resembles one of a person waiting for a
dog to do a trick. Tommy grinds his teeth, “ Please .”

“That’s better,” Wilbur hums. “From what I’ve gathered, Duke Sam wants you to be in charge of
the further trading negotiations between the Empire and his dukedom. Emperor Philza is still
considering that request, but he’s inclined to agree and will probably notify you shortly.”

Tommy wrinkles his forehead further. Him, in charge of trading negotiations? He can’t think of a
single reason why Duke Sam would choose him over the Foreign Affairs Minister or the Emperor
himself, but Wilbur is not the person who can give him an explanation.

“What’s the catch?” Tommy asks, stopping to face Wilbur fully, because it’s not possible that his
brother will be satisfied with just him saying ‘please’ once.

“No catch,” Wilbur says. “Just thought I’d give you a head’s up.”

Tommy doesn’t believe it for a second, but Wilbur doesn’t say anything else, his expression
suddenly very sincere. It irks Tommy unlike any of his smiles and smirks can.

“That is very considerate of you,” he says, not because he’s grateful, but because it’s the standard
phrase he’d spare any other noble in a similar situation. He turns on his heels, “If this is it, I shall
be on my way-”

“Wait,” Wilbur says, and Tommy plants his feet on the ground and turns half-way towards him. He
blinks as he sees his brother wringing his fingers and chewing slightly on his lower lip. Part of
Tommy that holds the memories of growing up with Wilbur recognizes it as hesitance – the same
one that he remembers being on the older boy’s face whenever their mother’s health has been
brought up.

“About what happened last week… I’m sorry,” Wilbur says, not meeting his eyes. “It was shitty of
me to say, and I truly regret it.”

Out of all things that Tommy expects Wilbur to say at that moment, an apology is not one of them.
Next time he blinks, he sees inkblots moving into shapes and hears the sound of glass breaking.
Tommy squares his back so that Wilbur won't see how much he urges to flinch.

I’m sorry , Wilbur says. All Tommy sees and hears is an invitation to a new game of mice and cat
that he has no interest in playing the prey in.

“Regret what?” he asks, opening his eyes and glancing over his shoulder.

He takes Wilbur by surprise. “What happened before the Banquet?” he probes. Tommy further
raises a brow. “I came to talk to you about adding Ranboo to the guest list and you-”

“Ah, that,” Tommy raises his head to look at a cloud drifting past in the sky. “You made a
ridiculous request, Prince Wilbur, and I denied it. You don’t need to apologize, though. I
understand that you’re fond of Ranboo. How do commoners say it- no hard feelings, right?”
Tommy doesn’t even try to pretend that the smile on his face is real. Wilbur finally, finally ,
catches the hint.

“So that’s the way we’re going about it,” he states dryly. “You will just deny that anything had
happened at all.”

“Precisely.”

That’s all what it takes for Wilbur’s hesitance to turn into irritation.

“The fact that you’re mad at me doesn’t mean that you should go and side with Prince Dream.
Who, you know, wanted to challenge me to a duel .”

“Prince Dream had the right to seek justice. I’m just the third party in the brawl that you caused in
the first place.”

“You got yourself involved the moment you decided to side with the enemy of the state rather than
your own family,” Wilbur snaps. “If you had any decency left you would’ve told Prince Dream that
he’s overstaying his welcome. Instead you’re running circles around him like a puppy wagging its
tail.”

Tommy stares at Wilbur as thoughts twirl in his head, conclusions made and carefully stored on
shelves. Of course , he chuckles to himself – with irony or bitterness or both. With how common
the two crown princes have been interacting as of lately, Wilbur was bound to step in. That was the
case with Quackity, and that was the case with every person that Tommy has ever tried getting
close to.

Unlike with Quackity, however, Wilbur has no power over Dream. No threats to spook him with,
no authority, no secrets to hold over his head- save for Tommy’s letter exchange, something that he
had already put to use without much success. Wilbur is out of options, so what is he trying to do?
Play nice and hope that a fake apology and a little bit of pressure will make Tommy chase Dream
away himself?

Like Sapnap would put it, not a fucking chance.

“Are you my friend, Prince Wilbur?” Tommy asks calmly.

Wilbur glares. “I am your brother .”

Tommy measures him with a glance that could rival the coldness of the ice-grasped northern seas.
It serves to cool Wilbur’s temper off, having him bristling but silent until Tommy speaks again,

“Do I see you as my brother?”

Wilbur doesn’t have anything to say to that, his mouth gaping like a fish’s only to be clamped shut
a moment later. No you don’t , his eyes answer for him, and Tommy makes a satisfied sound akin
to a hum. He crosses his arms behind his back and walks past the other prince with an expression
of dark triumph.

“Then you don’t have a say in who I do and don’t make friends with.”

Tommy’s steps echo on the stone path. As he takes a turn into the gardens, he catches a glance of
Wilbur standing in the distance, watching him. It’s too far away for Tommy to make out of his
expression; but even if he could, he wouldn’t peer closer. It’s easier to give in to seething anger
when Wilbur doesn’t bear the face of a person that once had been Tommy’s whole world.
 Did Tommy tell the truth when he said that he doesn’t see Wilbur as his brother? He wants to say
that he did, but the mortifying part is that he doesn’t know. There is some tiny, pathetic part of
Tommy that screams and wails that it’s wrong , but the longer it keeps going the more he wants to
squeeze and strangle it until it no longer has any air to beg. Wilbur doesn’t deserve any part of
Tommy calling him a brother, not after everything that he did.

They could’ve existed peacefully with each other. Not as brothers, not as family, just as princes of
the same nation- but Wilbur didn’t want that. The very thought of Tommy enjoying himself, of
being happy, seems to rub Wilbur the wrong way. He stomped down the last memories of a sacred
fire that once had been their brotherhood, and he won’t stop there – he won’t stop until he destroys
Tommy.

‘So why not destroy Wilbur first? ’ a whisper comes in Dream’s voice.

Tommy’s limbs start to tremble. The shaking takes root from the pit in his heart and spreads from
his shoulders down to his arms and back, that sort of quiver that doesn’t come from disease or
weakness but from bone-deep, aching hatred. Tree branches curl into claws and their roots look like
the arched spikes along the backs of nightmarish creatures. The sun has set so low that when
Tommy spots a fountain ahead, the water spilling from under the feet of a statue is painted dark
red.

One hand of a woman reaches towards the skies while the other has a strong grip on a sword
driven deep into blood. If it wasn’t for the cracks and crevices cut into stone by weather and wind,
and diamonds slotted in where pupils of her eyes should be, it would seem as though the woman
will quaver at any moment, shaking as her limbs fight against shackles of time and release her from
the thousand-year slumber. As it is, she simply stands, stretching a pair of wings behind her back,
the grid of obsidian-black feathers casting a long shadow on the person sitting beneath.

Maybe it’s the force with which Tommy plants his feet on the path, maybe it’s the fists curling and
uncurling at his sides, or the expression of his face set to stone – but Dream shoots upright up as
soon as he comes near.

“Dream, I considered what you’ve told me,” Tommy says, “and I think it's time to remind Prince
Wilbur who the true crown prince is.”

***

The hinges of the doors cry out in alarm. When Beau raises her head from the papers, Prince
Theseus and Prince Dream enter the office. The sun’s bleeding flare casts shadows on the features
of their faces, sharpening them so similarly that, if Beau didn’t know any better, she’d think that
they’re related by blood.

“Your Highnesses...?” Beau asks.

“Marchioness Beau,” Prince Theseus says, “how do you feel about deceit?”

Chapter End Notes

CHAPTER SUMMARY
A week passes since the events of last chapter. Beau works for Tommy but he
obsesses over checking and rechecking paperwork and spends days locked up in his
office. Dream comes in and asks Tommy to help him find Sapnap.

As they walk, Dream tells Tommy that he should trust others to take part of weight off
his shoulders. Tommy has trust issues and thus has a hard time to grasp that concept.
They come to the training area and find Techno tyrannizing Wisp and other guards.
Techno asks that Dream and his people don't trespass here; Dream offers a duel
between Sapnap and somebody on Empire's side. If Sapnap wins, he can train with the
palace guards, otherwise they both leave. Tommy volunteers despite his broken hand.
Techno isn't fan of idea but lets it happen.

Tommy thinks of fighting like of a dance. He evades Sapnap's attacks and tires him
out until he manages to win. He looks for Techno's approval but Techno seems to be
upset with him. Sapnap and Dream, on the other hand, take Tommy's victory light-
heartedly and invite him to take a stroll together. They chat for a while until Sapnap
decides to leave. Tommy thanks Dream for mentoring him as a prince. Dream tells
Tommy that he admires him, Tommy insists that he shouldn't. Dream points out that
Tommy tends to discredit himself a lot and tries to comfort him. Tommy's imposter
syndrome kicks in, but he accepts Dream's words reluctantly.

Wilbur shows up. He takes Tommy away to chat with him. He tells Tommy that, by
Sam's request, he will soon be put in charge of trading matters between Empire and
Badlands. Wilbur apologizes to Tommy about what happened before the Banquet (the
inkpot incident). Tommy denies that anything happened. Wilbur loses temper and tells
Tommy that he shouldn't side with Dream. Tommy tells Wilbur off, leaves and
decides to do the exact opposite. Dream and Tommy come to talk to Beau and it seems
that they're plotting something that involves deceit.

AUTHOR NOTES
Discduo, girlboss duo, pyroduo - you got fed tonight! Welcome to the 'It gets better'
part of the fic. Enjoy it while I figure out which other tag to remove to squeeze 'It Gets
Better Before It Gets Worse' tag in...

Don't forget to comment if you enjoyed! I can't believe that BR got to 12k kudos, this
is just so insane to me that I can't even comprehend it, but I will try my best to keep
the steady flow of chapters coming in for all of you who are following the story :D

ABOUT ART AND FAN CONTENT

There is a lot of BR fan content being created: art, gacha videos, tiktoks, fanfics - I see
all of them! I tend to get a bit overwhelmed so I don't respond or react to everything
but please know that I love and cherish them very much. (And I sneakily put likes on
art in instagram using my secret account, hehe) . Same goes for comments - I read and
I see every single one of them, so free to ask any questions and I will try to answer for
as long as it doesn't spoil anything significant about the future chapters.

ABOUT GACHA VIDEOS

I've seen a number of gacha creators who didn't read BR but make videos about it- and
while I am not necessarily against it, I don't feel great about my AU used solely for
clout purposes, and I fear that some of those videos might spread misinformation
about contents of the story to those who are yet to read it. So please make sure to put
proper credits in the description and specify that contents of your videos are not canon
to the fic if that is the case.

Thank you in advance, and see you on the next chapter!

 Don't need you
Chapter Summary

“Prince Wilbur, have you been invited to attend this party?” Theseus asks.

“Greetings to you too, dear brother,” Wilbur smirks, one hand over his heart as he
bows to the guests at the table curtly. “Answering your question… it would be greatly
inconsiderate of Marchioness Beau not to include me in a party in my own palace. I
was expecting the invitation the whole morning, but it seems that a servant has been
lost on their way. I take no offense, as this was an honest mistake.”

Wilbur moves, smooth as silk, confident as a lion. A folded fan slaps the top of the
chair, preventing him from drawing it out of the table.

“There is no mistake here, Prince Wilbur,” Beau says. “Bold-faced liars are not
welcome at one table with us.”

Chapter Notes

Thank you for all the fanart, comments, bookmarks, kudos, fanfics and etc that has
been created since last chapter. You guys are absolutely insane!

This took me long enough but I hope 11.4k words are going to be worth it. Enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Wilbur was right after all.

It hasn’t been two full days since their conversation when Tommy receives an inscribed notice: the
Emperor is putting him in charge of trading affairs between the Empire and Badlands, and is to
participate in meetings that would take place by the end of the week.

The way it’s worded inadvertently suggests that Tommy’s on probation and the decision can be
changed at any time. More so, if he considers that three days is a ridiculously short term for him to
get ready while there are still duties in need of his immediate attention.

It’s like the Emperor expects Tommy to fail. Nothing out of ordinary, he supposes - the monarch
always seems to have doubts when it comes to the crown prince, despite the fact that he hasn’t ever
given him a reason for that. Tommy has proven himself capable before, and he’ll do it again.

He calls for Beau, and as soon as she arrives Tommy gestures at a pile of reports on the desk.

“I’m granting you full access to the document archives. Search for more there if needed, or talk to
the Minister of Foreign Affairs, but I need these looked over and summarized in two days at most.
And, for the love of everything - put the index on the first page. I hate to turn to the end each
time.”
Beau leaves, hauling the pile into her arms, and that seals Tommy’s solitude for the rest of the day.
Dream apologized profusely for not being able to keep Tommy company today; he and Sapnap
were meeting up with a friend.

They never specified who that friend was; Tommy never asked, and guarded his expression so as
not to let his disappointment show. He was wasting enough of Dream’s time as it is. At the bottom
of things, they were just acquaintances - or allies, at best - and the crown prince of Esempi had just
enough obligations before Tommy as he had before a potted tree.

Tommy tunes to the sounds from outside his office. Click-clack-click of Dream’s swift stride has
him perking up and peeking out the hallway. The only people he finds there are the guards
stationed at the doors. Tommy stands there for so long, scouring the corridors with a gaze, that
they start sharing questioning looks. In the end the crown prince grabs a pile of paperwork and
carries them into a parlor further down the hallway, where all sounds are swallowed by soft carpets
and a living soul is rarely seen.

Afternoon leaks into dusk with Tommy hunched over books and tendrils of papers. By the time he
has to light a reading lamp, his legs turn sore and his head sinks deeper and deeper into his palm.
He tries to massage some life back into his stiff neck, blinking rapidly to prevent his eyelids from
getting glued by sleep.

Knock-knock-knock . It doesn’t sound like a rap of knuckles on wood and rather resembles a dry
branch jabbing against a glass window. Sluggishly, Tommy makes an effort to turn his head to the
side and face the bastard who dares to interrupt his rest, but his mind decides that it’s not worth the
energy to be wasted.

In a floating state of near unconsciousness, Tommy doesn’t realize that somebody’s standing
before him until he is jostled into awareness by something touching his wrist. Locking his fingers
on the book’s spine, he swings it at the person blindly.

“Woah-” a blurry figure of sea greens and rusty gold reers back. “Sorry, sorry-” The voice sounds
vaguely familiar.

“Dream?” Tommy blinks, confused, and surely enough, drifting shapes start merging with one
another until he sees green eyes studying him with amusement.

“Yeah, that’d be me,” Dream chuckles, straightening up. “You can put your weapon down now.”

Tommy is still holding the book over his head, and his face blazes red when he realizes that he had
nearly smashed Dream with a history of commerce in the Antarctic Empire. He slaps the book on
top of a pile. The noise wakes him up a bit more. Tommy draws his sore muscles back and looks at
Dream, rubbing a thumb in-between his furrowing brows.

“What’s the- how is-'' a breath, a quick moment to recollect his thoughts. “Why are you here?” he
finally settles on saying.

“I’m sorry that it has taken us this long. My friend had… a lot of opinions to share, since the last
time we’ve spoken.”

Dream smirks, a sheepish sort of curve to it that makes Tommy think of those many times that his
family or Tubbo had been disgruntled with him for doing something foolish. He produces a timid
smile of his own. “I hope that nothing has happened to put you on bad terms.”

“However heated the argument was, we agreed to disagree,” Dream says. “I thought you’d be
preparing to rest by now so I sent Prince to you instead. He returned quickly and seemed alert, so I
got worried and decided to check up on you.”

Tommy scrunches his nose up. “Pardon me, I don’t think that I’ve heard you right. You said you
were worried- about whom, again?”

“You, Theseus,” Dream says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

It’s not. Tommy’s frown grows so deep that his entire face resembles a shriveled grape. He feels
like a fool incapable of following a conversation, but when his options are between that and
gawking at Dream like a complete idiot, Tommy would much rather pretend that those two words
don’t launch him into utter confusion.

Tommy takes a moment to look around: with the reading lamp on the verge of flickering out,
shadows cluster under armchairs and loveseats. Tommy wouldn’t even notice Sapnap standing
there, heel and back propped against a wall, if it wasn't for him quietly whistling a tune under his
breath.

When their eyes meet, Sapnap retrieves one his arm from where it was crossed on his chest and
waves. The hour is late, and yet both he and Dream came looking for Tommy from half across the
palace just because he missed a visit from Prince.

“Well, you can see that I’m fine now,” he blurts out, shuffling the mess of abandoned paperwork
into his arms. “No need to further bother with-”

Tommy springs to his feet. His legs decidedly don’t like that. Sore from hours of sitting in the
same position, they give up on existence, sending Tommy crashing face-forward. He has one split
second to say goodbye to his dignity and brace himself to kiss the floor before he is yanked back
upright.

Tommy clenches the papers so tight that his nails leave marks on them. By some miracle, not a
single one had slid off during his fall. Belatedly, he registers the warmth around his ribs - it burns
through clothes and has him jerking instinctively.

“Are you feeling well?” Dream asks, and the arm holding him is gone. “We can accompany you on
your way back to your quarters.”

Tommy opens his mouth and closes it again. He can tell when people ask something out of
courtesy, or because they feel obliged to - he had enough experience both as the listener and as the
one talking. This isn’t quite it. If Tommy wasn’t so doubtful of his own abilities to tell the truth and
lies apart, he would dare to say that Dream and Sapnap’s concern sounds genuine.

A late wave of dizziness dices in and his empty stomach churns. Spots of black dance furiously in
his vision, the beginning of a headache pinching his temples. “I’m fine,” Tommy snaps, and even
his voice sounds gaunt as it rises just below the break. The guilt is immediate, but Dream does not
seem offended or hurt.

“That’s good,” he says. And after a pause and an odd flicker in his eyes, “Do you want me to send
Prince to you again?”

Fueled by a sudden impulse, Tommy looks up and blurts: "Could we go and see him together? I
want to make up for not responding to him earlier."

Sapnap chokes on air. Tommy glances up to make sure that the knight is okay, but Dream beats
him to it; his pointed glare and a frantic gesture send Sapnap turning away and coughing into his
fist. Some unspoken words pass from one to another. Anxiety digs a pit in Tommy’s stomach. It
strikes him forcefully that he doesn’t fit here, in-between two long-time friends, like a stick doesn’t
fit with two swords.

"You do not need to answer that. I realize now that I made an unreasonable request," Tommy says,
averting his eyes.

Both Dream and Sapnap freeze, exchanging a glance. Dream straightens up, folding his arms
behind his back. Despite the confident posture, the crown prince fails to hide the panicked way his
eyes dart, searching for a proper response as if it’s going to leap from behind a corner any second
now.

"Not at all,” he finally says, with the defeated attitude of an actor forgetting his lines. “It's just that
Prince is very...”

“-shy,” Sapnap helpfully chimes in.

“Shy,” Dream parrots, visibly relaxing.

Sapnap grins. “And an idiot.”

“And an idi- Wait, what ?”

Dream glares at Sapnap again, and this time with enough heat to melt iron into a puddle. The
knight raises his hands placatingly and feigns extreme interest in a pile of books that Tommy had
left behind, going as far as to open the top one and skim through brittle pages.

“I shall not waste your time any further and return to the eastern wing,” Tommy says, feeling more
and more awkward by the minute. He would prefer to shut his mouth and save himself the
embarrassment, but words keep on slipping past his lips when Dream looks at him like this: like
everything he says matters, like he wants to know more. It resonates with some part of Tommy that
he didn’t know still existed, and it aches .

Tommy attempts to bolt there and then, after some rushed version of a bow or a nod. He makes it
to the top of the stairs before Dream's words throw a loop over his neck and yank him standing.

“You’re my friend, Theseus. I would never consider time spent with a friend a waste,” Dream says
nonchalantly.

“Oh.” When Tommy finds his voice, it barely crosses the borders of a murmur. “I… really should
put those papers back in place. But I’ll see you tomorrow, at the tea party, yeah?”

Dream barely has the time to nod before Tommy takes a sharp turn on his heels and breaks into a
near sprint.

***

The first thing Tommy wants to do when he gets to his chambers is to duck under heavy covers and
not come out until the tea party. But clothes stick to him with a day’s worth of sweat and grime,
soreness in his muscles still persistent even after a long walk he had taken back here, and he knows
that he wouldn’t be able to sleep with embarrassment still hot in his veins. Tommy had all but
bolted out of the library, and didn’t have any courage to look back and see what kind of looks
Dream and Sapnap sent to his trails. He could deal with the confusion tomorrow; today, he just
wanted to take a bath and sleep.
Tommy sends all the remaining servants to their rest, and walks into the bathroom scorching with
steam. A bath is drawn waiting - it looks more like a proper pool. He could lay there at full height
if he wished to, limbs sprawled to four sides without touching its borders. A number of glass vials
line the pool on one side: colorful fragrances, oils and soaps of crushed herbs and powdered roots.
Tommy leaves them all untouched, as always, and pops a jar of sea salt open. He turns it over and
watches bubbles form, and the empty container is left to join a bunch of others in a cabinet.

Tommy shreds his clothes, tossing them into a pile to be later dealt with. He cups a handful of
water from a basin and splashes it into his face, washing the concealer off. Tommy has already
gone through the first container, and Beau has gladly promised to provide a few more. He rubs his
face until all the makeup comes off clean and takes a moment to inspect his reflection. It hadn’t
struck Tommy as wrong how pale his skin looks, stretched sharply over prominent cheekbones,
until other people started pointing out his tiredness. First Niki, then Beau and now Dream have all
mentioned it in passing.

But then again, they are recent arrivals. Sullen cheeks and sober expression had scratched over
whatever memory Tommy had of how he used to look before. There was some color there, maybe,
sunflowers and diamonds and open afternoon skies, before it drained away like paint under heavy
showers. Now he wears exhaustion like the rest of the Imperial family wears color blue. The
closest to blue in Tommy are the bags under his eyes.

Tommy straightens up and lowers his legs into the steaming pool. It takes him a second to brace
himself before he sinks neck-deep into hot water's grasp. First his skin seethes almost painfully; as
heat spreads evenly through his entire body, Tommy slacks and tips his head back with a deep
sigh.

Under the water, Tommy passes a hand from discolored birthmarks on his back to his sharply
curving ribs. Skipping meals was just another bad habit that Tommy had picked up after Wilbur’s
disappearance. Before, Wilbur would be the one telling him when to eat, when to sleep, or when to
waste away with him in the office. Tommy was so used to his brother instructing him every step of
the way, that he didn’t know what to do with himself when Wilbur was gone. The smallest of
choices, like what to wear in the mornings or which route to take down the hall, came to flood him
with terror.

By the end of the first week he was so overwhelmed that he refused to take a step out of his
chambers. Caterpillars cocoon to turn into butterflies; princes lock themselves from the world they
are not ready for. If Mother was still around, she would have scolded Tommy for the first meal that
he had left to become cold and stale. It took the Emperor two weeks to even notice him missing at
the dining table. Only Tubbo’s pleading look could have the prince swallow a piece of bread or
bite an apple, and he had turned into a husk of his former self.

"He's here, Your Majesty," Tubbo's voice quivered. Tommy thought vaguely that it isn't a good
sign, that he should ask Tubbo what's wrong- but that seemed like just too much effort. Talking
was exhausting. Trying to make sense out of muffled voices had already left Tommy drained, so he
opted to close his eyes and ignore a gasp and callings of his name.

The bed creaked under new weight. Tommy was moved to sit against something warm.

"W-wilbur?" he croaked. His throat felt dry. Moving hurt, but hope flickering to life gave him
enough strength to open his eyelids. Only agony of disappointment and ugly tears had come when
he realized that the person holding him was not Wilbur but Father. Tommy shrieked and struggled
and begged for his brother. The Emperor didn’t let him go, murmuring soft apologies, until he
drained himself into unconsciousness.
Each passing day reminded Tommy of how hollow his existence was. On his first birthday without
Wilbur, he shook with silent cries while nobles had come to give him their gifts one by one. More
than anything in his life Tommy wished that he could trade every single one of them for a chance
to hear his brother’s laughter. On the days that loneliness was most unbearable, Tommy would find
the quietest corner in the palace and start a new letter with the same two words, “ Dear Wilbur …”

In the beginning, Father offered his comfort every step of the way, but he eventually grew tired of
Tommy's tears. Instead of words of understanding he received displeased glares and clipped
responses. Tommy was called a disgrace when he was grieving and was treated like a burden for
missing his brother. Thinking back on it years later, the only thing that Tommy would add to the
Emperor’s words is that he was also a major fool .

“Do you not have any friends from noble houses?” Quackity had once asked, when Tommy had
told him that he didn't know who his allies in the palace were.

“Just Tubbo,” Tommy said.

“You’ve got to be messing with me, Your Highness,” Quackity said, elbow on knee, chin propped
up on a fist. “You’re the type of person to be surrounded by crowds and drowning in attention. I
don’t believe that you can’t list a few names.”

Tommy shrugged. “A lot of nobles offered their kids to be my playmates. Wilbur told me it’s all
because of my title, so he chased them away. But that was alright,” he quickly added, kicking his
leg out. “I didn’t need a lot of friends when I had my brother.”

As soon as those words had left Tommy’s words, he felt a lump staggering his breathing. He used
to have his brother, but not anymore. It reminded him of how hollow the palace was without
Wilbur’s laughter scattering from polished stone walls. It’s quiet because you’re not speaking as
much anymore, Tubbo had told him. Tommy said that there wasn’t anyone listening who would be
worth the effort.

“Were those Prince Wilbur’s words?”

Quackity’s baffled voice had his gaze flinging up, He looked equally concerned and disturbed.
Tommy didn’t understand why. He shrank on himself, shoulders curving to his ears.

The baron leaned away. His face softened a bit but at the same time gained the guarded edge of a
person afraid of spooking a wary bird. Tommy didn’t like that. It wasn’t pity per se, but something
close enough that would imply that there was something worth grimacing for.

“Has he ever done anything else that might have… Isolated you, in any way?” he asked. “Said
something that didn’t sound quite right to you?”

“Of course not!” Tommy blazed. He glared at Quackity with all the ferocity that a thirteen-year-
old boy could muster. Wilbur, who gave away warmth like he breathed, who treasured every pretty
thread or dried flower from Tommy like they were precious gems, who pouted when Tommy
wriggled out of his hugs - he defended the memories of that Wilbur, because they were the last
thing left of his brother.

But there were different memories, too. Not as sun-bathed or rose-tinted like the rest of Tommy’s
childhood was. Things that Wilbur said that made Mother look sad and Techno pained, words
shouted in rage whipping Tommy’s hearing and making him hug his stuffed cow tighter.

Wilbur was never angry with Tommy, even on the days that he seemed to loathe the world itself.
Despite that, seeing him fuming and spitting words like poisoned darts always made Tommy’s
heart stutter up in his windpipe. On days like this Wilbur would come stomping to his room, guitar
tied to his back, and lead them into the busy heart of the capital. He would find a resolution to his
anger in the chimes of the instrument and in people flocking to listen unaware that this was the
crown prince in front of them.

Tommy was seven on the day that Wilbur had lost him. They were in the dense river of a
marketplace when Tommy’s fingers slipped from Wilbur’s own. In a moment, both brothers were
swallowed by the crowd and carried away to two opposite directions: Tommy only had the time to
see Wilbur frantically looking around before he almost fell to his knees and under the feet of
hurrying folk.

He was tossed around violently by moving bodies. Wide-eyed and terrified, he screamed Wilbur’s
name until his voice gave out and his feet hurt. Tommy climbed under a stall with cabbages, shut
his eyes and let the tears flow.

“Hey,” somebody said.

Tommy raised his head from where he sat, crying. A boy climbed under the stall after Tommy and
sat down before him cross-legged. He was around the prince’s own age, with black eyes that
squinted into shards of obsidian and curly dark hair. The boy fixed a tattered cloak on his shoulders
and gave Tommy the brightest of grins. The prince sniffed, confused, when a grimed hand was
shoved under his nose.

“I’m Eryn,” he said. “What’s your name?”

When Tommy didn’t take Eryn’s hand, the boy took it himself and gave it a light squeeze. Eryn’s
palm felt warm and scratchy. Wilbur had said that Tommy shouldn’t talk to strangers, or worse, tell
them that he is a prince, so he only stared blankly ahead and blinked.

“Poor you, you don’t even have a name?”

“Of course I do!” Tommy sneered, suddenly feeling offended. “I’m Big Man T Danger Cautious
Kraken Innit, the biggest man of them all. But you can call me just Big T.”

“Well, Big T,” Eryn grinned wider. “Do you want to see my place?”

Eryn took Tommy’s hand and led him through alleyways so narrow that two men wouldn’t be able
to pass chest-to-chest. Two small boys, one in a black cloak and the other in red, easily slipped
through missing bricks in the sides of old buildings. Eryn had climbed a roof first, then hauled
Tommy up, and they continued their journey with tiles rattling under their feet.

They climbed through a circle window of an attic. Inside, Tommy was met with a tiny room that he
could barely stand upright in. The only source of light was the window that they had just climbed
through. Shards of glass were hanging from the ceiling, painting stray beams of sunlight in all
colors of the rainbow.

It was pretty, but it couldn’t distract Tommy from the fact that Eryn didn’t have a proper bed, only
an old pillow shedding feathers, a small blanket that looked like a toddler’s and a pile of worn out
clothes to imitate sheets. The way it was arranged reminded him vaguely of nests he sometimes
saw on trees in palace gardens, if those nests were made from human junk.

“The old lady downstairs is deaf, so she doesn’t know I live here,” Eryn explained as he ducked
under a half-rotten ceiling beam.
“You live all on your own?” Tommy asked, abashed. “Why?”

Eryn leaned closer, a conspiring look on his face. “Do you know how to keep secrets?” he asked.

Tommy nodded solemnly, and Eryn untied his cloak from where it was barely kept together by a
worn out thread. The fabric slipped off. Tommy gaped as a pair of dark-gray wings outstretched on
two sides, almost slapping him on the face. Eryn folded one of them so Tommy could run a tender
hand over the layers of slick feathers.

“Peregrine falcon,” Eryn puffed up his chest. “They grew out a few months ago. Hurt like a bitch,
let me tell you that,” a grin disappeared from his face for a moment only to return twice as bright
again, “People in the orphanage said that I’d be taken away to somewhere better, but I didn’t want
to go, so I ran and ended up here. You can live with me too, since your parents have abandoned
you."

Tommy’s heart skipped a beat. "I wasn't abandoned!"

"Then what are you doing all on your own?"

"I got lost. My family must be already looking for me."

"Oh. That's good, I guess."

The boy seemed almost sad. Tommy’s chest panged with guilt. It never occurred to him that him
having a family could upset somebody. His gaze scrambled for something to cheer Eryn up with.
His eyes landed on an odd piece of wood branching to two sides with a leather strap between them.

"What’s that?"

Eryn picked up the thing and handed it to Tommy. "Have you ever shot a bow?"

Tommy shook his head. "One of my brothers wanted to teach me, but the other said that I'm too
fragile. I could break my hand if I tried."

"Well good then that a slingshot is much easier to shoot than a bow. Come on, I'll show you."

First few stones that Tommy shot went amiss. Pull your elbow back further and don’t close your
eyes when you shoot, Eryn said after demonstrating how to use the slingshot one more time.
Tommy followed his words, and the clay pot on a window shattered into pieces. That’s how he
first discovered that he has a steady hand and a naturally good aim, and learned to run very fast so
that the angry owner of the pot wouldn’t whack his head with a broom.

A few hours later, Tommy and Eryn were drying themselves on the sun after taking a dive in a
river upstream of the capital. Eryn didn’t know how to swim and refused to do as much as dip his
foot in water. Tommy wafting lazily against the slow current must have wounded his pride,
because he frowned and stomped right in, keeping his wings flared up comically so as not to get
them wet. A useless effort, because after a fierce splashing match both boys were soaked from head
to toe.

“Now they’re all gross and grease,” Eryn complained, wiping the wings dry with his cloak. The
feathers were sticking out in all directions except the one they were supposed to point at, a few
looking like they were hanging on for dear life.

“I can fix them up for you,” Tommy suggested. “My aunt is an avian too. I know how.”
Eryn gave him a puzzled look, but didn’t pull away when Tommy's fingers clumsily ran through
the feathers. He pulled out those that seemed loose and tried to realign the rest. Eryn made a
surprised noise, his pupils widening until they almost took over his entire eyes. Tommy giggled
when his new friend let out a long, low coo.

When they heard the sound of many footsteps approaching, Eryn scrambled to his feet and shoved
Tommy behind his back, wings protectively flared. But Wilbur had shoved his way out of a line of
guards, and as soon as Tommy had spotted him, he was running into his brother’s arms.

“Theseus!” Wilbur crushed Tommy in a hug. His voice sounded wobbly and scared. “Where did
you go ?”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy muttered, snuggling closer. “Got lost.”

Wilbur didn’t let him go for a long, breathless moment. “We’re going home now,” he finally said,
grasping Tommy’s hand. “Mother is worried sick about you.”

“Wait! I need to talk to Eryn first.”

Wilbur frowned, lips pressed in a displeased grimace, but Tommy had already yanked his hand out
and was padding towards Eryn.

“I can’t believe that I taught a prince to shoot a slingshot,” Eryn said when Tommy had come
closer.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you,” Tommy said. “I didn’t think it mattered.”

“Not really, it doesn’t,” Eryn bumped his fist into Tommy’s shoulder. “I’m glad that you’ve found
your brother. “

They both fell silent.

“I guess this is where we say goodbye,” Eryn said.

Tommy shook his head, defiant. “You can go back to the palace with me. You could meet Tubbo,
and my other brother, and my parents will let you stay for as much as you’d like.”

“No he can’t,” Wilbur snapped. Tommy shot him a wounded look. Wilbur’s face twisted, and he
added: “I’d gladly take your new… friend with us, but Father would not approve of it.”

“It’s okay,” Eryn said. “I can manage on my own just fine.”

“We’ll meet again,” Tommy promised. He unclasped his red cloak and draped it over Eryn’s
shoulders, maroon standing out sharp and bright on gray wings. It suited him well.

“For your nest,” he explained.

Eryn touched it tenderly. He looked at Tommy like he had just gifted him the world and not a piece
of scarlet fabric. All meek regret that Tommy had felt giving up the cloak – it was his favorite one,
after all – had disappeared without a trace. He would get Eryn another thousand more like this if
they made him this happy, but he felt that it was the meaning of the gift that mattered.

“Thank you,” Eryn said. “I won’t lose it.”

Next time that Tommy was taken to the city, he beelined for the house that Eryn had lived in.
Wilbur even asked the old lady to let him in the attic, strangely calm, but Tommy when climbed in,
he had found that all of the avian’s stuff was swept off clean and thrown away into a dumpster.

Eryn was gone, much like his red cloak, and Tommy never learned where he was taken. Wilbur
wouldn’t say a word on the matter, and whenever Tommy brought him up his brother would get
snappy and angry. I can’t be enough for anyone, can I? he once said, but it was so sad , and
Tommy didn’t like Wilbur being sad, so he hugged him tightly and never spoke of Eryn again.

Staring off into the bathroom’s ceiling, Tommy wonders where Eryn is now. Did his wings grow
large enough for flight, swiping across the skies and cutting air with razor-sharp feathers? Does he
wonder, taking a faded red cloak, ten times over stitched at the seams, what their brief
acquaintance could’ve turned into? Guffawing over silly jokes, warming hands on campsite fire
and racing headlong gallops against the wind. Friends , they would’ve called each other, and
Tommy wouldn’t have to pretend to know what it means.

***

By the time Tommy climbs out of the bath, the water has gone cold. He is wiping his hair with a
towel when he is alerted by a pointed knock. Tommy haphazardly pulls on the first clothes his
hands lay on and spanks to the door on bare feet.

It’s Beau.

“Your Imperial Highness, Grand Duke Sam has requested an audience with you,” she says.

“At this hour?” Tommy asks, dumbfounded.

Beau just gives him a small shrug, the look on her face as lost as his own. “He seemed very
insistent.”

Tommy thinks back of his bed, so close and yet so distant. His muscles ache in protest, but he can’t
just deny Duke Sam’s request either. Running late by a few minutes is acceptable given that the
audience was requested without prior notice, but he is still a monarch in his own right, only the
slightest below from Queen Nikachu or King Foolish.

“Very well,” Tommy sighs. “Let me change into something more presentable first.”

It would be hard to believe that Beau has this little to say when it usually feels like she is keeping a
separate record on every person in the court. But Tommy did have her cooped up with paperwork,
and the only information that she managed to gather in her free time is that the duke leaves the
palace every few days, always at around the time that dusk made the ground bleed.

Tommy was curious to know what sort of business the duke might be having outside the palace.
When Wisp reported to him that Duke Sam was gone again, he stayed up at night to see the man
return. Recognizable in the dark only by his massive form, the man rode through the main gates,
dismounted his horse and left it to a stable boy.

As Duke Sam was making his way back into the palace, he suddenly tipped his head back. Maybe
the lights reflected oddly from the windows, or his imagination was playing tricks on him, but
Tommy could swear that the man’s eyes were glowing bright yellow-orange as they fixed on a
window the crown prince was observing him from. I see you , Duke Sam seemed to be saying with
the tilt of his head. But that wasn’t possible. No human’s eyesight was sharp enough to recognize
Tommy in a blurry shape in the dark room.

Rational thought was of little help as he scrambled backwards, nearly knocking a chair over. When
Tommy gathered enough courage to glance out the windows again, the man was already gone.
Tommy finds Duke Sam at a table fraught with dishes: beef steaks under rich crimson sauce, fish
pampered with lemon, steaming rice paired with garlic bread and a selection of salads surrounding
it all. The smell clots in the air and makes Tommy’s empty stomach churn.

It’s not the sort of serving that he would have arranged for a formal banquet where lightness and a
complexity of refreshments is valued. Little short of an entire feast, it’d be enough to feed an entire
squad of his personal guards. If Tommy didn’t count just two sets of cutlery on the table – the head
seat, and the one to the right of it – he’d think that more people were about to join them.

Tommy bows. “Your Grace.”

"Prince Theseus,” Duke Sam says. “I am yet to have an evening meal. Would you care to join me
while we talk?"

Duke Sam points at a chair beside him. It would be impolite to refuse, and awkward to just stand
there and stare as the duke dines, but maybe there is a tiny spark of defiance in Tommy, the
irritation of being plucked out of his chambers at a late hour, but he plops himself down on a seat
on the opposite side of the table. Granted, the table is short, and doing this didn’t put Tommy on
the other side of the room, but the distance is soothing to his spiking nerves.

Grand Duke Sam is hard to read, Beau said the other morning, and Tommy agrees. Even Techno,
with all the stillness of his expressions, gives himself away with small twitches and grimaces and
tone. In his attitude, the duke resembles the warden of a prison who served relentlessly for so long
that he absorbed the somberness of stone bricks and iron bars. He pays no attention to Tommy’s
choice of seat. Sawing a steak with a knife, he shoves the piece into his mouth and chews in
silence. With his patience short from the very start, it’s not long before Tommy gives up waiting.

“You’ve recommended me to oversee the commercial affairs,” he says, putting his arms on the
table and broadening his shoulders in a display of confidence that he doesn’t feel. Tommy
immediately regrets that decision when the duke fixes a look at his casted hand.

“That I did,” Duke Sam says. “Is it something you don’t want to partake in?”

“Don’t misunderstand. It would be my greatest honor and pleasure,” Tommy says, and he means it.
“But a few days ago, you…”

Called me an incompetent child and accused the Emperor of being a neglectful parent , Tommy
can’t force himself to say. What was supposed to be a statement turns into a question, near-bleated
with how high his pitch had gotten.

Tommy thought he was over the incident during the Banquet. It’s all confusion and colors and
words blurred together with tear-striking pain, but heated up to one red shade of embarrassment
boiling his ears. He nearly broke down there, forced to face the reality that he kept a blindfold on
for. While Tommy was too deep in his old pathetic longing for love and attention to notice
anything amiss, the duke was able to cut his chest open and pluck out the worst of his dreads by
simply watching from afar. To think how much more Duke Sam had learned about Tommy that he
himself doesn’t know – that, in all brutal honesty, terrifies him.

The duke puts his glass down, rests his clasped hands on the table before him and looks Tommy in
the eyes.

"I believe I owe you an apology, Prince Theseus,” the man suddenly says. “I stand by what I said -
governing an empire shouldn’t fall on the shoulders of someone as young as you. However, my
frustration at the banquet was directed at the wrong person.” He shifts in the face, and Tommy
wonders if by that he means Emperor Philza.

“You can trust that nothing that I have stated was intended to upset you or undervalue your
competence as a prince,” the duke continues. “In fact, when it comes to the issue of trade between
our nations, there's nobody else in the palace who I can think would do a better job than you."

His voice is calm, with a hint of warmth that feels like the flicker of a candle in winter. Tommy
can’t help but find something soothing in it. "What makes you say so?"

Duke Sam produces a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. He makes no movement to pass it to
Tommy on the other side of the table. After a moment of hesitance, Tommy pushes his chair back
and creeps up closer, settling at the edge of the seat closest to Duke Sam. Up close, the man’s eyes
hold darkwood depth and forest paths lost to moonless shadows, none the trace of wild yellow that
freaked him out the other night. As slow as dripping honey, Tommy’s shoulders sag.

The duke unfolds the paper and hands it to Tommy. Thumbs clasping the page on two sides, he
runs a gaze through cramped lines and recognizes it as part of his report, the one he worked on
during that brief period when he was in charge of overseeing new trading routes with Badlands.

"Is this your work?" Duke Sam asks.

"How can you tell?” Tommy drawls, hesitant, “There was no sign, no name. Only the crow seal
that we mark all of our documents and letters with.”

“But the invitation letters came from Prince Theseus’ own name,” Duke Sam reminds him, leaning
back on his chair. “I put two side-by-side and came to the conclusion that the handwriting
matches.”

Tommy has nothing to say to that. It seems unlikely to him that somebody would base their
judgment on something as insignificant as handwriting, but a weight has been lifted off his chest
now that more or less all his questions have been answered to. He didn’t forget about the duke’s
apology, either, and suddenly the duke seems a lot less terrifying than he did mere ten minutes ago.

He puts the paper back into Duke Sam’s palm, and he folds it back into his pocket just as neatly as
before. “I am curious,” Tommy says, fiddling with a fork at the side of an untouched plate. “Why
did you decide to tell me this now, and not at the oficial meeting in a few?”

"I find meetings suffocating,” Duke Sam admits. “They are loud, full of excessive formalities and
are more about nobles tiptoeing with their words as not to offend somebody than actually solving
matters at hand. Every council is half flatterers, a quarter fools. I think our work would be much
more fruitful if we could meet up like this every once and a while."

He has a point , Tommy supposes. Even paperwork doesn’t always seem as anguishing as four
hours of different ministers arguing on the price of bread only to recycle the last year’s rates.
Tommy would gladly prefer to have a meeting out in the open, on a terrace or gardens. Even the
library would be a welcomed alternative to big round tables and uncomfortable chairs.

“I believe that can be arranged, for as long as those occasions are not too frequent,” Tommy says.

For the first time since Tommy had met the man, Duke Sam smiles. It’s a toothy sort of grin that
lights up his entire face, crinkling the corners of his eyes. It reminds Tommy that the duke is still a
young ruler, closer in age to Wilbur and Techno than he is to the Emperor Philza, his hair a clean
dark color void of wisps of gray and only the faintest of wrinkles touching his forehead.

“With that out of the way, we should dine,” he says. “The cooks have outdone themselves. Let’s
not let their hard work be wasted.”

Tommy looks over the table full of food; most is still untouched, whiffing warmth and wonderful
smells. His stomach grumbles. Tommy breaks a piece of pumpkin pie with a fork and shovels it
into his mouth, completely forgetting that he wanted to skip the dinner that day.

***

The invitation to a tea party comes early in the morning. Ranboo is more than surprised that it
came from Marchioness Beau. He’d never spoken to the lady personally, but in the eastern wing,
they stumbled into one another almost every other day. After all the disdainful looks and pointed
snickers the last thing he’d expected to receive from her was a rose-scented envelope with pretty
cursive letters that asked him to come to a palace courtyard for some pastries this afternoon.

Ranboo doesn’t want to participate in any tea parties. Even though the nobles have started to treat
him with far less open disgust, crowds still made him so nervous that he wanted to puke. The
things that he could briefly catch people whispering... They weren't pleasant either. No matter how
polite Ranboo was trying to be, no matter how hard he tried to click into the life of highborn
nobles, he was treated the same as he always was. Slave , that he was before. Pleb, churl, hedge-
born are some of the nicest names he hears.

Tubbo received an invitation as well. It’s just the two of them in a small parlor of all soft blues and
milk creams, their respective envelopes abandoned at a coffee table. Sunlight brushes half-drawn
curtains, tumbles in and dances up and down the glittery surface of silver-gilded furniture. On a
wall there is a painting of mountains, formidable in glory of icy spikes and rickety paths and
dabbed with dark green pine trees at the base. A cliff cracks the picture in the middle. There, barely
noticeable against gray stones, stands a man with two crow wings.

Ranboo feels almost envious. They were planning to try and climb the outer palace walls today.
Tubbo claimed he had done it a thousand times before, but the perspective of falling to his death
from seventy feet of height hasn’t become any more appealing, and a pair of wings would be the
most welcome. Ranboo voices that thought out loud, but a lasting pause makes him look at Tubbo
with a gut-pinching sensation.

“I’ll be attending the party,” Tubbo says, voice quiet and brittle like rustling leaves. “I haven’t had
a chance to talk to Theseus in a while and… Well, I want to know if he’s alright.”

“Why?” Ranboo asks. He isn’t trying to sway Tubbo from his choice, but thinking of how meek
and mirthless Tubbo used to seem around Theseus makes his heart wrench. “Why do you still
worry about him?”

“We were friends since we were six,” Tubbo said, tone laced with sorrow. “I know Theseus. Even
when he lashes out on people, it’s not out of malice. It’s just… He’s been hurting, for a very long
time.”

Ranboo opens his mouth. No sound comes out. Two days ago, he might have argued; talked out the
resentment that fills his heart, but now, after apologizing to Theseus for lying about being Dream’s
penpal, he isn't entirely sure of his feelings about the crown prince.

“Wilbur said that you’re proud to admit it and w-well… I thought you’d be glad if I take that
weight off your shoulders. Which doesn’t excuse me, and I’m sorry, ” he said, trailing off into low
muttering. “Can you tell that to Prince Dream too?

Theseus looked calm and unbothered . “You may be assured that I will pass your words to Prince
Dream. I recommend that you be more careful with whom you trust your words to. You never know
when they can be used against you.”

Ranboo still thinks that Theseus had no rights to treat his former aide the way he did, but with how
Tubbo speaks of him now… Ranboo has never had a friend of his own before, so maybe there is
more to it he doesn’t understand. It isn’t the first time that Tubbo brought up missing Theseus,
either, but never as openly as this: his usually guarded expression cracks to reveal eyes full of grief.
Ranboo sits down next to Tubbo and presses their shoulders together.

"I won't be against it if you wish to return to Prince Theseus,” he says carefully.

Tubbo shakes his head. "He won't take me back. Especially not now that he has a new aide. I'm of
no use to him."

Ranboo hesitates to ask, but the question has been swirling in his head for a long time. “You
obviously care about Theseus, so why did you leave in the first place?"

For a moment, Tubbo is quiet. Ranboo thinks he might not get any answer at all, but with a heavy
sigh, Tubbo says curtly, "I was useless.” And after that it’s like a dam breaking. “ All. The fucking.
Time. Nothing that I said or did had any impact. Theseus struggled and I tried my best to help, but
maybe I wasn’t doing something right, or he was too arrogant of a prick to accept it, because he
always chased me away.”

Tubbo voice cracks. He takes a moment to swallow some air, blinking away the unwanted tears.
“So, I thought Theseus didn't want to have me around anymore. It hurt, but if he needs someone
different than me, what kind of friend would I be to keep him from moving on?”

The pause that comes after is heavy enough to make a man drown. Ranboo doesn’t know what
words can be comforting in this situation; he barely knows Theseus and can’t speak on his behalf.
So he settles on the one thing he feels like would help. Tentatively, Ranboo opens his arms for a
hug. Tubbo seems as shy as he leans into it, all steeled shoulders and stiff limbs. Ranboo rubs a
hand up and down his back, noticeably smaller than his own, and lets the warmth draw the tension
out of his body.

"I'm really glad that you're with me now, not as a servant but as my friend,” Ranboo confesses.
“You scare me sometimes, still, but you’re one of the few who treated me well from the very start.
For that, I’m grateful.”

“The standard was pretty low. Almost everyone else was an asshole,” Tubbo snickers.

Ranboo grimaces, but joins in with a quick laugh. When silence rounds their conversation once
more, he asks, “Do you want me to go to the tea party with you?”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to be there with you. Besides, some tea and cakes can’t be all that bad. It sounds kind of
nice actually.”

“Thank you,” Tubbo says, and cranes his neck up to Ranboo. Past the tired eyes close to crying, a
tiny smile sneaks up on his lips.

***

Beau hosts the party at one of the palace’s countless backyards. A round table is set on grass and
filled with cakes and desserts under dome glass lids, and a roof of silk sewn over a birchwood
frame shields them from scorching sunlight.

When Ranboo and Tubbo arrive, only about half of the seats are occupied. All faces are vaguely
familiar, but only to two he can put a name: Baron Sneeg - one of the ministers in Phil’s council,
and Niki, who Beau is busy talking to while they make their way to a pair of empty chairs furthest
from other noble folk.

Sitting down, Ranboo fiddles with a brooch, a miniature duck with tiny gemstones instead of
feathers plucked into the front of his suit. Quackity handed it to him after their first conversation,
claiming it to be a family symbol of sorts.

I’ll be scouting around for a few days, seeing what has changed while I was gone. Keep low and
carry on with the legend, he said. Ranboo is pretty sure that attending a tea party doesn’t count as
‘keeping low’, but he was thinking about Tubbo first and cautiousness second. He can only hope
that Quackity is not going to be mad with him when he’s back.

“Are all noble families in the Empire symbolized by birds?” he asks Tubbo quietly, seeing an
embroidered feather - an eagle? a hawk? - sewn onto a noble man’s sleeve.

“Only those that were rooted with the start with the Empire,” Tubbo replies. “Pure of origin, as
they sometimes call themselves.”

Ranboo blinks at Tubbo in confusion. “I don’t quite get it?”

“The difference between a kingdom and an empire is that an empire contains several nations. There
used to be a whole lot more countries and independent states on the continent before they were
joined to the Antarctic Empire. Most of them present themselves as separate noble houses now
with old symbols as their heraldry. See that woman over there, with a spotted short cape?”

Ranboo indeed sees her next to Niki, a dark-haired lady with a chiseled round face and curtains of
black eyelashes over piercing blue eyes. When she demands a servant to bring some wine - I know
that this is a tea party, wine goes well with citrus - her hand windmilling a glass doesn’t quite
move the right way. The said cape drapes over her elbows, leaving the shoulders open, and is
brought together at the front with a silver clasp that Ranboo squirms at to see better.

“Is that a fish?”

“A seal,” Tubbo corrects him. “That is Countess Minx. Her domain is right at the borders between
the Empire and Drywaters.”

“What about Marchioness Beau?” Ranboo sees the lady finish her conversation with the queen.
Skirts of Beau’s dress rustle as she moves their way: layers of puffy white underneath and laced
mint-green at the top, flounce sleeves swallowing her forearms down half-way down her elbows.
Ranboo makes sure to keep his voice down as he asks, “What symbol does her family have?”

“Poison ivy,” Tubbo says.

“I'm glad that you could make it,” Beau says, smiling, once she comes within earshot distance. She
looks only at Ranboo, gaze so intense that Ranboo’s eyes flicker down, down to his hands curling
on his lap, to his shoes tightly pressed against each other. He wishes he could go even further, drop
under the ground and throw himself into the tightest of cracks. Don’t look them in the eyes.

Under the table, Tubbo’s fingers around his own and give his hand a reassuring squeeze. “We are
most grateful for the invitations,” Tubbo replies dutifully, but clearly it’s not what Beau has been
expecting..
“I heard that Ranboo is short-witted, not mute,” she says. “Can he not speak for himself?”

Tubbo’s eyes flash with anger; Ranboo presses his back flat against the chair. Before either of them
could answer, a new appearance stirred Beau’s and every guests' attention away.

“Your Highnesses,” Beau curtsies. Ranboo risks a glance up. He notices something different about
Theseus - grayish blue coat traded for currant red, clasped half-way up over white shirt and
collaring under his chin. Steps, usually perfected to match one another down to inch, are
abandoned to match Dream’s swift pace; they both seem like they sail over the ground rather than
walk on it.

Beau sits the princes down far closer to them than Ranboo deems comforting. Attendants are
gestured over to put lids away from pastries and fill cups with fresh steaming tea. While they circle
around, bouncing between requests, nobles start conversations with one another and it isn’t long
before one occurs that makes Tubbo and Ranboo clutch each other’s hands tighter.

"Marchioness Beau, I congratulate you on stepping up as Prince Theseus' aide,” Sneeg says.
Curiosity creeps in his voice like a cat to a whiffing meal.”Of course we were expecting the
vacancy to be occupied at some point but none as soon. I am meaning to compliment His Imperial
Highness when I say that he takes his time making important decisions.”

“Oh why, thank you,” Beau says, folding a hand under her chin. “It’s a very honorable position,
and it doubles as a responsibility. Truth to be told, I am still not quite certain what made Prince
Theseus change his usual ways.”

“It is true that I am not quick to put trust into people,” Theseus speaks up from his seat, staring
straight at a plate of strawberry tarts. Not like he wants to have a bite but rather tries to keep his
eyes from staring at somebody in particular. “But recently the conditions of my trust have
undergone major changes. For one, I no longer take the length of acquaintance into consideration.
It seems as though even time is not enough testament to one's loyalty."

Theseus’ gaze focuses on Tubbo and is gone back to phasing off again. Every other voice at the
table had died out with people curious as to what the crown prince has to say, and that look casted
at Tubbo lasted just long enough that the guests’ attention switched to him. It couldn’t be more
clear whose loyalty they were talking about.

It’s Ranboo’s turn to squeeze Tubbo’s hand tighter. He can hear his friend breathing in short puffs,
feels the pulse speeding up with his fingertips pressed against the boy’s wrist. A mistake, Ranboo
thinks. Coming here was a mistake from the start.

"Working with Marchioness Beau has been a great improvement and relief,” Theseus continues.
“With her assistance, I have more time to spare on socializing in high society and frequent my
appearances in court.”

A murmur passes then, words exchanged from one ear to another. Nobles seem pleased; why
wouldn’t they be? Their beloved prince is providing them with gossip to feed on for the next week.
Ranboo doesn’t like the way Tubbo has quieted down, that he doesn’t raise his fog-clogged eyes.
Ranboo wants to stand up and take them both away, but Tubbo just sits there, as if he’s nailed to
the chair, or has been frozen for so long that he, too, started turning to wood. In his life, Ranboo
has never truly wished anybody harm; but for Tubbo… He hates Beau, and more so, Theseus.

Ranboo isn’t thinking straight when he pushes his chair back, words of anger huffing in his lungs,
climbing up his windpipe and forming on his tongue. He wants Theseus to know how much he’s
hurting Tubbo; how he doesn’t deserve a friend like him. Dream next to the crown prince kept his
creepy mask on since the start of the tea party, and black hollows of his eyes pin Ranboo to place.
With all of his courage suddenly gone, he sinks deeper into the chair and bites his tongue.

Beau seems as pleased as if she had seen a theater play performed right before her. “Bring some tea
to His Imperial Highness,” Beau waves a servant over, and they move with a steaming pot towards
where Theseus sits.

Without raising his eyes, Tubbo gestures the servant to a halt. “Prince Theseus doesn’t drink floral
teas, they make him nauseated," he quietly says. “You can bring some earl gray instead.”

The crown prince changes in the face - for a moment so fleeting that Ranboo doesn’t get a chance
to decipher it - but then someone on the table breaks the silence with a murmured, Prince Wilbur .
Wilbur walks up to the table, long hems of his blue coat trailing behind him. Ranboo sees Dream
lean in closer to say something to the crown prince’s ear that makes the corner of his mouth tilt up.

“Prince Wilbur, have you been invited to attend this party?” Theseus asks.

“Greetings to you too, dear brother,” Wilbur smirks, one hand over his heart as he bows to the
guests at the table curtly. “Answering your question… it would be greatly inconsiderate of
Marchioness Beau not to include me in a party in my own palace. I was expecting the invitation the
whole morning, but it seems that a servant has been lost on their way. I take no offense, as this was
an honest mistake.”

Wilbur moves, smooth as silk, confident as a lion. A folded fan slaps the top of the chair,
preventing him from drawing it out of the table.

“There is no mistake here, Prince Wilbur,” Beau says. “Bold-faced liars are not welcome at one
table with us.”

The silence is utter and sudden, like after a lighting that struck without a rain. Ranboo has never
seen anybody speak to Wilbur in that manner; he may have a hard time memorizing the order of all
the noble ranks, but he knows that a marchioness is way below a prince to speak to him in that
manner. Wilbur’s expression that usually shifts with the speed of a slithering snake goes deadly,
dangerously still.

“This is a serious accusation,” Niki speaks up, putting a spoon down from where it’s been frozen
over a cup and dripping tea. Her face is sculptured out of marble. “Do you have evidence to base it
off, Marchioness Beau?”

On the other side of the table, a glass rings as Dream strikes it lightly with a fork. “We have a
confession to make,” he says, standing up. Everybody turns to listen; everybody but Theseus, who
watches with disinterest as a servant tilts a pot over his cup.

“I’m sure that everybody still remembers that, a few weeks ago, I was searching for my
anonymous penpal. There was an unpleasant incident at a dinner when Ranboo claimed to be them
and then couldn’t prove it to be true.” A few looks are casted at Ranboo; he shrinks on himself.
“Prince Wilbur then vigilantly defended him and accused me of deceit, and Prince Theseus was
unfairly treated for trying to stand the side of the truth.”

“He was standing up for me,” Beau says. “The real addressee of Dream’s letters. I wanted to come
forward and admit it, but when Prince Wilbur had started spinning a different tale… Who am I, the
mere daughter of a humble noble house, to dare and go against someone as authoritative as His
Highness?”
She presses her fan to her cheek, eyelids drooping down. “Poor Ranboo, too, had told me that he
was dragged into this story, pressured by Prince Wilbur into lying.”

Ranboo did nothing of the sort. But under all those watching eyes, air refuses to leave the prison of
his lungs. He’s balancing on a thin rope over nothingness below: one wrong word, and sympathetic
looks that Beau had drawn to them both will boil to bloodlust. And yet, Wilbur stands so pale, his
dark eyes seeking out Ranboo- he needs to step in. He needs to say something .

Ranboo hasn’t noticed how tightly he has gripped Tubbo’s hand until the boy squeezes it just as
hard and nearly breaks his fingers. “Don’t ,” Tubbo barely moves his lips. “ They have better proof
.”

“With all due respect, how do you know that it’s not another fallacy?” Sneeg asks.

“Marchioness Beau has the originals of the letters,” Dream says. “As well as has written a new one
to prove that the handwriting truly matches. This time round, I have no doubts.”

"Is it true, Wilbur?" Niki asks. “All of that has been said?”

Her words ring of steel. Even Theseus, mixing sugar into his tea, pauses to look at Wilbur. And the
older prince… He sends a look over frowning lips, hostile gazes and accusing eyes, stumbling to a
halt when it reaches his younger brother. For a moment, Ranboo thinks that Wilbur will reveal
Beau and Dream’s lie, but then he looks back at Niki and his shoulders sink down.

“I have nothing to say that would satisfy this audience,” he says.

The queen looks away. Her disappointment, not even directed at Ranboo, makes his heart sink.
"Then it's probably for the best that you leave our company at once.”

Wilbur whirls around and strides away, arms folded behind his back, steps so stiff that it’s obvious
he barely contains himself from running. Once the older prince has gone out of their sight,
everybody looks back at Theseus, silent and waiting. Whatever the crown prince says now will be
engraved into each guest’s memory, who will then spread the word further and further until every
stone of every tower knows of Wilbur’s disgrace.

Theseus draws out that moment of power; he sips out of his cup, not making a sound. "I am truly
sorry on the behalf of my brother,” he says, finally putting his tea down. “Ever since his return
three years ago, Prince Wilbur couldn't come to terms with the fact that the Empire doesn’t need
him anymore. Perhaps he thought that a close acquaintance with the crown prince of Esempi would
give him a sense of purpose he was lacking.” Theseus turns to Dream. “I hope that you will take no
offense to your name and kingdom because of one unwitted individual.”

For the first time since the start of the tea party, Dream takes his mask off. Underneath it, his smile
is sincere and his eyes are a bright sea green. Ranboo doesn’t trust his own judgment of people’s
expressions, but the way he looks at Theseus… It feels like it’s filled with pride.

“You’ve convinced me not to,” Dream says. “As long as you’re first in line for the throne, the
Empire is in secure hands, Prince Theseus. I look forward to strengthening the relationship between
our nations.”

Guests start to turn back to their cakes and tea after that. Gone is the silence, filling with the sound
of chattering and buzzing tones. While others gossip, Ranboo only watches Theseus. Theseus, who
is Dream’s true penpal. Theseus, who could’ve easily let his aide borrow the old letters. Theseus,
who, by every passing second draws his lips apart wider and wider.
Ranboo has seen Theseus grin before; a joyous beam he shared with Fundy, bright and full of
summer rays. The smile that saunters the crown prince’s lips now sends a full-body shudder down
his neck.

When Theseus’ gaze snaps to him, Ranboo nearly jumps out of his own skin. Your turn next , his
eyes seem to say.

Ranboo gulps.

***

From a second floor veranda that Wilbur stands on, he can see Theseus’ retreating form, dull
golden curls gathered in a ponytail that bounces with each step he takes. A few paces behind him is
Marchioness Beau, a parasol casually slung against her shoulder. Either she had felt Wilbur staring
or had spotted him watching a while ago, but she cuts her steps short and glances over her shoulder.
Dream, closing the procession, follows her gaze.

The crown prince of Esempi pushes his mask to the side with mocking tardiness, baring half of his
face to Wilbur. It’s more than enough to read Dream’s smirk. A teasing glance he tosses at Theseus
is like a dagger to Wilbur’s heart; Dream looks like he has won some precious prize and is showing
it to Wilbur just to gloom, reminding how close he was to grasping it in his arms and how easily it
had slipped through.

Except it’s no it , it’s him . His brother. From the moment Wilbur first held him in his arms,
Theseus has been Wilbur’s. He should be the one next to Theseus, he should be the one the boy
looks at with utter admiration, and he should be the one coiling his fingers on his brother’s arm
comfortingly. Wilbur should be there, but instead Dream bumps shoulders with Theseus lightly and
receives a smile in return. It’s tiny, and more of a shy tug at the corner of his lips – but it’s more
than Wilbur has received in the last three years.

His hands clench on whitewood railings so hard that his knuckles turn the same color as them.
Wilbur doesn’t consider himself a violent man, but if a chance ever comes, he would gladly bash
Dream’s face in.

“A popular face now, aren’t you, Prince Wilbur?” a male voice asks. “After getting publicly
demolished, and so boldly on top of that… They say it was quite a spectacle.”

Wilbur whirls around to the source of the voice. Bursting into the veranda and beelining for the
railings, he hadn’t, until now, noticed a man on a chair next to blooming bushes of mock orange.
The stranger rests one foot on the thigh of the other, looking at a notebook held low over his lap
through the lens of a wire-framed monocle. A golden chain attaches it to a button of a well-tailored
burgundy coat.

“Who the fuck are you?” Wilbur spits.

The man slams the notebook shut and slides it into an inner pocket of his coat, the monocle soon
following.

“Don’t take it as an offense. I’m sure that they’ve done careful preparations.” He stands up from
the chair, movements slow, and shoves his hands into the pockets of dark pants. “I’m just surprised
that it had taken so long for Dream to recruit Prince Theseus to his side. It usually takes less than
that for a fly to get caught in his web.”

Wilbur lets those words seal the silence as he takes a moment to study the man. A fairly young
 face with sleeked black hair and onyx eyes reveals everything and nothing at the same time. The
stranger, utterly unbothered with a hostile stillness of Wilbur’s expression, plucks his hand out for
a shake. It’s a rare gesture in high society where bows and curtsies are the norm; only merchants
and chess players tend to use it.

“Grand Duke George of Kinoko Kingdom, beloved cousin of King Karl, the Keeper of the Great
Library. In casual conversations, just George is fine.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be Prince Dream’s friend?” Wilbur pauses. “And what do you mean,
caught in his web?”

Wilbur has heard a few things about George. Always whirling in higher circles, they say that he’s
an excellent chess player who has conquered the court of both Kinoko Kingdom and Kingdom of
Esempi. Some people credit the latter to Prince Dream, who values the duke a lot and keeps him
practically glued to his side.

When it becomes apparent that Wilbur has no intentions of shaking hands, George draws arm back
and sighs.

“If that’s what the Antarctic Empire calls a profitable acquaintance, then sure, Dream is my friend.
As to the spider and his webs… ”

George looks at the courtyard, where Theseus and Dream walk side by side. Unconsciously,
Wilbur’s hands clench into fists. “I can see that you’re concerned with your brother’s well-being.
So, as someone who has known Dream for years, I want to give you a fair note of warning.
Wherever Dream goes, misfortune follows. Other’s paths are marked with steps, and his are littered
with dead bodies. Dream is like a voodoo doll who curses people around him to sorrowful fates.”

“And yet, you seem to be doing just fine,” Wilbur says sharply.

A smile barely touches George’s lips. He steps closer, and Wilbur has to root himself to resist
reeling away. “ I know where to step so I don’t get stuck. But Theseus is young. Naïve and easily
mendable, craving for someone to look up to. Isn’t it a brother’s duty to make sure that nobody
uses that to their advantage?”

If Wilbur is an instrument, those are the words that brush over the old strings. Fears and dreads,
protectiveness and love, jealousy and determination; it’s a wild mix and, despite knowing George
for less than five minutes, he finds himself clamming his mouth shut and listening like he’s life
dependent on it.

George’s eyes flash - a smug look gone as fast as it appeared. Passing by, the last words he says
practically over Wilbur’s ear. “If I was in your place, I’d step in and save my brother before he
gets completely and utterly trapped.”

Chapter End Notes

CHAPTER SUMMARY
Tommy is put in charge of commercial affairs between Empire and Badlands. Dream
and Sapnap meet up with some unknown friend so they can’t spend the day with
Tommy. They return in the evening to Tommy falling asleep while working. Dream
expresses concern for Tommy’s well-being; Tommy snaps in response but gets
overwhelmed and runs off when Dream calls him his friend.

Back in his chambers, Tommy takes a bath and reminisces on the past. Before, Wilbur
used to control his every move and when he was left alone he didn’t know how or why
to take care of himself. In the beginning Phil tried to help but he grew tired of doing so
with time, and Tommy learned to keep his emotions to himself. In the past, Quackity
had pointed out that Wilbur was controlling of Tommy. When Tommy was eight years
old he befriended Eryn, a commoner boy with falcon wings. Tommy gifted him his
cloak and promised to meet him again, but it is implied that Wilbur interfered and had
Eryn taken away somewhere else. Nine years later Tommy still wonders what
happened with Eryn and how different their life would turn to be if it wasn’t for
Wilbur.
Tommy prepares to sleep but Beau comes in and tells that Sam wants to speak with
him. Tommy has been looking into Sam more closely and knows that the duke leaves
the palace at night every few days for unknown reasons. When Tommy arrives, Sam
invites him to have a dinner together. Tommy is wary around Sam because of what
happened at the banquet. Sam apologizes and explains that he wants Tommy be in
charge of trading negotiations because he’s the most capable. He asks to meet up with
Tommy privately outside council meetings and Tommy agrees.

POV switches to Ranboo. He and Tubbo are invited to a tea party hosted by Beau.
Ranboo doesn’t want to go, but Tubbo says he misses Tommy and wants to see that
he’s going okay. Ranboo asks why he quitted working for the prince and Tubbo tells
he was feeling worthless and like Tommy doesn’t want to have him around anymore.
Ranboo decides to attend the tea party to support Tubbo. At the event they talk about
noble house symbols in the Empire: Quackity’s a duck, Beau’s is poison ivy. Beau and
Tommy inexplicitly slander Tubbo for betraying Tommy. Ranboo gets defensive of
Tubbo but Tubbo asks him not to interfere. Despite everything, he cares about
Tommy.

Wilbur shows up uninvited. Turns out the tea party was a trap all along. Beau tells that
she’s Dream’s true penpal and that Wilbur had pressured Ranboo into lying, thus
accusing him of deceit and blackmail. Dream supports her claim while Tommy sits
back and enjoys the show. Nobles believe Beau and Dream; Niki is disappointed with
Wilbur and asks him to leave. Tommy tells that Wilbur lied because he is useless to
the Empire and wanted to have some sort of purpose. He looks at Ranboo and Ranboo
fears that now that Tommy attacked Wilbur, the crown prince’s next target is gonne be
him.

Wilbur observes the deceit trio after the tea party. He is jealous seeing Tommy admire
Dream, and Dream knows it. George appears out of nowhere and introduces himself.
He is known to be Dream’s friend, yet tells that Dream is a cunning and dangerous
person who is using Tommy for his own purposes. George recommends that Wilbur
intercepts because any serious harm is done.
AUTHOR NOTES
Do you smell it? *sniffs* Moral ambiguity

Sam: I want to trick Theseus into eating dinner

The cooks, who have been dying to feed this poor malnourished child for years: Say
no more

Wilbur: I am going to ruin their tea party

Deceit trio (Dream, Tommy, Beau): UNO REVERSE CARD

George: appears
Also George: fashion

If you’re wondering how little I rested trying to finish this chapter… Well, I insert my
sleep schedule onto br!Tommy and that pretty much speaks for itself. Ch19 has been
restructured and rewritten so many times (I have EIGHT word documents for this
chapter, that’s not even funny), but at least now I have some interesting scenes to use
later, and it's all worth it when I see how many of you are enjoying this story. If you
want to know when the next chapters are going to be, best check out my discord server
or tumblr (both linked below).

See you next time!

 It's crazy what I can do
Chapter Summary

“True,” Dream says, not without approval. Tommy can never get used to how easy
Dream hands out praise– or get enough of it, for that fact. Like a starved beast he
scarfs down every word, stores it away like dried flowers between old crusty pages.
Years would come and he’d occasionally pick up a heavy book and scroll through to
look at the petals, as bright as the day he collected them.

It has a downside of his own: the more Tommy craves to be approved, the more he is
afraid of disappointing. His heart plummets to his feet when Dream says,
“Though there is one thing I must disagree with you about.”

“And that is...?”

A ghost of a smile passes through Dream’s lips. “I think that Wilbur’s biggest
attachment is you.”

Chapter Notes

Ey I'm back guys to give you a little snack before my exams

I know it's a little short, but I hope you enjoy it regardless!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Back in his office, Tommy finds a white envelope. Somebody must have left it when he and Beau
were out for the tea party. Tommy wouldn’t even glance at it before tossing it out to the rest of
unsorted paperwork if it wasn’t for two things: the seal and a grinning golden jester pressed on top
of the envelope. The one that Quackity had given him over a week ago should’ve been still resting
in the same place he had left it, but Tommy doesn’t find the coin in any of the drawers.

Friend or foe, enemy or ally. Today Quackity decided to send him a gift.

Tommy pockets the letter and strides out of the room.

***

Esempi is well-known for producing precious gems and jewels, so when Dream initially arrived at
the palace, Tommy had gone out of his way to assign him chambers that would be appropriate for
the nation’s wealth. Like most chambers in the palace, it had three separate rooms: a parlor for
receiving visitors, a bedroom and a bathroom, coming one after another in this order. One wouldn't
be able to enter the latter without coming through the prior, unless they somehow managed to
climb up five stories of smooth stone walls and haul themselves into the window.

When Sapnap leads him into the parlor, Tommy notes that most of the furniture - a table with base
carved in the shape of a swan, candelabras of pure gold, glazed porcelain vases - are collecting dust
in the corners, leaving the middle of the parlor practically bare.

“Dr- I mean, Patches likes to have some space to run around,” Sapnap explains.

Tommy nods, slightly lost. Arrangement of furniture is not the only odd thing about the room. On
top of a large hand-knotted rug, couches and armrests and padded seats are generously swaddled in
cushions of so many different colors and patterns that it hurts to look at them for too long. Pieces of
clothing are abandoned all around; Tommy counts three different cloaks thrown on top of each
over the back of an armchair. If Dream himself is hiding somewhere in this room, he wouldn’t be
able to tell, let alone something as small as a housecat.

“Is Patches not here now?” he asks, just in case.

“He and Prince are out for a walk… Or a flight, I suppose,” Sapnap says. “I'll see if I can find
them. In the meantime, make yourself right at home. Dream should appear shortly.”

With those words, Sapnap is gone. For a minute or two Tommy just stands at the doors, shifting
from foot to foot, but soon his arms get tired of carrying folders so he moves step by step towards a
spruce table. Open books crowd it like moths resting their wings. Dream must have raided the
library at some point, but instead of finishing one book he read it to a third at best before getting
distracted and moving onto the next one.

Tommy frees some space for the papers he brought with himself. The river routes suggested for
the trade with Badlands would require new ships for transfort. Esempi among other things is
famous for naval engineering, born and perfected through centuries of ocean travel. King Foolish
himself is said to be a talented architect, seeing five to ten vessels to sea each year. Tommy shies to
contact him directly… and also secretly hopes that the design will cost them less if a request comes
through the king’s own brother. Not that the Empire’s treasury lacks gold otherwise, but years of
managing palace bookkeeping made Tommy mindful of every spending.

The longer he sits there, however, the less he can keep himself concentrated on work. His thoughts
keep slithering back to the tea party. Normally nobles would refrain from rumoring around the
members of royal families for the fear of kings and emperors’ wrath… But it was Tommy who
ruled high society in the Empire, and his one comment followed by impassiveness to slandering
Wilbur's name was all the approval they needed to keep the discussion going.

He should have left it at that. Maybe even bid his goodbyes early once a few guests were up and
the courtertisies allowed him to follow suit without offending or disrespecting the host. The tea
party was his plan though, from start to finish, and the harvest tasted sweeter than any pastry he ate
at that table. He stayed, drunk on boldness, intoxicated on his triumph, and was there to feel how
Tubbo’s eyes bore into his. Nobody else seemed to notice when he raised a hand to his chin and
made a series of gestures, mouthing the word at the same time.

Five letters, one name. Henry . A stupid name for a stupid-looking toy. Wilbur said that he found
him in mud on the streets, abandoned by the previous owner most likely for the lack of one eye and
gutted insides. In his chambers Tommy had wooden horses taller than him, swords and axes,
armies of tin soldiers and chests filled to the brim with toys that he never touched once, yet he
clung to Henry so desperately that a maid that tried to take him it away got her hand bitten and
eardrums burst.

Wilbur had coaxed Tommy into washing him, at least, refilled his belly with soft plush and helped
to sew a button in the place of a missing eye. He had asked Father to knight Henry as well, with all
the sincere naivety of a six-year-old. Laughter bubbled behind lips drawn all the way back as the
Emperor lowered a sword to the toy extended in the prince’s hands. Following the occasion,
Mother’s ladies-in-waiting took to calling him Sir Henry Plush. They haven’t abandoned the habit
even as he grew to nine and Techno explained to him that stuffed cows, in fact, cannot be knights.

After the Emperor agreed to foster Michael in the palace at Duchess Clara’s request, and Wilbur
asked Tommy to be kinder to his cousin, he made sure to bring him along whenever he went.
Michael shied a lot; in everything, he looked for approval from Tubbo first. With mops of brown
hair and small round faces they looked like they could be brothers, but in truth Michael was Aunt
Clara’s son and thus Tommy’s adoptive cousin. Tubbo just knew how to act gentle and quiet
enough that he didn’t strike the same fear in the skittish boy as everybody else seemed to.

Coming to his chambers one day, Tommy had walked in right at the moment that Michael was
reaching for the plush cow slumbered on his bed. His eyes, one a bright red and the other so dark
that it was impossible to tell where the iris ended and pupil started, were blown wide in fear. Anger
building up in Tommy’s scowl evaporated like boiling water in winter.

Ghosting closer, Tommy couldn’t help but note how small Michael was. Tubbo, who on himself
wasn’t a stark example of imposing height, lifted the boy up easily and held him with one arm. He
looked so sad too; not just when he glanced longingly at Henry but all the time, swarmed by
strangers that didn’t care if he would disappear the next day.

“You can have Henry,” he said. Michael could hear him just fine, but Tommy still used as much of
his hands as he did his mouth. Practice is the only way to achieve perfection , Techno told him and
Tubbo, handing them each a small pile of books on sign language. “I’m too big of a man for toys
anyway.”

Before he could chicken out of it, Tommy thrusted the plush toy into Michael's arms. The boy
blinked at him in confusion, then gripped the gift tighter. Tommy saw the moment Michael felt
how soft Henry was; where once had been only fright, sunshine of joy came. Michael placed a
hand over his lips and lowered it towards Tommy. “ Thank you ,” he breathed. It was the first time
anybody in the palace had heard the boy speak.

Almost a decade later the memory is tinted with fog and tastes of bitterness. In the end, Tommy
didn’t welcome Michael into his family but into a theater play. Half the actors are gone now; the
last member of the audience had blown the lantern out as they left, and yet some still performed,
losing that border of sanity that separated a stage and real life.

In this story Michael was just a prop, stored away and forgotten if not only for Tubbo bringing him
out of the blue… for what? To join in with the chorus of people telling Tommy how much kinder
and sweeter he used to be as a child? Or worse – convince him to take pity on Ranboo as he did
once with Michael?

Disappointment and anger swells in Tommy’s veins. It’s supposed to be the moment of his
triumph! For once in his life that hollowness in his chest was filled with the sweet satisfaction of
vengeance, but now the void is back and claws at him more fierce than ever. Tommy sinks his
fingers into his hair and tugs at the roots, if only to distract himself from frustration, when there’s a
click of a handle twisted and then, “Theseus?”

Tommy shoots upright. “Dream! I, uh- sorry, I didn’t notice when you came in.”

The prince emerges out of the bedroom. He changed his afternoon attire: tight surcoat and necktie
to flowy robes that reach his knees and are slitted at the sides to allow more freedom of movement.
A dragon is sewn on a rolled up sleeve of dark gray fabric, and from all the jewelry that normally
richly adorns his neck and wrists is only a ruby pendant left hanging on a thin golden chain. Dream
jumps over the back of the couch, swift and graceful as a feline, and lifts up one of the parchements
that Tommy brought.

“Oh, Foolish will love this,” he says, plopping himself on the couch next to Tommy. Leaning
forward and patting his shoulder in what is becoming to be a common show of approval from him,
Dream says: “You did well. With this and the tea party alike.”

Warmth blossoms in Tommy's chest. He sinks his gaze to his papers and tidies them up, just
something to keep his hands busy with while he habitually suppresses the urge to smile.

"It’s just the beginning,” he says. “The tea party will seldom serve as a warning, but knowing
Wilbur… He won’t back away so easily. If there's something that he never lacked, it's
stubbornness.”

“Then a more permanent solution is called for.”

Tommy fumbles with the button of his coat. “Well…”

Dream's eyes flash with interest. "So you already have some ideas, then."

“Scarcely so.” Tommy pulls out an envelope out of the inner pocket and hands it to Dream so that
he could inspect the shape of a fish pressed in dried wax. At least, it’s supposed to be a fish, but
resemblances end with vaguely oval shape and crooked fins. Somehow the head ended up being
bigger than the rest of the body, and none of the scales was of the same size or shape. Michael
could draw better at the age of four .

“Prince Wilbur’s own design,” Tommy explains. “He thought to mock great noble houses and their
crests by having Lady Sally seal her letters with this… salmon."

“Remarkable,” Dream snickers. “A prince married to a commoner.”

"Prince Wilbur adores his wife. He acts all sweet and lovesick around her, it's disgusting,” Tommy
scrunches his nose up. “I suppose Lady Sally is what you’d call Prince Wilbur's biggest
attachment."

Dream twists the letter around and hands it back to Tommy. "You have your hands on a valuable
asset, then. How are you planning to use it?"

He looks at Tommy - it’s a long, inspecting sort gaze that Techno would have watching him trying
a new weapon or a sword move. After months worth of humiliation over his clumsiness and
previous lack of skills, steel was finally starting to obey Tommy's command. Newfound confidence
in his movements birthed pride. Techno knew that those shy flames were easy to stomp over, so he
let them spread and gain heat. Impress me , would be written over his stoic expression.

“I’ll preventit from reaching the original adresse. Prince Wilbur is surely to get alarmed when their
exchange stops abruptly. No harm done to either side if Prince Wilbur returns to his mansion in the
south a few months prior to the normal date.”

If Quackity was able to intercept one of the letters, then he can do it with many more. The question
is what he'd want in exchange, and Tommy has a feeling he already knows the price.

“And when he’s back and wondering as to why an entire patch of letters from his wife had gone
missing?" Dream asks.

“You know how secretaries are,” Tommy carelessly waves his hand. “A letter lost, or two, or
twenty. Who can blame them, with the heavy flow of paperwork?

Dream hums, thoughtful. “And if the matter does come to that… the last person anybody would
suspect to mendle with Prince Wilbur’s letter exchange is his younger brother and heir to the
Imperial throne.”

“Not Prince Wilbur though,” Tommy points out. “I’ll be first in his list of suspects. But two weeks
of journey there, two more back, and I'd Imagine Prince Wilbur wouldn’t be as desperate not to
enjoy some time home before he sets his sights back on the capital. A lot of things can happen in a
couple of months, can’t they?"

“True,” Dream says, not without approval. Tommy can never get used to how easy Dream hands
out praise– or get enough of it, for that fact. Like a starved beast he scarfs down every word, stores
it away like dried flowers between old crusty pages. Years would come and he’d occasionally pick
up a heavy book and scroll through to look at the petals, as bright as the day he collected them.

It has a downside of his own: the more Tommy craves to be approved, the more he is afraid of
disappointing. His heart plummets to his feet when Dream says,

“Though there is one thing I must disagree with you about.”

“And that is...?”

A ghost of a smile passes through Dream’s lips. “I think that Wilbur’s biggest attachment is you .”

Tommy’s throat clenches. “What?” he husks.

Dream’s answering gaze is unexpectedly still and long. Tommy’s entire soul lays bare before the
other prince, through his widened eyes and echo of his voice, leaving him exposed and vulnerable.

“You used to be very close before, weren’t you?” It feels like Dream already knows the answer, but
the grief that comes tolling in is so strong that Tommy has to take a moment just to squeeze his
eyes and force himself to breathe.

We used to be brothers , his heart keens, or so I thought .

“How can you tell?” Tommy asks, peeling his eyes open once he can trust his voice not to crack
again.

“Don’t forget that I’m a brother myself,” Dream says. “I know what it feels like to care and to
love… and to feel jealous, too. Tight clutches all around me, pressing stronger every moment, and
a small voice at the back of my mind, whispering to me of the things I must do.”

Lanterns flicker. The light in the room suddenly seems dim compared to the green fire of Dream’s
eyes. His voice, edging a whisper, thunders in Tommy’s ears: “Tell me, Theseus, what does your
voice say?"

Which one? Tommy thinks. Over his shoulder stands Prince Theseus; his grip tight and bruising. In
the dungeon of Tommy’s mind he’s the warden and the executioner; he sings of justice and
punishment and revenge like they’re three strings of the same instrument.

Let him know what it feels like , he hisses. To be tossed into a pit and have nobody to pull you out.
Wilbur never has been as stoic as Tommy is now. Where it's taken years for him to show a faint
sign of falling apart, one strong blow is all that's needed to crash the older prince. That’s what has
happened with the Empress’ death. He just needs to make sure that neither Lady Sally nor anybody
else is going to help Wilbur to recover from it.

The hair at the back of Tommy’s mind stands upright when a howl surges through the dungeon,
rattling iron and reverberating in walls. Even Prince Theseus falls silent while stone shudders
under their feet. Lips tight and brows creased, he can’t hide how anger cracks and shatters in icy
blue eyes when he looks into a corridor swallowed by black. On the other side a heavy spruce door
coated in iron, Tommy would find the other voice.

It doesn’t talk. It just cries.

Tommy ignores it.

Dream is still waiting for an answer. Each second of Tommy’s pause he looks more and more
curious. Tommy’s throat feels too tight, his mouth too dry. A hurricane has gone through his mind
and turned all thoughts upside down. He forces his lips apart and coldly says,. "If you’re implying
that I might have some brotherly feelings left for Wilbur… I assure you, I do not.”

Dream backs away; in more ways than just physical. The odd light in his eyes is gone, and an easy
smile sweeps away the remains of a sinister expression he had a moment ago.

“I just want to make sure that you’re not feeling pressured into something that you’re not sure
about,” he says. “Besides… Wilbur’s jealousy can be exploited. The thought that his younger
brother has replaced him will have him act careless and emotional.”

“In fact, I wish he was my younger brother, '' Wilbur said during the opening ceremony of Solstice
celebrations, ruffling Ranboo’s hair. “ If it doesn’t make you feel uncomfortable, you are welcome
to address me as your big brother.”

“Replaced,” Tommy tries the word on his tongue, and it feels like it isn’t quite real. Replaced is
what you do with objects. Something too old, what you’re no longer attached to, or just utterly
useless. Tommy was none of these things, and it didn’t stop his family from throwing him to
waste.

It’s surprising how much a collection of sounds can give somebody despair… Or hope. Absently,
Tommy places a hand on his chest, rubbing it lightly over his heart. Could this really be a way to
get back at his family for replacing him with Ranboo?

“Suppose, I agree,” Tommy says. “Who would I replace Wilbur with? Sir Wisp? Maybe Sapnap? I
think Beau would make a good fake brother too.”

Dream makes a sour face. “I am sitting right here .”

Tommy can’t help a small grin. It falters soon enough. “I just didn’t– I didn’t want to assume–”

“That I would be willing to fill the role?” Dream prompts. He doesn’t sound offended or mad. His
calm expression is not void of certain warmth, and it serves to ease Tommy’s pounding heart a bit
while he draws out proper words to say.

“It’s just–” he shudders on a breath, “Would you really be okay with that? With being a
replacement?”

Tommy sounds tired, even to his own ears. He feels tired too. He blames it on the weariness of the
day finally catching up to him, the comfort and warmth of cushions around beckoning his
exhausted body to sleep. Tommy wraps arms around himself and leans forward, the furthest
possible from them.
“I am the one proposing this, Thes,” Dream says softly. “As your friend, I want to help you in
every way I can. We are best friends, right?”

Tommy makes a noise of confusion. “Thes..?”

“Well, I think that Theseus sounds a bit too pompous for one friend to address another with. I’d
like to have something less formal to call you, if you don’t mind.”

Tommy , something inside him whines, desperately clawing its way out. As if scalded by a kettle of
boiling water, he springs to his feet and almost stumbles on a pillow. Dream stands up to catch him;
Tommy reels away, and the older prince stops himself, his hands raised placatingly.

“Did I say something wrong?”

He looks apologetic, and guilty. Tommy wants to tell Dream that it’s not his fault. Not his fault that
even the slightest thought of somebody knowing made him so damn hopeful. That Tommy’s stupid
heart has assumed, that even for a second, he can trust another person like this.

Theseus , Techno had named him, a sound of a betrayal yet to be done. For him and Father he had
been Theseus, for Mother - her butterfly and for Wilbur a songbird, but all of them were clueless
that he already had a different name. Each time Tommy considered telling somebody, he would
remember an oath given to the memory of a dead woman. Eleven years of a secret kept to the
confines of his own mind, so why in the world, at that moment, did he falter...?

“I’ll need some time to think about your suggestion,” Tommy says, looking down as he wrestles
his expression into something that doesn’t scream of feeling overwhelmed and confused.

“Take your time,” Dream says. Wary from Tommy’s reaction earlier, he doesn’t make an effort to
come closer. “Goodnight, Theseus.”

Tommy nods, turning away to leave. On the threshold, he pauses to look over his shoulder, leaning
one arm along the doorway. It’s easy to change his mind – one step and he’d be gone, words dead
before they had a chance to take form and sound, and yet...

“Dream?”

“Yes?” Dream still stands at the same spot, watching him leave. Friends, he had called them.
Tommy doesn’t deserve that title, the praise, the time or the effort, truly. But Dream was the only
one to ever bother, and hope is an addicting feeling, so much that Tommy says,

“You’re free to address me as Thes, if you want.”

***

The dog was choking on its barks, threatening to knock Ranboo off his feet with each rear. The
only thing that the boy could do was curl further around the basket in his arms and shout at the
animal to go away. It was of no use. At thirteen, Ranboo was as thin as a twig, all bone and no
muscle, and the dog that stood equal his height on two paws was merciful not to bite the arm that
was stubbornly shoved between the basket and its drooling jaws.

The amount of noise that they were making was bound to attract attention soon. Aside from slaves
like Ranboo, there were a number of other workers in the mansion, paid and free to go about as
they pleased. He had been told that the building jutting over a cliffed coastside belonged to the
King of Esempi; if that was so, then the King must have too many mansions and too little time to
visit them all. No servants knew what he looked like; some claimed that he wore a mask of gold to
conceal his face and others that it was his skin that was gold and that he had emeralds for eyes.
Ranboo found it ridiculous, but there were no portraits in the halls to prove them wrong.

“There used to be lots, of the late King and his children, until the Tyrant had seized the throne and
commanded to destroy every paper and canvas that depicted his sister’s faces,” an old cook once
told Ranboo as he had been helping to scale and gut fresh fish in the kitchen. “When Queen
Caroline came to rule, she established the custom of masks to symbolize the years she had spent in
hiding.”

The cook was on the kinder side, with all sorts of stories served with an occasional slice of bread,
but the person that heard the dog first was not him. Thundering on heeled shoes and spitting curses
came the main housekeeper; skin yellow from age and illness and glued to her bones like a grape
sucked dry, her appearance didn’t do any favors to her temper. “I work for the King,” she always
repeated pridefully, as if saying it enough would make the sun plummet from the sky and crown
her too.

She scuffed the dog like a misbehaving puppy and yanked so hard that it fell limp, whining. When
she let it go with a hard kick and a shout, the animal scurried away, tail tight between its legs.
Ranboo took a step back, naively hoping that he could get away while the woman was distracted,
but a hand on his wrist stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she screeched. Ranboo didn’t dare to look in her eyes. The
hand squeezed harder when he staggered with an answer, so he nodded meekly at the basket in his
shaking arms.

The woman took one look at the folded clothes, stained with the mud from the dog’s paws, and
backhanded Ranboo. “You useless piece of shit,” she swore. “Have this rewashed at once.”

Ranboo considered himself lucky that she didn’t put much force into the hit. It probably wouldn’t
even bruise much. He darted away, the basket bouncing with each flying step. When something
stirred underneath the fabric, Ranboo shushed it gently and picked up pace.

The laundry room was tucked into the far side of the mansion, half-buried into the ground and only
accessible from a creaky old door at the bottom of crumbling stairs. He flew over the threshold,
heat and smell of soap enveloping him like old friends. All around him, sheets were dunked into
big tubs, rubbed against washboards, squeezed and plopped into baskets to be carried away and
hung outside for drying. Ranboo manevouried out of people’s tracks, stumbled and nearly fell into
a steaming basin. He reeled away, all too vividly remembering how badly it burned when boiling
water sprayed all over his torso.

Slaves came and went for a new load, all familiar faces but unknown names. For all years of
working in the same mansion, Ranboo exchanged barely five words with most of them. Each quick
look that happened to stray his way made him want to cover up his face. If my eyes freak you out
so much, at least stop staring , he wanted to say, but his cheek, still stinging from the fresh blow,
made him think better of it.

Ranboo was at least five years younger than everybody else and the only one who couldn’t answer
the simple question – what for? Thievery, burglary, involuntary manslaughter - for others, iron
shackles jingling at each step were a reminder of some mistake that stripped them of their freedom.
Months would go by and with them arrived papers with the royal dragon seal; pardon for one man
or the other, they came steadily for everybody unless they tried to run away or the crime was too
heavy to be forgiven. Ranboo faintly remembered the first time he stood in the slatted shadow of
iron fences as another former slave left without ever turning back. Soon that would be me , he
hoped then. Seven years later, he was still waiting for the faceless king’s graciousness.
Finally, Ranboo reached the far side of the room, where dirty clothes were piled and sorted. Behind
an old tub cracked in half, he put the basket down and lifted up the cloth. A furry soft muzzle
buried itself into Ranboo’s hand. He leaned in to stroke the cat’s head. She purred, almost climbing
out of the basket fully to nuzzle into his fingers. Ranboo grasped the cloth and gently put the
bundle on the floor, mindful of the cat’s round belly.

“You can stay here,” he told her. Nobody would care if a piece of old fabric went missing for as
long as it didn’t happen too often. Ranboo collected enough to form himself a thin mattress stuffed
with straw so that it wouldn’t be as hard to sleep on the ground. “But you have to be very quiet,
okay? Please don’t wander around, or both of us are going to be in trouble.”

Ranboo risked bringing the cat here. He wasn’t allowed to own a second pair of sandals, let alone a
pet. But it was the ocean on one side of the mansion and miles and miles of wilderness on the
other. If the dogs didn’t get her, then some other predator would. He fished a dry piece of chicken
out of his pocket. His own empty stomach grumbled as he handed it to the cat. Enderchest –he
suddenly decided - swallowed it at once and licked his empty fingers, her tongue dry and scratchy.

“I’ll see if I can find something else for you later,” Ranboo whispered. “And some water too.”

He returned deep at night, his body aching and knees wobbling. A stripe of makeshift bandages
torn out of his own clothing had already turned crimson and stank of copper. He had dropped a
plate on the floor in hopes that he could keep the scraps and take them to Enderchest, but hadn’t
anticipated that the housekeeper would get so furious she’d stomp on his hand as he was collecting
the shards. Getting the porcelain out was painful, but the burning of cuts when he cleaned them in
saltwater was far, far worse.

Ranboo climbed up onto his mattress and let his head fall. Enderchest hadn’t refused the leftovers,
but yellow eyes stared at him from the darkness with what felt like sadness. When the cat shuffled
closer and bundled under Ranboo’s chest, tears started brewing silently in his eyes.

He wished that somebody would come and tell him that he didn’t deserve it, that all of this was
some cruel misunderstanding, that somebody would come to take him away. They’d have golden
hair, and their eyes would be red or green or of no color at all, but radiated warmth and ached of
familiarity. Somebody out there cares for me , Ranboo told himself through wet sobs, even as he
knew it wasn’t true. If anybody ever searched for him, they had given up on it years ago, but hope
was all he had to ease the pain and lull him to sleep.

He dreamed the same memory he always did. Ranboo was six, and they were running, little boy
tight in his sibling’s arms. People shouted, steel screeched as it was drawn out of sheathes, and
there were hands yanking them from one another to the chant of “Seize the traitor!”. Through the
blur of tears Ranboo saw a slouching figure taken away in chains.

Something squirmed underneath Ranboo’s cheek. He opened his eyes to a tiny nose poking his face
blindly. Enderchest dragged away her squeaking kitten and tucked it in-between her belly and tail.
Ranboo reached out in awe and petted the new-born under the mother’s watchful eye.

At first it wasn’t very hard for Ranboo to hide two cats in his small corner that nobody bothered to
look into, but Enderpearl, as he named the kitten, grew fast. He went from crawling to waddling
around and Ranboo dreaded that one day he would scurry out in the open and either get noticed or
snatched by the dogs in the backyard. Enderchest and Enderpearl needed a proper owner,
somebody that could feed them something better than scraps off servant tables, or be somewhere
that they could fend for themselves.

Ranboo delayed the goodbyes for as long as he could, until he eventually pleaded with a servant
 that they’d take the Enderchest and Enderpearl with them on their next trip to a village and drop
the cats there. The price that they set had Ranboo consider trying his luck with a fisherman instead.
With his secret at stake, however, he had no other choice but to slip a piece of silverware
underneath his shirt. It was light enough that it could be balanced on two fingers, yet it felt like he
had never carried a heavier weight. In every voice Ranboo heard accusations of treason and every
sound was of metal scraping against metal.

He ran to the laundry room the first opportunity he got, but the cats weren’t there anymore. The
kitten that would attack his legs on sight and claw at the iron clasped around his right ankle was
gone, and so was his softly purring mother.

The air was suffocatingly hot, yet Ranboo never felt dread as cool as in the moment when he came
running to a cliff over to the side of the mansion and saw a guard thrusting Enderchest into a
tattered bag. He who only cowered and whimpered in undeserved beatings and was afraid of
raising his voice above a mutter, screeched like grim death and lunged forward. His nails shredded
the guard’s face to bloody stripes before a punch knocked him over his feet. Ranboo’s back kissed
the ground and the piece of stolen silverware flew out for the gathering crowd to see.

Before the stars faded from his vision, there were more punches and kicks: to his stomach, to his
head and back, until all he could feel was pain and his mind begged for it to stop. He peeled a
swollen eye open to see the guard, four red stripes across his face, raising the bag again.
Enderpearl’s tiny paw poked out of a hole. He saw Ranboo, and there was a moment when the
kitten’s scared whimper turned into a hopeful plea.

“Please-” the boy breathed out.

The bag was flung into the ocean below, gone with a splash in roaring waves. Ranboo’s shrill cry
was silenced by a kick and the crack of a snapping bone, and the world had turned to black.

When Tubbo comes in haste, alarmed by the sound of something crashing, he finds Ranboo fisting
the bed frame, quivering over an overturned chair. Night gown he had gone to sleep with is torn at
the collar, as if he had ripped it in an attempt to get more air into his lungs. A pattern of scars knits
his neck, trailing down, down, branching to his shoulder and back. His gold-ebbed notebook is
clutched in one hand so tightly that nails left deep ragged marks on soft leather.

“Ranboo?” Tubbo calls, not sure if he should come closer or stagger a step back. “Wha- what
happened?”

Oh so slowly, Ranboo turns his head. He resembles a ghost with how blank and wide his eyes are,
red and green starkly bright on a face paler than snow and slick with sweat.

"I remember," he says.

Chapter End Notes

CHAPTER SUM
After the tea party Tommy finds a letter from Sally to Wilbur in his office that was left
there by Qauckity. He visits Dream's chambers to talk about buying a few ships from
King Foolish, who personally designs vessels, for river transportation of goods
between Empire and Badlands. While he waits for Dream to come, Tommy thinks
about Tubbo. At the tea party, he had signed the name of his favorite childhood toy, a
plush cow Henry. It reminded Tommy of Michael, Duchess Clara’s son, who is
selectively mute. Tommy and Tubbo learned sign language to communicate with him
better. Tommy had gifted Henry to Michael so he wouldn’t be so lonely.

Dream appears and praises Tommy for the tea party. Tommy says that Wilbur won’t
be discouraged so easily. He shows Sally’s letter to Dream, and shares his plans to
intercept Wilbur and Sally’s letter exchange so that Wilbur would get worried and
leave to pay his wife a visit, eliminating him from the palace for some time. Dream
approves of the idea but he says that it’d be easier to get to Wilbur through Tommy
himself. If they manipulate Wilbur’s jealousy by making him believe that Tommy had
replaced him with Dream, he’d act more rash. Tommy denies having any attachment
left to Wilbur, but is reluctant about the plan. Dream reassures him that he’s fine with
being treated as a replacement. He proposes a nickname Thes [pronounced as Zes] as
short for Theseus. Tommy startles himself with an impulse to tell Dream that he
prefers to go by Tommy. Eleven years ago, he had made a promise to somebody, and
had never shared that name with any of his family members. Dream doesn’t push it,
but Tommy tells him that he doesn’t mind being called Thes from now on.

Ranboo POV. It’s a memory from when he was thirteen years old. Ranboo wrestled
with a dog for something that he was hiding in a basket of folded laundry. At this age
he had been a slave working in a coastal mansion in the Kingdom of Esempi. The
mansion belonged to the King [Foolish], but none of the workers have ever seen what
the man looked like, seeing as there was no portraits him anywhere. A cook told
Ranboo that there used to be portraits of late King and his children, but they had been
destroyed after Schlatt usurped the throne. A housekeeper came to chase the dog away
and hit Ranboo for getting mud on the washed clothes. Ranboo went to the laundry
room, past other slaves working. They all were in that position for committing
different crimes. Occasionally an order would come to pardon one slave or the other,
and they’d be let free. Ranboo had been waiting for such pardon for seven years but it
never came for him.

In a far corner, Ranboo set the basket down and a pregnant black cat peeked out of it.
He had saved the cat from the dog, named her Enderchest and decided to keep her
despite it being not allowed. He broke a plate at a dinner in the mansion so that he
could feed the leftovers to Enderchest, and was punished by his hand being stomped
on the shards. Enderchest comforted Ranboo while he cried. At night he dreamed of
being six. He and his sibling were running away from someone before they were
separated. Ranboo remembered his name being screamed and then he woke up to a
newborn kitten poking his face that Enderchest had given birth to while he was asleep.
Ranboo named him Enderpearl.
Enderpearl grew and Ranboo knew he couldn’t be hiding two cats for much longer.
He bargained with a servant to take them to a nearby village. They agreed to do so in
exchange for Ranboo stealing some expensive silverware. He did so, but when he
came back for Enderchest and Enderpearl he saw that they had been caught, and a
guard was about to toss them out into the ocean in a bag. Ranboo fought to save them,
but was quickly overpowered as more people came and saw that the stolen silverware.

Back in the present Tubbo comes running because of noise in Ranboo’s room. Ranboo
is found wide awake. Tubbo asks Ranboo what’s wrong and Ranboo tells Tubbo that
he remembers, implying that his memories from before Phil had found him are back.

AUTHOR NOTES
Chapter 19 has gathered FIVE HUNDRED COMMENTS in the span of three weeks.
You guys are absolutely mad /affectionate. Let me quietly cry from happiness in a
corner.

This chapter had to be so much longer but some scenes weren’t really fitting together
in regards of mood and theme, so I decided to withdraw them for now. If you have
seen any of the snippets I’ve send around in my social media, don’t worry! They will
make it to one of the future chapters.

I’m entering my 2-week final exam season starting Tuesday, so no chapters during this
time. Not that I was updating every two weeks, anyway… I blame school. Luckily I
should be all done my middle of May. Then you can see me turning into a chapter-
typing conveyer, and who knows, maybe we’ll see BR ending by September!
(probably not, but eh I'm being positive)
 When I let go
Chapter Summary

"Hey," Techno says, his hand suddenly on Ranboo's upper arm, patting awkwardly.
"You're a good kid, Ranboo. Maybe I'll be stating the obvious here, but Phil cares
about you a lot. Wilbur, too, though he doesn't always go the best way about it,"
Techno sombers in response to some inner thought, and then looks back at Ranboo.
"You know you can always trust them to help if anybody ever tries, say… to threaten
or harm you?"

Ranboo forgets how to breathe. His heart stops beating one moment and starts
pounding madly the next. Palms and hands covered in scars slowly slither up into his
pockets and out of Techno's view. Ranboo is a terrible actor, and he hopes that at least
a small smile on his lips doesn't look too obviously forced.

"Thanks, Techno," Ranboo says. What he never does say is I will.

Chapter Notes

Two point of views, and arguably the most intense scenes that I have written so far. I
hope you like it guys, have a good read!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Ranboo comes to visit Carl almost every day. Among giant marble domes and columns engraved
with gems, he is like a coal char among diamonds, but here in the stables he feels almost at home.
Back in Quackity’s manor Ranboo’s morning used to start with the horses’ high-pitched neighs and
went by with cleaning and grooming, brushing and saddling, until it was too dark for him to see his
own feet.

Animals don’t draw a line at nobility and common folk, or former slaves for all that matter. Carl
inhales carrots from his hands like they are straw, snorting into his hair when the treats run out.
Ranboo couples and half-heartedly pushes the stallion’s away. Suddenly Carl jerks his head
upright, his ears turned towards the entrance behind Ranboo's back.

“You spend a lot of time in the stables, Ranboo, don’t you?” A female voice asks.

Spinning around, Ranboo turns rigid. A group of nobles have gathered around Marchioness Beau.
A wide brimmed hat, tilting with the weight of floral and laced decorations, shadows her face,
matched with dark velvet dress and slick black gloves.

Ranboo’s gaze passes more familiar faces, and he resists the urge to cower. It just has to be his luck
that he runs into Theseus’ subordinates: secretaries coming in and out of the crown prince office on
a normal day and lower-ranking nobles that flocked him during the Summer Solstice. At least the
prince himself is nowhere to be seen.
“Is there, uh, a problem with that?” Ranboo startles.

Beau exchanges a glance with the other nobles, snickering. "Why, of course not. In fact I believe
you could lend me a hand. The Emperor speaks of your kindness highly, surely you won't refuse a
small favor."

"Of course! How can I help?"

"We," she gestures at the other nobles, "have planned to take a ride around the palace. Could you
saddle my horse for me?"

Five pairs of gazes tear into Ranboo, and he swallows sickly. Here it is again, the feeling of
walking on a field full of traps. Tubbo has been teaching Ranboo court norms and manners to the
best of his abilities, but it’s slow and monotonous labor. He couldn’t understand why the order at
which you greet nobles might matter or why he would have to wait to be dismissed from the table
when he’s already full. Some things like titles and bowing have started turning into habits, but the
rest Ranboo notes in his journal as a reminder. There is bound to be something written in there that
would hint at the meaning hidden behind Beau’s words, but the memory book lies in his chambers,
and an answer is demanded from him now.

"...Sure," he says cautiously. "What does it look like?"

The snickering becomes louder. Ranboo's ears are practically on fire, and he still doesn't
understand what he has done wrong.

"It's a palomino stallion with a white blaze on his muzzle," Beau smiles.

"This one?"

Techno appears behind a corner, leading a horse, and the nobles gasp in surprise. Beau picks up
the hems of her dress and curtsies—her hang low, respectful—and the others follow with their
bows. Ranboo tries to bend as well, but Techno gestures him to a stop.

"Ranboo, meet your new horse," Techno says, tugging at the reins of a stallion… one that exactly
matches Beau's description. The lady's face twitches from where she had barely raised her chin.
"We wanted to get you a mount anyway. This stallion is good-tempered and will do well for a
beginner. What will you name him?"

"I don't…" Ranboo wants to say that he doesn't understand what's going on, but Techno's calm blue
eyes are asking, trust me, so he says, "Um, maybe Buddy?"

"Er, a name as good as any other." Techno shrugs, handing Ranboo the reins.

"Your Imperial Highness, that is my horse," Beau breaks her curtsy before Techno has allowed her
to.

Techno glares at Beau, instantly dropping his nonchalant act. Something sinister passes his face; it
shudders Ranboo from head to toe and puts a stammering stop to the lady's further protests. Even
the other nobles shuffle back a step or two, their eyes turned everywhere but the prince.

"A long journey afoot will teach you a lesson on how to behave in someone else's home," he
practically growls. "Get out of my sight."

To Beau's credit, she doesn't falter. "As far as I am aware, this is Prince Theseus' home," she says,
picking up her skirts and swirling away. The other nobles follow shortly, and Ranboo watches in
wonder at how fast the stables are emptied. Even the stablemen previously lingering somewhere in
the corner of his vision have vanished, leaving Techno and Ranboo alone with snorting horses.

"What just happened?" Ranboo asks, absently brushing Buddy's muzzle.

"Saddling someone's horse is the job of a stableboy," Techno says, staring off into the direction
Beau had just left. "Nobles serve other more high-ranking nobles as attendants, soldiers and
servants, but it's considered mortifying to stoop to working in the stables."

Oh . "They were humiliating me…" Ranboo unseals his lips, voice dropping. "And I didn't even
understand."

Buddy, clueless of the whole ordeal, nudges his nose into Ranboo's back as soon as he stops petting
him. He seems nice, not as good as Carl but a gentle creature nevertheless. Ranboo pulls at the
reins, and Buddy follows, but Techno blocks their way. "Where are you going, kid?"

"I don't want any problems with Marchioness Beau and Prince Theseus," Remembering the tea
party, Ranboo looks away. "At least not more than I already have."

"This isn't the first time this has happened?" The corner of Techno's lip twitches down. "Why
didn't you tell Phil anything?"

"It would only make the harassment worse," Ranboo shakes his head. "If I endure it now maybe
it's not going to be as bad next time."

Beau must be too far for him to catch up to already, so Ranboo places his hopes on that and lets
Buddy wander off on his own. When he looks back at Techno, the prince creases his brows in deep
thought.

"Come," he finally says. "I want to show you something."

Ranboo doesn’t put much thought into it before he springs to follow, first out of the stables then
under the rooftops of the palace. He lacks little of Techno's height but the prince's stance is broader
and his feet are silent; he drifts through air more than he walks. Where the general is an eagle,
Ranboo's feels like a sparrow at best, spinning his head and jittering his eyes out as the eastern
wing goes past and marble columns turn to bluestone bricks.

It’s Ranboo who first shuffles to a stop before they can pass under an arrowhead shaped arc.
Techno turns as soon as his steps cease to follow. “What’s the matter?”

“I, uh, don’t think I can follow any further,” Ranboo says, wringing his hands. “Tubbo told me that
the northern wing is for the Imperial family only, and it would be trespassing, so…”

His eyes flicker between the prince and two Imperial guards, in their silvery armor and uniform of
sky blue. Under metal helms, they have pale faces barely touched by sunlight and features cobbled
out of packed snow. They look nothing like the men in Esempi, who wear no helmets to hide
tanned, wind-chafed skin, but even the thought of coming near makes pain ripple in Ranboo’s long
since healed wounds.

“You’re with me, so it’s fine,” Techno says. His wide palm settles over Ranboo’s back, and even if
the tone of his voice doesn’t change, there’s comfort in how it presses him forward, warm and
reassuring. “Let’s go.”

He holds his breath as they pass through. Leaving the guards far behind, Ranboo releases the
trapped air from his lungs and finds Techno watching. “Right! What is it that you wanted to show
me?”

Techno turns away. “You’ll see.”

“Now that’s not ominous at all,” Ranboo mutters, but walks faster to match Techno’s pace.

They pass a few more guard posts, each new one with twice as many men and women as the
previous. Despite Techno wearing none of his usual armor, instead robed in a long tunic sashed at
the waist, people notice the general from afar and stop to greet him. His hair, slithering down to his
back like the seafoam of a crushing wave, is starkly more recognizable than Ranboo’s grass and
bloodrop eyes. Before the palace, he had never heard about albinism. He genuinely believed that
Techno had his hair dyed, and one day asked whether its natural color was pale sand like Theseus’
or closer to Wilbur’s walnut brown. He felt like the winds turned on him when Techno’s
expression shifted to careful and guarded. “No, I was always like that,” he said. Ranboo told him
that he liked the color, and the prince went back to looking mildly bored, if not the tiniest degree
more relaxed.

When two figures in lazuli uniforms approach, Ranboo recognizes one of them as Wisp. The other
is a woman with dark hair and almond-shaped eyes that glow brighter than sunlight reflecting off
her armor and sheathed longsword.

“Prince Wilbur is having breakfast with Prince Fundy,” Shubble, the head of Wilbur’s security,
reports. “He was asking about you earlier.”

“Tell him to meet me later.” Techno turns to Wisp. “What about Theseus?”

“Left for his office shortly after sunrise,” the guard reports.

“And Prince Dream?”

“With him.”

Displeasure appears in Techno’s expression, as quick to pass as a crow’s shadow. “Very well.”
Back in his monotone, the prince speaks to both captains. “Let me know if anything changes.”

The conversation clearly isn’t meant for Ranboo’s ears. He hangs his head low, feeling guilty for
listening, even though it's taking place right before his eyes. There is no such thing as privacy in
the palace , Tubbo had told him. At the time Ranboo thought he meant the possibility of servants
listening in to his every word, but now he sees that there might have been more to it than he
initially assumed. Isn’t it a bit too much that Techno tracks where and with whom his brothers are,
or is it just another thing in the palace that he isn’t meant to understand?

To avoid thinking about it too deeply, Ranboo looks at a painting on a wall. It's a full-body portrait
of a young woman, framed in gold, around Techno and Wilbur's age or slightly younger. Soft blue
glow emmits underneath a curtain of thick eyelashes, dark auburn hair cascading from her
shoulders and down to her ankles, but the most notable detail is the pair of black wings criss-
crossed behind her back. If Ranboo didn't know for sure that this was a painting he'd touch the
canvas to see whether the feathers felt as soft and silky as they look.

"Founding Empress of the Antarctic Empire," Techno says, materializing behind his back. Ranboo
flinches and nearly reels a foot away, but Techno doesn't seem to notice – or pay any attention to it.

"Wouldn't that make her your ancestor?" Ranboo asks, and when Techno doesn't attempt to correct
himself, he glances between him and the portrait.
"But… she has wings."

Instead of an answer, Techno nudges him away from the portrait. They take a turn at a hallway that
Ranboo didn't notice before, and as soon as they go through, the ceiling surges up and up until it
hurts his neck to look at it. Windows slotted with puzzles of tinted glass are gone, and blue eyes
trace Ranboo's every step – crows with ebony black wings clench large emeralds in their talons.

The symbol is familiar. It stares at him from the back side of every golden coin, hiding in the
furniture of every room. Now, it is on proud display of tapestries mounted high on the wall.
Perhaps the painted crows once used to be as black as ink, but the fabric has faded with time,
someplace scorched or stained brown, and the edges of long ragged tears are hastily sewn together.
It's such a stark contrast to white floors mopped to the creak and the scrupulous cleanliness of the
rest of the palace, that Ranboo forgets to look where he's going and nearly bumps into Techno's
back.

"Have you never heard of avians?" The prince suddenly asks.

"Winged humans?" Ranboo asks, retreating a few steps back. "In the books you gave me, a few
times, and then I've seen the statues and portraits and the fretwork," Then it dawns on him what
Techno implies, and he glances back to see the portrait, but it's already far out of Ranboo's sight.
"Wait… But I thought they were just pictures."

"Not pictures," Techno corrects. "History."

Giant spruce doors cut their walk short, two massive rings hanging from the doors at three quarters
of their height. Techno takes one and gestures to the other. Ranboo approaches reluctantly; his
hands are barely big enough to coil all the way around metal. On the count of three, they both start
pulling. Ranboo's arms nearly pop out of their sockets, and the door barely even budges. Veins
bubble up on his skin, but he huffs and plants a firm, stubborn step back. Little by little, the door
bestirs and with an ear-stabbing screech, opens half of the way. Techno, who is already done with
his side, pats his shoulder. "You can let go."

They step through the gap, one after another. Soft soil folds underneath Ranboo's feet; he finds
himself frozen in a courtyard. It's small and houses just a single oak, but one that is so big that three
men wouldn't be able to join hands around its trunk. The roots arching at the bottom are each the
thickness of his torso, and leaves dot branches so close to another that barely any sunlight spills
from a glass dome above. Just thinking about how old that oak must be has Ranboo's head
spinning.

But it's not the sheer size of the tree that makes his steps and thoughts skid to a halt. Hundreds, no,
thousands of tiny chains stream down from the branches, feathers hanging at the end of each one.
Most are black as night, but if he looks closer he can notice a few that are different: rounded and
white, spotted brown and sharp-edged, and even delicate pieces of pure silver and gold catch light,
sunspots dancing in the leaves.

"Family tree," Techno says, answering the question half-formed on Ranboo's lips, but he already
comes up with another:

"Are those real feathers?"

Techno hums, a low sound of affirmation, invitation, or both; he gestures shyly shuffling Ranboo
closer to where a silver chain hangs down from a branch. So it wasn't a trick of light and shadows.
Ranboo has collected feathers before, wrapping them up carefully in an old scarf, but he has never
seen one that would be the length of his forearm. If that is a single feather, how big the creature's
wings must be?

"It's a tradition," Techno says. "When a child comes of age in the Imperial family, one of their
loose feathers is used on the tree. And if the person is not an avian–"

"The feather is forged out of metal instead," Ranboo concludes, voice full of wonder.

Techno nods, barely noticeably.. "Gold is for blood relatives. Silver for adopted children."

A thousand questions spin in Ranboo’s head, but when he tries to vocalize a single one, his voice
refuses to obey him. Surrounded by walls on four sides, there is no wind in the courtyard, no
whisper of leaves in the treetop, only Ranboo's own breathing and rare clink of metal against metal
akin to the toll of tiny bells.

Techno doesn’t show a lot of emotions on his face, but there is always certain uneasiness, familiar
tension in his movements inherent to somebody who is used to staying alert at all times. Regardless
of whether it’s the silence or the warmth that eases ice out of his eyes, but settling under the tree
with his legs crossed, Techno looks the most peaceful that Ranboo has ever seen him.

As much as he hates to disturb the prince’s idle rest, there is one thing that he feels like he needs to
know. Tenderly, Ranboo sits down on the cross of two roots, legs slung down, and asks:

“If there had been so many avians in this dynasty alone, how come I never met one yet? What
happened to them all?”

"War," Techno says simply, and goosebumps patter down his back. Their eyes meet – pink on
green and red, and Ranboo nods at him to continue.

"Hundreds of years ago, every fifth citizen of the Empire – or Kingdom, at the time – used to be an
avian. When the old kings discovered that one soldier in the sky is worth ten on the ground, a small
northern kingdom started quickly expanding its borders. An army of avians swept over the
continent like a scythe over dry grass, raining arrows and swords, and nations bent their knees one
after another before the first Empress of the Antarctic Empire.”

A heavy cloud drifts over the dome, and the courtyard no longer seems a paradise of peace and
endless summer. In the gloom mist of darkness, black feathers move into grotesque shapes, and
every little creak of a branch spikes tenfold in Ranboo’s hearing. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel like they
are alone anymore.

“The Kingdom of Esempi refused to surrender like many did before them, however. They knew
where the strength of the northern army was. And so the hunters became the hunted,” Techno says,
his voice akin to a rattle of lightning. “Do you know what a harpoon is, Ranboo? Southerners took
them from their whaling ships, shaped the barb differently and pointed giant crossbows to the
skies. Once impaled, the avians were dragged down from the skies with the chains and ropes
attached to harpoons…”

“Stop,” Ranboo quietly orders. He has seen a harpooned whale once. It was still alive when it was
hauled on the beach, keening pitifully and spouting crimson with each breath. Ranboo couldn’t
bring himself to watch further after the ship crew came, axes slung over their shoulders. To
imagine that the same was done to people makes him feel sick.

Techno raises his eyes, crimson fog blinking away into sunset pink, as if he only now realizes
where he is and whom he is speaking to. Clenched jaw relaxing, he releases a deep sigh and looks
at Ranboo.“My apologies. I got carried away.”
“It’s fine,” Ranboo says, bringing his hands over his arms, compressing himself into a tight coil.
He just doesn’t deal well with speaking about death, especially when animals are involved in any
way. Quietly, he adds, “How did the war end?”

“Neither of the sides admitted to defeat. They signed a peace treaty, but at that point most avians
were already gone. The Antarctic Empire and Kingdom of Esempi went to war with one another a
few more times, but never to the same extent. Throughout the last century the number of avians
continued to decrease, so much that now they are under the law and crown’s protection. Most are
taken to be fostered or adopted by noble houses and the Imperial family. That happened with the
late Duchess Clara, the Emperor’s sister.”

A striped tan and brown feather rustles softly among four golden arrows. Techno said the late
Duchess, and the question of where Clara is now falls out on his own. It always seemed to Ranboo
that the palace housed too many workers and too little of Phil’s actual family. He wondered if they
had more relatives living in other parts of the Empire… Five feathers, hanging from a lonely
branch, are his answer.

“Time to go back,” Techno says. When Ranboo looks up, the prince is already looming over him, a
hand outstretched. Ranboo takes it and nearly yelps when he is yanked to his feet. Techno waits
until he steadies himself, and nods him towards the exit.

It couldn’t have been more than half an hour since they’ve entered the courtyard, but to Ranboo it
felt like an infinity. They don’t meet anybody on their way back to the hallway, and a thought
occurs to him that maybe it’s because they’ve not been allowed there in the first place.

Ranboo stops in his tracks. “Why?” He asks.

Techno glances at him. “You’d have to elaborate on that one, kid,” he gruffs.

“The tapestries, the tree… It’s obviously really private to the Imperial family and not something
that you’d be showing any stranger.” Techno raises a brow, and Ranboo adds in a hurry: “Don’t get
me wrong, I am very grateful that you did! It’s just- I don’t understand what I did to deserve that.”

Techno is silent. It’s either that he has been caught off guard by the question or there is something
wrong with what Ranboo had said, and as the pause stretches his heart starts hammering in his
chest. He is on the verge of spitting unsensible apologies in case he somehow angered the prince,
but then Techno says, “I’ll be leaving the capital soon."

Ranboo doesn't process Techno's words immediately, but when it happens, something pangs
painfully in his chest.

"Oh," Ranboo says, trying not to sound too upset, but it comes out strangled. "When… How soon
are we speaking?"

"The late Empress' death anniversary is in a few weeks. After that, there is no reason for me to
postpone my departure any longer."

Ranboo nods – it makes sense. Techno is not just a prince, after all, but head of the military in the
Antarctic Empire, and he has better things to do than teach some kid how to ride a horse or help
him pick out a new portion of books in the library.

Ranboo is no one to Techno. Not a blood relative, not a close friend. So is it selfish that he's going
to miss him?

"Hey," Techno says, his hand suddenly on Ranboo's upper arm, patting awkwardly. "You're a good
kid, Ranboo. Maybe I'll be stating the obvious here, but Phil cares about you a lot. Wilbur, too,
though he doesn't always go the best way about it," Techno sombers in response to some inner
thought, and then looks back at Ranboo. "You know you can always trust them to help if anybody
ever tries, say… to threaten or harm you?"

Ranboo forgets how to breathe. His heart stops beating one moment and starts pounding madly the
next. Palms and hands covered in scars slowly slither up into his pockets and out of Techno's view.
Ranboo is a terrible actor, and he hopes that at least a small smile on his lips doesn't look too
obviously forced.

"Thanks, Techno," Ranboo says. What he never does say is I will.

***

The palace has two entrances facing the east and west sides of the world. Both of them have a
heavy steel gate that stays down at most times, and a massive gatehouse that is filled to the brim
with guards. They won't let anybody in without an invitation sealed by the Imperial family, but
from his time living in the mansion Ranboo knows that alternative ways exist for servants, arriving
food supplies and alike. His entire plan is based on the blind hope that he can get merged with
people coming in and out without flashing his face or identity.

Ranboo tugs his hood up and ducks his head. He came by a few guard posts already, and none have
noticed a slim caped figure sneaking under the wall. Even the servants in the palace wear pristine
shirts, perfectly ironed aprons – something that would only make Ranboo stand out drastically.
The clothes on him have been patched up so many times that it's a wonder that the seams are still
keeping them together, but they are his, and he can't get punished for stealing if the worst is to
happen and he gets caught. To imagine Phil's disappointment in him… The possibility scares
Ranboo more than any potential injury.

But if he is being honest with himself, Phil would be disappointed either way, wondering why
Ranboo would leave after he was given a place to call home. Because, despite everything, that’s
what the palace had become to him: with Tubbo and his less than reasonable ideas of
entertainment, Wilbur’s ramblings that were nice to listen to when he himself didn’t want to talk,
burning candlelight in the library until Techno’s light tap on his shoulder would bring him out of
his slumber, nose nearly buried in the book. Even if every night his sleep was cut short by the cold
claws of a nightmare, he knew for when the darkness passed light was going to wait for him.

Ranboo doesn't want to leave.

But Dream—!

During his time in the Esempi, Ranboo has never seen King Foolish, let alone his younger brother
Dream. Rational part of his brain knows that there is no way that the crown prince of the Kingdom
would know who he is, but fear thrusts into his veins every time he catches a look of the prince's
mask. That smile and the feeling of a gaze glued to the back of his neck haunted Ranboo during
days and nights alike, driving him crazy. What if Dream does know who he is? What if all this is
just a cruel game of cat and mouse, where Ranboo flounces and thrashes not knowing that he is
already trapped between the predator’s teeth?

“I’ll be honest with you, Ranboo. You are nothing,” Quackity had told him a few weeks back, after
the special banquet . “You have no name of your own, no place to return to and no family to
protect you. The Emperor’s fondness doesn’t overexert his duties. If a word gets out that you a
runaway slave from the Esempi, he would legally be obliged to deport you back. As soon as the
court gets bored of discussing the scandal that is sure to follow, nobody will even remember that
you have ever existed.”

Ranboo shudders, rubbing his hands up and down his forearms. No matter what happens, he can’t
go back. Not after all the kindness he’s seen, and the entirely different life that he experienced. He
wishes he wasn’t so naive back then and didn’t take Niki’s warning lightly. He wanted to believe
so much that this is it, this is the reward for all the suffering he endured , blind to how his past
slowly was sneaking up on him. If Ranboo listened to Niki, maybe he could live his life
comfortably away from the palace, pretending that his previous life only existed in nightmares.
That would be a lie, of course, but at least he would only be lying to himself.

He doubted this decision until the very last moment. Even when Techno told he’d be leaving,
Ranboo clung to the hope that Phil would stand by his side. He saw how many questions Tubbo
wanted to ask yesterday morning, when quivering Ranboo had collapsed into his arms. When he
shook his head and said, “I c-can’t. I’m sorry- you can’t help.” his friend only patted Ranboo’s
back and smiled with a sad look in his eyes. “History repeats itself, huh?”

Nevertheless, Tubbo hadn’t questioned why Ranboo took a sudden interest in laws of the Empire.
Just brought him the books and scrolls he needed, and took them back the next evening when
Ranboo asked. For several minutes he stared at the door Tubbo just left through and debated with
himself whether he was about to make the most foolish decision ever since the time he rejected
Niki’s advice. But Ranboo trusted Tubbo, and if they were to never see one another again, he
wanted his best friend to at least know why .

Ranboo ran after Tubbo. He found him a little short of the library entrance, on the floor among
scattered books, surrounded by a group of lesser nobles. When Ranboo arrived, Tubbo attempted to
stand up, only to get violently shoved to the sound of less than noble guffaws.

For the first time since his arrival to the palace, Ranboo had raised his voice. He demanded them to
go away – his anger was chortled at, and only when he threatened to get the Emperor involved that
the most bold of attackers were sushed and led away by their friends. Unknowingly, they
demonstrated what Ranboo should’ve learned from the very beginning: he is nothing in the palace
without Phil.

"Why didn't you fight back?" Ranboo asked, helping Tubbo to his feet. His voice was thick with
worry and sorrow, and unshed tears burned behind his eyelashes. Ranboo was upset for Tubbo, and
somehow it hurt more than all the times he cried out of pity for himself.

“That’s how things work,” Tubbo said simply. “Nobles are like a pack of unleashed dogs. Point
them at a target and they’re ready to tear it to pieces, and I… I’ve always been an easy bone to
chew.”

Ranboo wishes he could say that he didn't understand. The mansion, and Esempi in general –
childishly, foolishly, it seemed like the source of all evil, and that as soon as he escaped he left it
all behind. Seeing how other people went through the same treatment, albeit on a different scale,
opened his eyes to the fact that unfairness and injustice exist wherever he goes.

“I’ll put the books back myself,” Ranboo said, clenching Tubbo’s hand. “Take some rest, let this
be your short day. Say hi to Lani for me, yeah?”

Tubbo nodded, but before he left he squeezed Ranboo’s hand back and looked in his eyes. “You’ll
have to make a choice at some point: to be like me, or like them. For your own sake let it be the
latter."

As Ranboo watched him Tubbo go he felt the same thing that he did three years ago in the
Kingdom of Esempi. Defiance. Nobody could force him to make that choice. He still had this
much control over his life, even if this control was running away from the palace in the middle of
night.

Ranboo ducks behind the entrance of a hedge maze as another pair of guards passes by, carrying a
lantern. He waits until the sound of steps and clank of metal armor go completely silent before he
straightens up and shifts weight from the heels to the toes of his feet.

"Hello, Ranboo from Esempi."

Ranboo nearly cries out of surprise and stumbles away. A hand is slapped over his mouth,
silencing him, and he bites it out of instinct. The person reels away, and Ranboo is free again,
darting away from both people - the one who spoke, and the one who grabbed him - and spins
around, heart thrashing in his ribcage like a wild animal.

"What the fuck, man," Quackity grumbles, inspecting a bite mark on his palm, lips pulled apart in a
grimace of disgust.

"Wait! Quackity, I... I wanted-"

"Quiet," Quackity says, and Ranboo splutters. The man keeps his voice low, eyes trained on
something over his shoulder. "If you don't want anybody to come and start questioning why are we
sneaking around like thieves."

Ranboo cautiously traces the path of his gaze and notices a light flickering nearby. Unwillingly, he
makes a few steps closer to Quackity, practically brushing shoulders with him as he clamps his
mouth shut. He nearly gets spooked a second time when a silhouette comes unattached from the
bushes. Save for a few leaves stuck to his clothes, Charlie is the same that Ranboo had seen him a
few months back: rectangle glasses screwed up on his nose just a degree bit off, an ivy green hat
trampling brown hair and a never-dimming grin stretched between his ears. The smile that in the
light of the day might've seemed welcoming and friendly, basking in moonlight and with glasses
blazing white, made Charlie look like a character of someone's nightmare.

The first time Ranboo had met Charlie was three years ago, shortly after the incident when
Enderchest… shortly after he had stolen silverware from the mansion. Nobody cared about a piece
of fabric or rotting leftovers, so it was the first time Ranboo had ever been punished for stealing.
The gashes on his arms were deep and oozed blood; he was given no medicine to soothe the pain
with, nor could he properly bandage his injuries without writhing in agony. Most of the time
Ranboo felt like his skin was pressed to seething metal. He could only sleep outside, where he’d
crawl up next to the fence to feel the cold breeze wafting away the worst of the burning.

It really felt like he was going to die there. Maybe he would, if it wasn’t for Charlie appearing on
the brink of the third day. He knelt on the other side of the fence and threw his hood off to reveal
brows concernedly roofed together. Ranboo had no energy to scurry away, and pressing his
forehead to the bars was the only way he could keep himself in a relatively upright position.

“It looks like it hurts,” Charlie had informed, leaning closer. “Oh, I think I can see a bone !” He
sounded weirdly excited about it. ”I am Charlie, by the way.”

“R-Ranboo,” he husked, fighting to keep his eyelids open. He lifted a dazed look at Charlie, and
missed the moment when a jar had appeared in his hands. Once the lid was popped open, the smell
of something herbal poked at his nostrils. “It’s going to help the pain,” he said.

Ranboo couldn’t imagine hurting any more than he already did, so after a brief moment of
hesitation he let the stranger smear some of the light green substance over his arms. At first contact
nearly made him scream, but all the sensation quickly drained out of them, replaced by a blessed
chillness. He breathed out in relief, shuddering. Exhausted of hurting and crying in equal degree,
he was ready to sink into a sleep without dreams, and then Charlie said the phrase that would turn
Ranboo’s entire life upside down. Do you want to get out of here?

"Charlie, stand a guard for us while we talk, would you?" Quackity says.

Charlie jerks his head upright. "Sure thing!" Hee chirps cheerfully and prances away. Quackity
watches him go, smiling faintly when he turns to Ranboo.

"Come on," Quackity says, "Let's have a chat."

Ranboo had seen the hedge maze in the gardens from afar, but never entered it. The bushes are
almost twice as tall as he is, neatly trimmed into rectangular walls. The skies are a drape of black
cloth and shimmering stars, sinking in and out of drifting clouds; it's a beautiful night, and Ranboo
might have found himself enjoying it if his companion for this walk was anyone but Quackity.
Ranboo crawls after him like a man to be hanged, a head lower than his real height with how much
he hunches his shoulders. The silence weighs down on him and the adrenaline from their encounter
earlier makes his senses sharper, tension having him tugging a loose thread of his cape.

There was a time when Ranboo was grateful to Quackity. He was the one to send Charlie, after all,
with the message that a ship would be anchoring nearby soon if he wishes to leave the Kingdom at
once. A new chance, in a different country where nobody knows who he is. And Ranboo… He was
tired of waiting and exhausted of hoping. I'll take my chance or die trying , and with that desperate
thought, he refused to look back a single time and dived off an unfenced cliff.

When Ranboo was pulled up on the ship, gasping for breath and shaking, Quackity had helped him
to his feet and clapped a coat over his shoulders. Quick to laugh, always smiling, and everyone's
friend, commoner and noble alike – it was hard not to trust him when he first aided in the escape of
Ranboo and a couple of dozens other slaves, and then brought them all to his manor nearby a port
town of L'manburg. Ranboo had a warm place to sleep, ate until he was full, and was free to roam
around the premises whenever he wasn't working. Caring for the horses and doing some other
minor outdoor jobs seemed a miniscule pay for all Quackity had done for Ranboo. Most people
stayed to work for the baron for one debt owed or another: they were loyal and grateful, ready to
fulfill any of his wishes. Ranboo thought himself the same, but he wasn't ready for Quackity's wish
to be a murder.

"Just so you know, that stunt you were about to try wouldn't work anyway," Quackity speaks up
suddenly, his back turned on Ranboo. "Palace guards are as much protectors as they are wardens.
They question every person who passes the gates no matter the direction."

"Isn't the purpose of guards to keep people out of the palace, not inside it?"

Quackity lifts him a long, knowing look. "This is a gold-gilded cage, Ranboo. I'm sure you're
starting to realize that."

"There has to be another way out," Ranboo catches up to Quackity's pace, walking with him side-
by-side.

"Well I could always tell the Emperor that I wish to return to my premises with my 'brother'... But
I'm not doing that."

Ranboo is flooded with frustration. "Don't you see that I don't belong?" He fists the sleeves of his
shirt, bristling. "I'm not as smart as Wilbur, or knowledgeable like Techno, and certainly nothing
like Theseus. I only recently learned to read, and now you're saying…" his voice cracks. "What?
That I should become a prince?"

He had tried to call for Quackity's voice of reason, but it turns out that they speak different
languages; the man's face drops all its previous friendliness.

"Alright, alright, let's imagine that you manage to leave. Where are you going to go?" Quackity
advances on him, and Ranboo takes a step back. "To live on the streets? You're old enough that no
orphanage would take you in, and the Antarctic Empire is no Esempi. When it snows in a couple
months time you'll die either from the cold or starvation. That is, unless you get caught first."

Ranboo retreats, his stifled breath crispy and loud in the night. He can't move any further. It's a
dead end in the maze, and the only escape is through Quackity stalking the aisle.

"And even if you don't, what kind of life is that?" he continues. "Crawling from day to day,"
branches screech and cry behind Ranboo's back, "fearing your own shadow, waiting for the day
that somebody comes and says-" Quackity snaps his fingers. "Time's up!"

Ranboo nearly falls through into a bush, yelping, at the last moment planting the toe of his foot for
purchase, whirling around Quackity and booking it.

"Are you not tired of running, Ranboo?" Quackity raises his voice after him, and he sweeps sharply
to the right.

Whoever designed the maze wasn't content to let it be just a decoration. There's no wall for Ranboo
to hold until it leads him to an exit. Taking turns at random, staggering when he swoops into
another dead end, Ranboo runs with little idea where he's going. Another wall, more frustration
building up in his throat. A rock in the ground that he doesn't notice nearly sends him flying.
Please ! Ranboo cries out internally. Where is the exit? And Quackity's steps continue to dent the
grass, leisurely and tortiously slow.

When there's suddenly an opening ahead, Ranboo takes one desperate leap. The sudden
disappearance of the walls puts his pace to stutter, and he crashes to his knees just in time to
prevent himself from diving head-first into a pond. Bush walls are trapping him from all sides.
He's in the middle of the maze; one passage should lead into the center and the other out of it, but
no matter how much he spins his head, he can see neither.

Ranboo fists grass, dirt clogging his nails. A stray tear slips down his cheek and dips down, a
crystal drop dimpling the mirror surface. A couple of carp fish jiggle closer, and not finding any
food, scatter again with disinterest.

When ripples finally cease, one reflection turns into two. Quackity sits down on one knee beside
Ranboo. They could truly seem like brothers at that moment, with the same raven black in their
hair and how Quackity puts a hand over Ranboo's shoulder, surprisingly tender.

"I know," Quackity starts and pauses, like he just realized the true weight of the words he's about
to say. "I know what it feels like, to be looked down upon your whole life, and to be an object of
everyone's anger and disgust," No humor, no hint of a smirk or a smile in Quackity's mouth as he
clenches and unclenches his jaw. "Dear late Baron would rather waste pitiful remnants of his
fortune on gambling than clothe his bastard son. My future was to be thrown out by a half-brother
almost twice – twice ! – as young as me once he inherited the estate. If I didn't die from a drunk
man's fist first, that is."
Quackity inhales, drawing in air noisily as if the tie coiled around his neck is suffocating him.
"Well, look at me now," he stands up, tugging his collar free, coat straighter, rings on his fingers
sparkling: diamond, jade, sapphires printed at the back of Ranboo's eyelids as he squints away from
their glares. "The same people who have once gloated over my position are now afraid of the sound
of my name," Quackity grins, white-teethed and triumphant, but the brightest of lights can't make
bronze look like gold. To Ranboo's ears, Quackity isn't celebrating a victory; he's plotting a
revenge. "In my estate, I'm treated like a king. But it's nothing in comparison with what you can
achieve."

Ranboo is pushed standing before he can protest; or maybe Quackity's speeches are taking effect,
and he doesn't really want to. "Think about it. You'll never lack anything in your life again. Money,
fame, power – you name it, you can have it." Quackity turns Ranboo towards the pond, hands on
his shoulders. "Prince Ranboo of the Antarctic Empire, first of his name... how does that sound?"

"Like a dream," Ranboo says honestly. "Or a nightmare…"

His reflection blinks at him from the pond, and suddenly Ranboo doesn't recognize himself
anymore. Who is this stranger with dazed eyes? A future prince who only lacks a crown to prove
his status, a fool deceived by his own wishful thinking, or a scared boy tangled in a game far too
complicated for his understanding?

"I never wanted any of this," Ranboo says weakly, wrapping arms around himself. He's exhausted,
like he was running with an invisible weight around his neck this whole time. "All I ever wanted is
to be safe." Enderchest comes to his mind. Ranboo wrenches his eyes closed, mumbling, "To be in
a position to protect those who I care about."

"If you become a prince, the power of law will be on your side," Quackity says. "Should anybody,
even other members of the Imperial family, try to harm you, they will be prosecuted for treason."

To hear that someone might get punished because of him wasn't something that Ranboo expected
or wanted, and had the opposite effect of calming him down. Placing the pads of his fingers over
his closed eyes, he presses until sparkles come alight in his vision.

"Tubbo is currently serving you, isn't he?" Quackity says. Ranboo pauses, removing his fingers
and cracking an eye open, finding the man at the very limits of his peripheral vision.

"Why do you ask?"

Quackity shrugs unceremoniously. "Whoever you choose to stand by your side is going to shower
in your light and suffer your falls. Naturally, serving a prince is a much more honorable position
than to tend to a commoner."

Ranboo wishes he would have understood the real weight behind Tubbo's choice back when his
friend had first announced it. There were personal reasons for him to abandon his old job with
Theseus, of course, but he feels responsible like one of the variables that affected where his friend
had ended up now. Even if partially, Tubbo gave up his position for him. Could it be that Ranboo
can give it back?

"I am on your side, Ranboo," Quackity throws his arms out, palms up, trust in everything from his
open position to a relaxed smile. "Let me be your ally and I'll show you how to make the steps
between kneeling under the throne and sitting on it. In return I only ask that you don't forget my
humble service once the crown is yours."

Ranboo turns to Quackity on shaky feet. He imagines Wilbur's confidence, Theseus' rigidity and
the flat bar of Techno's voice – imagines and drops like a scalding kettle, because Ranboo is not
them, and never will be.

"If you want to help me, it'll be on my terms," he says. "Nobody must get harmed. Spreading false
rumors, blackmailing and lying- none of that. You need my permission to take any action or
otherwise the deal is off."

Quackity pretends to muse his words over, but the decision is already made – on both sides. "It'll
be a tough one," Quackity smiles wider, bowing, "but I think I can work with that, Your Imperial
Highness."

***

The table stretches from one side of the room to the other, a bulky thing of northern darkwood no
less ten times of Tommy’s own age. Habitually tracing a fretted sword with the tip of a bitten-
down nail, he wonders how many different people have sat in those very same chairs before them.
The late Emperor’s council, no doubt, had bent their necks under the heavy lift of ruling a country,
and his father’s before him, and his grandfather’s, and his great grandfather’s and so on.

A huge gash lay across the table, slice of a longsword if Tommy reads the length and the thickness
right. Maybe the weapon belonged to a rash general angered by an Emperor’s decision, from the
time that a war map was still strewn across and dotted with figurines of soldiers, mounted, winged
or barefoot. In peace, however, there were no maps, no legions to command and men sent to die,
only ministers waiting for when it came their turn to speak words off folded papers and rolled-up
parchment.

What hasn't changed, however, is the chair at the head of the council. It arches up towards the
ceiling, with the back shaped to look like two giant wings that trap the sun between sharp blades of
silver-gilded feathers. Tommy starkly remembers the time when he attended the council meetings
in the Emperor's steed, when his father laid in bed and nobody knew if the next sunrise would be
his last.

The chair seemed enormous to him at fourteen years old, the rest of the world – downright
terrifying, but Tommy couldn't allow anybody to think that the ruling family was weakened.
People came to see a son distraught by his father's state and met the future Emperor instead. It was
obvious in the jewels of his crown, in the cape draped over his back, in the scepter clenched in a
white-knuckled grip - but more than anything in the gray void of his eyes and a face honed of
stone. On top of a throne, ten feet above all, Tommy did not look a boy anymore.

From the moment that the crown prince made his entrance and the ministers rose to greet him, in a
dozen pairs of eyes he could starkly feel just two – burnt sugar and charred coals. Council
gatherings are no family dinners; nobody must be closer to the Emperor than his heir, and yet…

“Prince Wilbur, I believe you might have chosen the wrong seat.”

Wilbur leans back leisurely in a chair that Tommy has been occupying ever since he had been titled
a crown prince. “Have I?” Wilbur feigns surprise. “Well, I’m feeling quite comfortable here. If a
need arises for me to swap places with somebody, Father will surely let me know.”

It's been a couple of days since the tea party, and the serpent is back with new poison dripping
from his fangs – and, if the smile he humors Tommy is any indicator, seeking vengeance. Both
know well that the Emperor wouldn’t care about Tommy’s rights or cares. Whatever Wilbur
wanted to do, their father would enable. Drawing out of a chair sparsely decorated with fretwork
and bands of silver, Tommy busies himself with inspecting the papers that Baron Sneeg passes him
from his right, clenching his teeth just a little stronger behind sealed lips. Let Wilbur demonstrate
his insolence for all the ministers to see. If he wishes to be a clown, Tommy won’t be joining his
circus.

The meeting starts as soon as the Emperor comes through the doors and takes his place at the head
of the room. Here, at his rightful place, Emperor Philza’s posture is rigid and uncoiled. No matter
how many times Tommy has seen the twin silhouettes towering over the man’s shoulders, the sight
of him never fails to put his heart to tremble.

With every new minister speaking, the shadows silently grow darker. When the Emperor’s voice is
finally heard, it’s leveled and calm to the ear but drops on them like thunder in open skies.

“Over two hundred avians, gone without a trace. Why am I only hearing of this now?”

A crease of his brows, so faint that one might take it for a wrinkle, and hands folded under his
chin… these days the man with a golden crown on his head feels more like a stranger to him than a
father, but this expression Tommy knows too well. The Emperor is worried, and rightfully so.

Avians, symbol of their nation’s power and glory of the past; every following decade the ancient
race is closer and closer to becoming history. The fact that his father’s wings are stone where flesh
and feathers should be is a prime example that blood doesn’t show itself in every generation. The
few avians that are born like snowdrops in late winter are taken into protection of noble houses,
fostered and brought up to serve their heirs. To know that both them and the Emperor’s people
failed to notice the woe until now… it’s a troubling thought.

“Most of the missing cases originate in the Imperial family’s domain, Your Majesty. People
simply didn’t know whose help to seek and who they should be reporting to,” Baron Sneeg speaks
up, shuffling his papers. The Emperor gives him a nod as a signal to continue, so the man clears his
throat. “Ever since the tragedy that happened with Duchess Clara, the land has been without a
Protector, and thus greatly disorganized… I believe it’s the issue we must resolve first lest any dire
consequences appear.”

“What of the late duchess’ son?” A minister asks.

"Michael, the poor boy," Another man shakes his head. "Orphaned so young. As far as I
remember, he's currently studying in an academy under the Imperial family’s sponsorship."

By my personal initiative, Tommy thinks, but pointing out details like this would only make him
sound petty. He shifts in his seat, unease creeping up slowly like cold fingers trailing his spine.
Hopefully, Wilbur is not looking, otherwise he might notice how Tommy's eyes flicker to the
doors, suddenly wishing to be on the other side.

"With all due respect, Michael is a mere boy of eleven, and a mute one on top of that."

“Still. If anybody has the most rights for the Duchess' title, it would be him," Baron Sneeg argues.

“Is the Imperial family so scarce of other candidates that we trust matters of governance to the
hands of children?”

Wilbur hasn’t spoken since the start of the meeting, and beyond the insolence of occupying
Tommy's seat, his presence was barely noticed. Now, all attention in the room surges to the prince.
Even the Emperor, who was previously listening to councilmen in contemplative silence, casts a
long look at Wilbur.

Was there at least the slimmest of chances that Wilbur is genuinely concerned for their cousin? No,
and Tommy didn’t need to muse over the way he worded his question to know that. Whispers from
a brother to a brother, ones that sank so deep he still remembers them almost a decade later, will
you be a brother to him, too?

What hurts the most is not that Wilbur lied but that Tommy had believed him.

Of all reactions that Tommy could have at that moment, laughter is one he least expected himself.
It bursts through his lips, a quiet toll of silver bells and bitter grind of a bow against snapped
strings; in their stunned silence, nobody can tell one apart from the other.

Airy whiff of confidence around Wilbur turns to cracked glass.

“What’s so amusing?” he asks, mouth twisted.

“My sincere apologies…” Once his laughing fit subdues, Tommy takes a moment to press a
handkerchief to his lips, but even then his grin is too wide to conceive. “I just thought for a moment
that by one of those candidates you mean yourself."

Wilbur clenches his jaw tighter. "I see no reason why not. I'm the secondborn son of the Emperor,
and his crown prince for over ten years. If there is somebody best fitted for this role, it would be
me."

"You have been the crown prince for twelve years, indeed,” Tommy says, folding the handkerchief
back to his pocket. “But where is that crown now?'

Finally over their surprise of hearing Tommy laugh, councilmen start to exchange glances. He
doesn’t need to look to know how slowly but steadily, an invisible army grows behind his back.

"Prince Theseus, if you have something to say, let us hear it,” comes the Emperor’s clipped
response.

Tommy shrugs. "Oh well... I am only one person. What would be my opinion against that of a
majority, or even against my dearest brother's? By all means the Emperor should be taking these
wise noblemen's advice into account."

Tommy knows that he is well appreciated among the ministers; it’s a direct result of his strict work
ethic and brilliant reputation in high society. If anybody had seen the best how an immature and
fickle boy was shaped into the crown prince he is today, then it would be the councilmen.

"With all due respect, installing Prince Wilbur as the Protector would lead to a number of
predicaments. Perhaps His Imperial Majesty shouldn't hastle with this decision and weigh the
options carefully," Pete says.

Murmur of approval rises in tides, and soon the whole council speaks the same thought in different
voices. A look passes Wilbur's face as though something rotten was shoved down his throat, but he
knows that even the Emperor – clearly the person whose support he had been hoping for – can't go
against the majority's wish. Nobody dares to openly support Tommy, but he can see it, how some
councilmen are insulted that Wilbur even thought of laying a claim on the Imperial lands.

Today they might be Emperor Philza's people, but tomorrow they will serve Emperor Theseus. A
few will come and go of course; it's only natural that one man leaves his seat and the other comes
to occupy it. There is no more powerful and honorable status in the Empire than of a councilman,
the Emperor himself aside. It's in the best interest of those people to try and keep their positions
when Tommy ascends the throne and changes the government to his own liking. Baron Sneeg, the
Minister of Internal Affairs, Pete, the Master of Treasury… Tommy has a few people in mind that
he wants to keep closer to himself, and Wilbur is not one of them.

My throne, Tommy thinks. My reign . Some of those ambitions must have been written plainly on
his face, because when he looks back at the Emperor, the man stares him down. There were days
before when Tommy would much rather inspect the tips on his nails than look directly in the man's
eyes, but now, more than ever, he is aware of their resemblances. Every line of their faces is
painted with the same brush and colors but slightly different strokes. For the Emperor, it's like
fighting his own reflection.

We match now . Are you happy?

Judging by the Emperor's expression, he is anything but.

***

Sam is a strange man.

They share lunch today, as they had recently taken a habit to, and as soon as Sam puts down his
fork he announces that he wants to see the palace gardens. Following the rules of hospitality,
Tommy doesn’t refuse him. A lot of people come to see the fountains and the giant pine trees, to
take a walk over the bridged ponds or take a picnic in numerous pavilions; all in all it’s not an
unusual request, but the way Sam behaves… That certainly is.

He stops to look at almost every step, and not just to poke around, no. That Tommy was used to.
Every once in a while a group of highborn kids would stomp the meticulously groomed grass into
mud, or a lady would tear a pretty flower to spin it around in her hands for a minute and then throw
it away, and Tommy would watch with gritted teeth and inconspicuous desire for murder. Sam,
however, is surprisingly careful. He always asks Tommy permission to approach first, and that
could be explained with the fear of touching anything poisonous – there are a few bushes around
that could make one’s skin rashy and itchy for days – if Sam wasn’t asking questions. What is that
grove of trees over there, or how often does a certain flower bloom, as if Tommy has more
knowledge about the gardens than the gardeners themselves. And he does , but there is no way that
somebody would know that.

"Badlands is a bare land for the most part of the year,” Sam says, sensing Tommy’s confusion.
“Only fleeting spring showers can make red poppies sprout in dry grass, but even they grow dim in
comparison with your gardens, Your Highness.”

At first his responses are short and clipped; he isn’t used to people having this much interest in
plants (not since Mother passed away; Tommy shoves that thought as far to the back as his mind as
possible) but the compliment warms him up as if he had personally grown every strip of grass in
the eastern wing. What so if he’s feeling a tiny bit excited? Tommy is being a good host, and that’s
all.

“I didn’t know orchids could grow in the Empire,” Sam says, palming the flowers gently.

“Only during summertime,” Tommy explains. “They are moved indoors when autumn comes. The
cherry trees, however, will bloom beautifully in a few months…” Sam stands up, and follows
Tommy further down the path as the crown prince explains that they’re from Drywaters originally,
and the saplings were a gift from the late King that Empress Kristin had brought back from one of
her diplomatic missions.

“And here we have the blue roses. They are not actually blue, of course. It’s the special fertilizer
mixed with the soil that gives white roses a different color. I never can remember the name, so I
call it just that, blue. Me and my brother had once gotten our hands stained in it, and it wouldn’t
wash off for days ,” Tommy laughs to himself, more of a bark, face heated up and hands gesturing
wildly. Wilbur tried to get some of the blue in Techno’s hair too. Techno threatened to shave
Wilbur bald in his sleep if he did. “You should see them early in the morning, when dew forms.
They look prettier than the night sky—”

Tommy turns around to look at Sam without thinking and it strikes him, with the man’s dark eyes
focused on him and carefully listening, that he just said all of that in front of another person. His
ramble breaks off like had just taken a gulp of water.

“I- my apologies. I shouldn’t labor Your Grace with such nonsense,” he says, ducking his head
low.

“You’re glowing, Your Highness.” Tommy looks up in surprise, wide-eyed, and Sam is smiling at
him warmly. “Please, do go on. It’s my pleasure to listen as one talks about what they’re passionate
about.”

But the moment is already gone; Tommy feels silly about his small ramble. His cheeks feel hot,
but now with embarrassment rather than excitement. “They’re just flowers,” he says, eyes
dimming, bitterness in his voice that’s not directed at Sam. They continue walking, leaving it all
behind: the orchids, the cherry trees and the stupid blue roses.

“I’m the same about architecture,” Sam suddenly says.

Tommy eyes him warily. “You… are?”

“I can talk about my building projects for hours, regardless of whether somebody asked for it or
not. My ward says it’s annoying, but he always stays to listen,” Sam smiles. Clearly, he cares about
that person a lot, enough for his eyes to be filled with fondness… For some reason, Tommy feels a
pang in his chest.

“They must be very lucky to have you as their teacher,” he says, looking away.

“Thank you,” Sam says. Even though Tommy doesn’t see his face, he has an impression that, for a
moment, his expression had gone sad. “What I want to say is that no ruler is just a ruler. We are
artists, musicians, warriors, scholars… Just like any other person, we have our passions and are
allowed to have lovers beyond our duties.”

Tommy scrunches his nose up. “I’m wed to paperwork, and my office is my wedding aisle,” he
sighs, griefful. Sam laughs, and Tommy keeps his own smile tucked in the corner of his mouth.
“But I do see your point… Where this palace stands now used to be a castle. My great grandfather
had renovated it for peaceful times, but there are still some parts where you can see the traces of
old architecture. I could show you if you’d like so.”

“I will gladly take upon that offer some other day,” Sam nods. “Right now, though, it’s better if we
start heading inside. I can smell the rain coming.”

Leaves sway in the wind. They’ve grown large and bright in three months of open blue skies, and
bushes lay leisurely like cats warming their hips in the sun. No matter how deep Tommy breathes
in, he can’t feel the smell of rain, but he’ll trust Sam’s judgment.

“You can go without me,” Tommy says. “I have one more thing to do.”

***
The last time Tommy had come to tend to his greenhouse, it was in the evening a few days after
the banquet. The lantern he brought with himself was dim enough that Tommy didn’t have to see
the sorry state of the plants. He downed some water over a bush wilting with thirst, cut some dead
branches and flew straight out as leaves shook in disapproval.

Sam’s words had stirred up something in Tommy, and today he comes in, steps light and shy, into
the sun-bathed garden. He takes a slow look around the threads of lifeless vines. He is used to
seeing the garden like this, and it stung, but what else could he do but nurture the dying flowers
and hope that they’ll gain the tenth of their previous beauty? Tommy had been tumbling down a
hill and into the pit of his own misery, and the pitiful state of the greenhouse was just another thing
he’d spill tears over when he came here to cry his pain out.

There was a time where he would spend almost entire days just tidying up the gardens. Sometimes,
embarrassingly, he would sing to grass, because Mother once said that it helped plants to grow
faster. Young Tommy took her words to heart, but started to have doubts as he grew older. And
then he turned eleven, and Mother fell bedridden, and he never asked her whether she was telling
the truth or lied because she wanted to hear him sing.

Butterflies swarm around him habitually. Some sit on his shoulders, a few stick to his pants and
one of them lands on his face and crawls up on his cheek. We missed you , the fluttering of their
wings seems to say.

"I missed you too," Tommy whispers back, eyelids drooping.

He opens his eyes again with a deep sigh. With one hand still out of commission, Tommy can't
properly tend to the plants, but he owes them as much as some watering and attention.

" Then the signal was made for the grand fleet to anchor," he starts up quietly, rolling up the
sleeves of his shirt. Tommy picks up a bucket, abandoned on the ground during his last visit, and
scoops up some water from the fountain.

"All in the Downs that night for to lie." The state of the garden turns out to be not as terrible as
Tommy had thought. Underneath dry leaves, new sprouts are reaching towards the sun. He picks
up seeds scattered on the tiled floor around the fountain. Tommy plants them and lets water trickle
between his fingers and on top of freshly patted soil.

"Then it’s stand by your stoppers, steer clear your shank-painters," Tommy hums, moving a large
fern out of the way. A dozen caterpillars wiggle out in all directions. They hide under plants and
duck into shade, but one crawls up Tommy's finger, around his wrist and then settles idly on his
palm. In a few weeks' time, it will turn into a cobalt-winged butterfly.

"Haul up your clew garnets, let tacks and sheets fly…"

Summer never ends in Tommy's garden, but for the first time it faces a spring.

***

Sam wasn’t wrong in the end. When Tommy comes out of the greenhouse, the skies promise a
long, weeping rain. Air is frigid, frozen in that long, breathless moment before the sky is done
holding back the tears and letting them patter a scornful song. Tommy likes it when the world
husks down to dull grays, and the true beauty of nature shines through – emerald trees and jade
grass and flowers beaded with rainwater – but he’d rather not return to the palace soaking wet and
shivering like a cat nearly drowned, so he hurries to start on a bouquet done soon. Sam probably
doesn't realize the true impact that his words had on him, but the least Tommy could do is thank
him with a gift.

A familiar squawk rattles through the air, and then Prince lands on his shoulder, careful to keep his
talons from sinking in too deeply. Tommy scratches underneath his chin, and Prince coos.

“I should really tell Dream to stop sending you in such weather." Prince nibbles at his ear. Tommy
bats him away light-heartedly. “Oi, Dream knows better, I get it! Keep me company while I pick
some flowers and then we’ll go to see your owner.”

Tommy finds exactly what he needs in a patch of chrysanthemums. He plucks a handful, folding
them one to another, when Prince takes off his shoulder without a warning. Tommy turns barely in
time to see him disappear in the trees. What could have spooked him so suddenly?

A three-tapped step twists Tommy's stomach into braids. "If the crown prince has time to spare on
tea parties and collecting flowers, maybe he's not as fatigued as he wants himself to seem."

Tommy clenches the stem of a chrysanthemum, nearly snapping it in half. Suddenly he feels like
he needs a handful more of the yellows. He adds the flowers one by one, stretching each movement
for as long as he can without betraying that it's intentional. When Tommy knows that the thread of
Emperor’s patience has neared snapping, he draws the blue ribbon out of his hair and uses it to tie
the bouquet together. He didn’t collect all of those just to throw them away or let them wither void
of purpose.

"Make sure that these are delivered to Duke Sam's chambers," Tommy tells Wisp, standing up
from his knees.

The knight clasps the bouquet tenderly between his palms and bows his goodbye. Only when he’s
out of earshot distance that Tommy turns to the Emperor, swiping grass blades off the hem of his
surcoat. Same simple trick can’t be done to mudded shoes and pants.

“Your Imperial Majesty, it must be an important matter that made you seek me out personally,"
Tommy bows, arm tight across his heart. He may seem no better than a soiled gardener at this
moment, but he’d carry himself with dignity no matter the state of his garments or body. Bleeding
or on the verge of collapsing, boiling in anger or consumed by grief, Tommy wouldn’t let anybody
forget that he’s a prince – the Emperor first and foremost.

Philza seems to understand that. He studies Tommy for a moment. “Follow,” the Emperor says,
whirling around, so Tommy does.

As they walk, Tommy has to adjust his pace to the Emperor's slow and heavy steps. He careens
heavily to the side, right hand clenched on the top of a cane. Made out of rosewood and painted in
black with a curved silver handle, it's the only thing keeping the Emperor upright. His old injuries
don't bother him much on a regular day, but Tommy knows that just like how the wind sweeps
through the empty towers of the palace, his once broken leg is howling with pain.

Tommy's fourteen had taught him two things: fathers are mortal, and emperors, too, bleed red. The
crown prince stood numbly as his father's injuries were listed out like a funeral march, and only
when one of them regarded Tommy as "Your Imperial Majesty," did he snap out of his state and
coldly tell them that for as long as his father breathed, he was no Emperor.

It'd take a miracle for him to live , they said. The nights Tommy spent at the Emperor's bedrest,
begging him to wake up, didn't count as one, Wilbur's sudden return did. Within a month after the
prodigal prince made his reappearance the Emperor was in a clear mind. Three years later all the
broken bones had healed up without a trace safe for a limp on a rainy day.
"Are the trading negotiations between you and Duke Sam going smoothly?" Phil asks, drawing
Tommy out of his memories.

"We've held a few meetings with the Minister of External Affairs and the Minister of Trade,”
Tommy nods. “Unless there is some delay on their behalf you should be receiving a report
tomorrow.”

They continue like this for some time; the Emperor asks questions that he already knows the
answers to, and Tommy pretends not to know that he’s being tested. That, for one, is nothing new.
Worthy or not worthy, a prince or a failure – it’s up to the Emperor to tell which one Tommy is.

Where are your wings, little crow? Duchess Clara would ask. Standing in front of a mirror, Tommy
used to inspect his back for signs of bone and muscle growing under pale skin. At seventeen years
old he is still firmly bound to earth. Avian blood isn't strong in Tommy after all, and he wonders if
it's just another thing that he had disappointed the Emperor with.

“People say that you and Prince Dream have grown close recently,” the man says as the clouded
skies shift into domed ceilings.

People , Tommy internally scoffs. I didn’t know that we regard Wilbur in plural now . In all
fairness, Tommy and Dream have been spending time almost daily now, and it’s possible that the
Emperor had noticed it without any pointers, but with the council meeting earlier today he doesn’t
believe that Wilbur isn’t involved somehow.

"Prince Dream thinks that his current visit is an opportunity to overstep through our past feuds and
tighten the knot between the Antarctic Empire and the Kingdom of Esempi.”

The Emperor never has stopped looking in Tommy’s eyes. “And what do you think?”

"The current state of the Empire provides favorable conditions to build diplomatic relationships
on," he says, his gaze just as sharp. "Even though the war between us has long since ended, there is
some strain to how two nations see each other. What is a better way to set an example to people if
not through the friendship of future monarchs?"

They stop before an entrance to a tower, where a simple spruce door hides a staircase. Along the
walls, torches smolder, filling the air with the smell of burning coal. The steps are narrow and
crumbled at places; the Emperor wouldn’t be able to climb the tower with his bad leg. Habitually,
Tommy reaches for his cane, but before he can take it, he is sliced by a blue-eyed gaze.

"You have your mother's ambitions," the Emperor says. "Shame that none of her kindness."

The hollow walls echo, shame, shame, shame … The tower comes alive to gloom over Tommy as
his entire world tilts on its axis. A deep breath yanks it back upright, but a horrible void in his chest
stays, and not even squeezing it can make the feeling go away. "Lack of a heart doesn't deprive one
of their ability to be hurt, Your Imperial Majesty,” Tommy says quietly. Ever the obedient prince,
he takes the Emperor's cane and lets the man slung an arm across his shoulders.

The Crow’s tower is one of the oldest parts of the palace – and so are its inhabitants. For centuries,
a special breed of crows with blue eyes, bigger and smarter than their wild brethren, has been used
by the Imperial family for delivering letters. When they reach the end of the staircase, the Emperor
leaning on him heavily for support, they are greeted by a cacophony of noise. Hundreds of crows
perched around the tower caw and flap their wings. Tommy hands the Emperor his cane back just
in time to get out of the way of the diving birds. They settle on the man’s both shoulders, on the
fingers of his outstretched hand. One of them cocks its head to the side, bright blue eyes focused on
Tommy.

“Child,” It declares. As a boy, Tommy used to climb into the Crow’s tower a lot. Techno would
follow him to make sure that he didn’t break his neck on the staircase. Crows always pecked his
older brother less and didn’t bristle at his petting, and Tommy whined that it’s unfair that they
liked Techno more than him.

“Shut, child,” Techno said, lightly shoving him in the nape of his neck, and the crows had taken a
habit of calling Tommy that ever since.

Emperor Philza brushes a knuckle underneath the crow’s chin. It rumbles a low noise of delight,
fluffing up its feathers and leaning closer into the touch. “Crows are magnificent creatures,” the
Emperor says, his voice filled with honest admiration. “In winters, they roost for warmth in such
numbers that tree branches bend under their weight. If one crow has been wronged, they will return
in great numbers to take their vengeance.” The Emperor strikes a look at Tommy, but there’s no
need for that when he already knows where this conversation is heading to. “You have a thing or
two to learn from them about the power of numbers and unity of blood.”

“Blood,” a crow repeats. More join in, and the tower explodes with a chant: “Blood, blood, blood!”

I am more of a parrot person myself , Tommy thinks. He crosses his arms behind his back and
withholds the Emperor’s gaze coldly. “If one crow tries to gouge another’s eye out, should it just
stand and watch?” he says.

“Wilbur had made a few foolish and unfortunate decisions,” The Emperor snaps. “But it doesn’t
change the fact that he is your brother and my son.”

I am your son, too! Something desperate screams in Tommy. He fists his hands at his sides.

“You take Wilbur’s side as if it wasn't him who lied to Prince Dream and put the relationship
between our nations at threat. But do you know what he truly didn’t do?” Tommy advances a step
forward. “He didn’t rule over the Empire in your stead. He didn’t manage the Imperial lands when
Duchess Clara passed away. He didn’t step up in the Empress’ shoes and stand by your side when
you needed him the most.”

The Emperor stays unmoving, but a few crows scatter away, cawing anxiously. “Choose your
words carefully, Theseus,” he warns. “Just as I had placed a crown on your head, I can take it back
at any time.”

Tommy knows then; his words have striked their mark. The Emperor always seemed so strong and
unperturbed that it had never occurred to him before that he, too, might be wearing a mask. Once
golden hair turned almost fully gray, leaning on a cane with hands etched deep with wrinkles,
Philza looks like he did three years ago – an old man who can’t keep cheating death forever.

“There’s no point in growing a tree if you're not going to reap the fruits,” he says, not advancing
anymore, but not moving back either. “All the effort that you have put into Wilbur… it all was
wasted when he ran away. Even three years later, nobody had forgiven his treason.” Tommy lifts
his gaze. “I am not WIlbur.” Lightning flashes outside. “I won’t crumble.”

The tower falls into grave silence. Not even the crows dare to move, frozen on the Emperor’s
shoulders, waiting for his verdict while rain and wind continue to howl their song outside sealed
windows. Tommy sees himself in the reflection of Philza’s eyes – blazing, bright as sunset fire,
fierce as an ocean storm and yet no less rigid than his father. Standing on the opposite sides of an
invisible battlefield, they both realize a simple truth: if Philza is an emperor before he is a father,
 then Tommy is the crown prince before he is a son.

To the rattle of a distant thunder, the Emperor gives in. "Perhaps I'm in the wrong to keep a sapling
out of soil when it's so eager to sprout roots,” he says, shifting weight to his cane. He nudges the
crows off his shoulders gently and turns back to Tommy. "It's decided, then. At the end of the
month you'll pay a visit to the Crow's Keep and investigate the issue of missing avians. Wilbur will
come with you. I want you to speak with Michael and weigh the options carefully. Upon your
return, you will make the final choice of who is to be the next Protector of Imperial lands."

Tommy straightens up. Part of him doesn’t believe what he just heard; dreadful, distrustful, it curls
up in a corner and bares its teeth. “Just me and Wilbur?” Tommy asks before he can stop himself,
“What about Ranboo?”

The Emperor seems to be surprised with Tommy’s question, too. “You don’t have to concern
yourself with Ranboo from now on. I’m moving him to your old chambers in the northern wing.”

Another lightning, and this one feels like it had just landed on top of Tommy’s head. Northern
wing, the place where only the Imperial family resides. The Solstice feels like it had happened ages
ago, but suddenly Tommy remembers vividly the first time he had ever spoken to Beau.

“Your Highness, is it true that His Majesty is going to adopt that peasant?”

“My old chambers?” Tommy realizes that he sounds like one of the crows now, repeating words
after the man, and quickly recollects himself. “The Emperor does as he pleases. I have no care for
what happens to Ranboo.”

The Emperor doesn’t call him out on his lie. “Then you may go now.” Tommy bows and paces
towards the staircase, but before he can take a first step down, the Emperor speaks up again, “And
Theseus?”

“Yes?” he turns.

As if on command, all the crows startle from their perch. They dive from the ceiling and circle the
emperor in utter silence; black masses of their feathers live and move in grotesque shapes. The
wind whirling up from their flight blows off all the torches. In the darkness, the crows almost look
like Philza’s wings.

“Don’t forget that some flowers are purely decorative.”

Chapter End Notes

CHAPTER SUMMARY
Ranboo is with Carl in the stables. Beau comes and tries to humiliate him. Techno
steps in, chases Beau and her company away, and asks Ranboo to come with him.
Techno leads Ranboo into the northern wing, where only the imperial family resides.
He stops to talk with Wisp and Shubble, captains of Tommy’s and Wilbur’s security,
suggesting that he uses guards to spy on his brothers. Ranboo finds a portrait of an
avian woman on the wall and Techno explains to him that it’s the founding empress.
He takes Ranboo to family tree in a domed courtyard. It has real feather chained to the
branches that belonged to avians in the past, and metal duplicates for non-avian family
members. Techno explains that Antarctic Kingdom used avian soldiers to conquer
lands and turn itself into an empire. Esempi resisted and started actively hunting
avians, leading to their near extinction. Ranboo asks Techno why he’s sharing all of
this. Techno is going to leave the capital soon, but he wants Ranboo to know that he
can trust Phil and Wilbur.

At nighttime Ranboo tries to run from the palace. He is afraid of his past being
exposed, because he’d be deported back to the esempi. He has several important
realizations and decides that it’s better for him to leave. Charlie and Quackity catch
him. It’s told that it was Quackity who got him out of the Esempi and provided him
with shelter for three years. Ranboo was grateful, but he run away again after
Quackity had asked him to kill a person. Quackity and Ranboo have a chat. Quackity
says that, due to being a born out of wedlock, he is familiar with the feeling of being
looked down upon. He convinces Ranboo that by staying and accepting Quackity’s
help he can protest himself and Tubbo.

Tommy attends a council meeting. Wilbur is already occupying his place. Tommy
decides not to initiate a conflict. During the meeting, it’s revealed that over two
hundred avians disappeared in the empire, mostly from the land that belongs to the
Imperial family. It was used to be ruled by Duchess Clara, but has been empty for
three years after her death. Michael is proposed as a candidate to the position. Wilbur
argues against it, because Michael is eleven years old and a student, and proposes
himself instead. Emperor partially supports him, but Tommy turns the council against
both of them.

Sam has shown an interest to the gardens. At first Tommy is confused by it but he gets
carried away talking about flowers. He feels embarrassed about it immediately, but
Sam encourages him by saying that just as any other people, rulers are allowed to have
different passions. Tommy sends Sam away and pays a visit to his butterfly
greenhouse. He sings as he tidies up the garden, and finds newly hatched caterpillars.

To thank Sam, Tommy starts picking a bouquet. Phil interrupts him. Due to the rainy
weather, his old injuries are bothering him so he walks with a cane. Tommy
remembers how people were certain that Phil would die three years ago. They talk
about work until they reach an old tower. Phil compares Tommy to Kristin because of
his ambitions to improve international relathionships, but says that he has none of her
kindness.

Mail crows live on top of the tower. Phil shows that he is unhappy with conflicts
between Tommy and Wilbur. Tommy says that he’s better than Wilbur, and won’t fail,
aka saying that Phil should trust him more. Eventually Phil gives in. He says that
Ranboo will be moved to the northern wing, and Tommy starts suspecting that Phil
wants to adopt Ranboo.

AUTHOR NOTES
HUGE shoutout to Cheese and Cinna for beta-reading this chapter! It was a huge one
and you've had so much wonderful input, so thank you both so much for your help!

I finished school, and the first week of my beautiful freedom I spent speedrunning this
chapter. Share your thoughts, because there is so MUCH to unpack! Now that I have
more time I will try to post more often, so stay tuned and see you soon :)
 Tell me about your lovely day
Chapter Summary

“Theseus is not a child anymore," he continues. "Today he is our crown prince, on the
morrow our emperor. The same kid who used to look up to you with shining eyes is
going to rule over the entire Empire someday.”

“He was never supposed to rule!” Wilbur slams his fist on the windowsill, so hard that
the water in the basin ripples. “He was supposed to have a normal childhood, with his
mother by his side, dreaming of some stupid things like riding a dragon or becoming a
pirate.”

So much for keeping his composure. The moment Wilbur drops his calm act Techno’s
flies shattered too. “His dreams almost got you killed,” he snaps.

Wilbur’s eyes glint sharply. “It’s you who almost got me killed.”

Chapter Notes

Early update! Credit for beta-reading goes to Daemon and Cheese. Thank you so much
again!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Wilbur is afraid of water.

That was one of the first things Techno rediscovered about his twin brother three years ago. It
rained for days during their journey back to the capital; Wilbur had sat curled up on himself in the
carriage, hands pressed against his ears so as not to hear the patter of raindrops outside. Techno
would bring a lantern buzzing with warmth or another scratchy woolen blanket for Sally to wrap
Wilbur and Fundy in. Watching as his brother's pale face smoothened into sleep, he'd return back to
the saddle, soaked to the bone and shivering with exhaustion.

Techno's brothers are similar in more ways than either of them would like to admit. Wilbur is too
prideful to let anybody know of his fear; he didn’t have to say anything, however. Techno saw how
his breath hitched, chest tightening, after Father asked him about the night he almost drowned. He
noticed that the curtains of Wilbur's room were draped shut, and the next day the pond under his
windows was drained, blue bells of honeywort planted in its place. Even the first time Sally had
returned to Lmanburg without Wilbur, and his brother showed up at his doors, awkwardly
struggling for words, Techno understood.

"Do you want me to help wash your hair?" he asked, and Wilbur nodded silently, please .

So many times Wilbur fell into panic when water had come too close to trickling into his nose or
mouth; splattering and turning the tub over, he coughed and gagged until his throat was battered
raw. On his worse days Techno is haunted with the memories of Wilbur's choked sobs as he
mouthed, over and over again, "I can't breathe."

Those days are long behind. Sitting on a low stool, Wilbur tips his head backwards over a shallow
tub of water, flinching only when a glass vial is uncorked a bit too close to his ear. Channeling all
his concentration to circulating air in and out of his lungs, he has no energy to spare on weaving
masks. That is Wilbur's true vulnerability: not that he trusts Techno's hands, gently rubbing
shampoo into his hair, not to drown him, not admitting to the fear of every source of water bigger
than a bucket, but that in his fluttering eyelids and lips for once relaxed out of a smirk, he looks
almost Techno's brother, back from the time they still introduced one another proudly, "My twin."

Techno doesn't want this moment to end, but no silence can last forever, except death. Their
unspoken agreement to keep any conversation on hold is broken when Wilbur straightens his neck,
eyelids falling closed with a deep sigh.

"You're leaving again.”

Wilbur doesn’t ask, he states, so Techno doesn’t see any point in denying. "Bandit gangs have
gotten bold in my absence. They’re robbing merchant wagons on unguarded roads. I must see to it
that they’re exterminated as soon as possible.”

“Little use of our military if the smallest of inconveniences requires the general’s personal
attendance,” Wilbur huffs, wincing when some water trickles down the collar of his shirt. “...Does
Theseus know?”

A pang in his chest. Techno ignores it. “Not yet," he says.

“He’s going to be dissapointed.”

Techno remembers Theseus' eyes, to the brim filled with hurt and fury. I’m not so sure about that,
he is about to say, but then he takes a moment to look at Wilbur more closely. When did Wilbur
ever worry about Techno leaving, or what Theseus felt about it? Usually he would be apathetic at
best to hear that Techno is about to take the field again, and at worst saying, it’s long overdue .

It feels odd to keep a conversation with Wilbur. Techno thought that their interactions are bound to
be limited to silent agreements and brief encounters for the rest of their lives, but here they are,
talking as if they are stumbling blindly in a dark room, getting used again to the sound of each
other’s voices. What are you really here for? Techno would ask, if he wasn’t so afraid of scaring
Wilbur away.

“You’re on edge,” he says instead, seeing the small lines forming on Wilbur’s forehead.

For a moment Wilbur looks like a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar. "That tea party has
stirred up some nobles' displeasure with me," he admits.

"How odd," Techno hums, squeezing the excess water out of Wilbur's hair. "It's almost as if you
have to face the consequences of your own actions."

"I'm not speaking just about the letter incident," Wilbur says bitterly. "Suddenly they decided to
remember it all. Running away, marriage with Sally, that my son was born as a commoner." Wilbur
presses his lips tighter. "I've been their crown prince for twelve years of my life. Why does nobody
ever remember that?"

In high society, the past is a luggage shackled to one's reputation. Theseus bears his as a brilliant
golden crown and from Techno's shadows people tend to avert eyes and cower away. Wilbur,
though... In the majority's eyes, he is forever labeled as a traitor.
Wilbur grew up hungry for praise and attention. He might claim not to care about public opinion,
but Techno knows his brother better. Wilbur wouldn’t be here If Niki's support and advice was still
available. Whether the queen told him to stay away or the prince himself didn't dare to show his
face, he decided to turn to Techno instead.

"Do you want me to silence the culprits of the rumors?" he asks.

Wilbur shoots him a look from under deeply creased eyebrows and shakes his head.

"You wouldn't be asking if you knew how many enemies I have," he says. "Before, the fear of
Emperor Philza had been keeping them at bay. Now they are using the crown prince's name as a
shield to call me a waste of imperial blood."

Wilbur wears the same expression as he does when he tries not to let his emotions show through. In
his eyes is a wildfire, and the nature of fire is that it won't stop blazing until it burns down
everything it can reach.

In twenty-five years of their life Techno still hasn't figured out the way to put it out, but he never
stopped trying. With the same hands that can snap necks like they're matches, Techno gently
squeezes Wilbur's shoulders.

You're not a waste, you're my brother , Techno could say, but those words, meaning the world to
him, would be an empty sound to Wilbur. It's not from Techno's lips that he wants to hear ‘ I care’
from.

“You know that Theseus didn’t really mean when he said-”

“Of course he didn’t," Wilbur snarls, shrugging Techno's hands off. "It was Prince Dream's
doing."

Techno steps away despite hollow protests of something deep inside him. He opens a drawer,
pushes a crumpled piece of bloodied fabric further out of Wilbur’s view and takes a soft towel from
where they are piled neatly on top of each other.

“Don’t trust George,” he says, turning.

Wilbur's shoulders tense, but the next moment he leans back and sighs. “Shouldn’t be surprised
that you’ve been listening in on me. What’s next? Eating out of my plate first to make sure that
food isn’t poisoned?" He makes a sour face, "Oh wait, I forgot that we already have food tasters
working shifts for that."

Techno ignores the sarcasm in Wilbur’s voice. “That man clearly wants something from you," he
says, handing Wilbur the towel. Wilbur straightens up and rubs it and down his head, far more
violently than necessary.

“I am not five, Techno,” he sighs, exasperated. "I know a trick when I see one. And yet…" Wilbur
tosses the towel away and wrenches around to look at Techno. "He has a point about a few things.
First the tea party, now fueling rumors? Theseus would never dare to do that, or could for all that
matter. It's clear as day that Dream is manipulating him into making those decisions."

"Are you saying that out of genuine concern for Theseus," Techno says calmly, looking in Wilbur's
eyes. "Or because it dwells on you that it's Dream's whispers that he listens to and not yours?"

Wilbur fists the fabric of his shirt. He looks out of the window, and Techno trails his gaze. In a
long gallery connecting the northern and southern wings, formed by parallel rows of columns, two
people are walking side-by-side. Without his glasses Techno sees them as a blur of blue and green,
but it doesn't take a genius to guess from how Wilbur's gaze hardens.

"I should’ve known that you won’t mind our brother steering away from us,” he says coldly.
“You've been a joke of a sibling in my absence, but I’d prefer you by Theseus’ side a thousand
times over Dream or that bastard Quackity.”

Techno withdraws a snarl. It's a habit to bite down on his tongue as he straightens his back a bit
more – the pain is refreshing, if not in the intensity then with how it spikes sharply instead of
tolling on him in howling waves. Even the implication that he cares about Theseus any less than
Wilbur has Techno swallowing his anger.

"I despise Dream even more than you do.” How could he not, when one of the first things that
Dream told him was, do you know that my ancestors killed yours ? “If the choice was mine, I
wouldn’t let him a hundred miles from the palace as the crow flies.”

Perhaps it'd make him a poor ruler; unyielding and unforgiving, clinging to the shards of the past
that he himself hasn't known. For the better or for the worst, a sword doesn't guide its master's
hand. Techno will leave the leisure of choices to the Emperor... and to the Imperial crown prince.

“Theseus is not a child anymore," he continues. "Today he is our crown prince, on the morrow our
emperor. The same kid who used to look up to you with shining eyes is going to rule over the entire
Empire someday.”

“He was never supposed to rule!” Wilbur slams his fist on the windowsill, so hard that the water in
the basin ripples. “He was supposed to have a normal childhood, with his mother by his side,
dreaming of some stupid things like riding a dragon or becoming a pirate.”

So much for keeping his composure. The moment Wilbur drops his calm act Techno’s flies
shattered too. “His dreams almost got you killed,” he snaps.

Wilbur’s eyes glint sharply. “It’s you who almost got me killed.”

Techno flinches. Wilbur’s expression flashes from fury to curiosity. Lips turned upright, baring
teeth and eyes narrowed, like a predator who smelled a wounded prey. “What would Theseus think
if he knew that you had seen me on that night? That you told me to leave alone when I wanted to
take both of us?”

“ Don’t ,” Techno growls.

Instinctually, he curls his fingers into fists, but it’s not a fight that he can win physically, and
Wilbur knows it better than anybody else. The sound of his laughter is almost like a knife driven
deeper into an old wound.

“You act so indifferent and turn tails the moment you see something that you can’t handle, but in
the end, you care , don’t you?” he spits. “You’re scared that Theseus will turn to despise you like
he does me.”

The shadows seem to be growing around him, and an alarm rings at the base of his skull, pulsating
down his neck and sending waves of sharp energy to his limbs. Wilbur picks Techno’s weaknesses
apart, peeling them away layer after layer. If he hadn’t stood there, a little short of fuming from the
fire dancing in-between his ribs, Techno would think about how after all the death he had seen and
caused, it's Wilbur’s words that cause a thick layer of fear to coat his insides.

“If you want to tell him the truth, do it ,” Techno says. See if it’s going to make any difference in
how he treats you. “It doesn’t matter what Theseus thinks of me for as long as he is in the safety of
the palace.”

Wilbur smiles sinisterly. “That is where you are terribly, terribly wrong.”

Techno stills. “What do you mean?” he says, slowly, carefully.

Once again he finds himself at Wilbur’s mercy. Knowing that Techno is waiting, Wilbur takes his
sweet time to round the entire room: brushing the back of his palm over the sheets of a neatly made
bed, pressing his foot on every creaking floorboard as he walks up to a bedstand with a jewelry box
on top. Techno nearly snaps when Wilbur touches the lid, but he merely brushes his thumb over
the lock and whirls around on his heels.

"Think about it," he says. "Three years ago, somebody paid for Emperor Philza’s death. The
assassin fails to kill his target, but dies before you could learn who he had been sent by. And now,
Prince Dream, who has never set foot into the premises of the Empire, suddenly comes with an
official visit and insists on getting closer to the crown prince… Doesn’t seem like a coincidence to
me.”

Techno doesn’t believe in coincidences either, just like he doesn't believe that Prince Dream has
sent his knight Sapnap to the barracks for training only. If you spend enough time around the
guards you'll eventually learn the times at which one shift is replaced with another, what routes
they take and how many people are patrolling a section of a palace at a specific time. Techno's
people know better than to spill information like that to outsiders, but there is more to Sapnap and
Dream than meets the eye.

Without any proof he has nothing to accuse the crown prince of, but the sly ways that Dream
glanced at him, leading Theseus away… He knew exactly what he's doing, and it was like Techno
was fourteen all over again, seeing that dark light ignited in Wilbur's eyes for the first time.

Theseus looks far more fragile than he is. He might lack the strength but for his speed and agility
Techno once compared him to a weasel. Raccoon , Theseus had corrected him, grinning as he
tossed a gold-gilded button that he had sliced off Techno’s coat a moment ago. Hardly any attacker
would expect a thin boy, looking a little livelier than a ghost, to put up much of a fight… That was
an advantage that Techno thought might save his life someday, if only Theseus hadn’t exposed his
own skills in that foolish duel with Sapnap.

He must have kept silent for far too long, because the next moment Wilbur's smile turns knowing.
“You have thought about it too, haven’t you?” he asks, and Techno has nothing to say to that. He’s
been played like a fiddle, a broken instrument that didn’t know it was capable of making sounds
anymore. Techno’s arms fall at his sides, his shoulders sulking, no longer having any strength to
keep himself standing straight.

“What do you want from me, Wil?” he asks, voice hollow.

The nickname makes something ripple in Wilbur's expression, and if Techno was a hopeful man
he'd say that it looks like regret. The next moment, however, his brother turns away, touching the
emerald dangling from his ear.

"Just so you would know,” Wilbur says. “Stay aside any longer and next time you come back you
may not have a brother at all."

***
The idea of growing out his hair came to Tommy out of the blue. He just realized one day that it
has been a while since he last got it cut, and decided… not to. In front of other people, he called it a
change of style. Techno knew better. When he had returned to the palace and found Tommy
nervously glancing from behind a curly fringe of blond. The first thing he asked was, ‘ Can I brush
your hair for you? ’

They would spend hours together like this – Techno running a soft brush down Tommy’s scalp
while they chatted the evening away. Admittedly, Tommy did the chatting. Techno mostly
hummed and quipped a word or two in to show his acknowledgement. He rarely started a
conversation first, but it didn’t mean it never happened at all.

“You could use a few hairpins,” Techno said, putting the brush away. Tommy’s hair grew long
enough to start getting into his face, rendering all his effort of tucking it behind his ears useless.
Agitated, Tommy tipped his head back and snarled:

“It’s not like I have any, dickhead.”

Techno looked at something over his shoulder. Without turning, Tommy already knew what it was.
A jewelry box sat on Techno’s bedstand, sealed by a lock that had a single key. When Techno
reached for the silver chain hanging from his neck, Tommy put a hand over his arm and lowered it
slowly.

“Keep them,” Tommy said. “I’ll just wait until my hair’s long enough that I can tie it up in a
ponytail or something.”

Rings, necklaces, hairpins and rings: Empress’ jewelry, each precious on its own, all together were
worth an entire fortune. Techno had no need for the money. The only gem that he ever wore was a
single emerald earring, one of a pair, yet he guarded the box as if a single stray glance would tear it
to pieces. He nearly broke an arm of a maid who wanted to swipe off some dust from the top.
Mother’s death left Tommy with a garden, and Techno – with a jewelry box. Remembering the
promise given to the Empress on her dying breath, for the first time Tommy wondered if he was
the only one in the family who harbored secrets.

“What do you want for your birthday?” Techno suddenly asked.

Tommy stilled. "My birthday?” it came out quieter and shakier than he intended.

“You’re turning thirteen in a month,” Techno repeated patiently. “What do you want for a gift?”

Tommy, who once would have pulled out a list twice his own height, and shove it into Techno’s
hands with a cheeky grin and unabashed, ‘Don’t forget to check the other side!’ had gone entirely
quiet. It happened more and more those days. Techno used to call him a nuisance for his habit of
annoying the sanity out of people. Tommy thought his brother would be glad to get some silence
for once, but Techno’s expression dropped.

“Anything,” he took Tommy’s hands, tiny in his calloused palms, and squeezed them gently. “You
just have to ask.”

The honesty and desperation in Techno’s voice had breached an invisible glass wall. Tommy lifted
him a shattered look, reaching blindly for something through a hollow frame. “Wilbur,” he said. “I
want Wilbur.”

Techno’s hold tightened and slacked one more. He did not ask anything else, dropping his head
forward, shoulders tensing as if he was trying his hardest to keep himself composed.
Feeling guilty, Tommy carefully peaked into Techno’s face. “You know, there is one thing that I
really, really want,” he said.

Techno didn’t answer, but raised his head to show that he was listening. That wasn’t enough for
Tommy, though. He leaned forward with a conspiring look. “A dagger.”

“A dagger?” Techno echoed, blinking.

Tommy nodded solemnly. “We’ve been training for a long time. Now I want a weapon of my own.
The bestest, sharpest, most poggers dagger you can find.”

“Bestest is not a word,” Techno huffed. “And so isn’t poggest, for all that matter.”

Tommy could see that his words had worked, though. Behind a feigned look of annoyance, Techno
was hiding his relief. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll get you a dagger if you promise to be careful with it.”

It was the wrong thing to say. Tommy clapped his hands together and grinned wider. “Oh, I’m
going to stab so many people.”

“Theseus.” Techno tried to grip his forearm, but Tommy rolled out of the way and stuck out his
tongue. A traitorous smile quivered in the corner of Techno’s mouth. “I’m arguing with a child,”
he sighed.

Tommy let out an offended screech. “I’ll kill you,” he promised, mounting a bolster over his
shoulder like a weapon. “Prepare to fucking die- AH!”

A pillow flies out of nowhere and pancakes Tommy’s face. It takes half a minute for him to realize
that he is no longer dreaming, and another two that the faint throb in his face is not from sleeping
on one cheek for too long.

“Good morning, Your Imperial Highness.”

Tommy pushes himself into a sitting position. His mind is still groggy with sleep, but not enough
that he wouldn’t recognize the person standing in the doorway.

“Marchioness Beau, did you just throw a pillow at me?”

Beau looks at another pillow in her hand, tactically mounted over her shoulder, and tosses it away.
“I would never,” she says, unblinking.

I swear, Beau gets bolder each second that I’m not looking at her , Tommy thinks. She trots to the
windows and draws a heavy curtain away, fastening it around a hook with a gold-plated cord. The
sun spits right into Tommy’s face with its irritating brightness, proving that Beau is, in fact, getting
bolder, and that his gaze has nothing to do with it.

Covering his eyes with his arm, Tommy groans, “I’ll fire you.”

“No you won’t,” Beau declares, already halfway out of the door. “Else you won’t have anybody to
cover the paperwork for you today!”

She leaves, and Tommy rolls out of bed, nearly faceplanting on the floor. Mornings suck when you
spend half of the night looking over old reports. He walks into the wardrobe, where an outfit is
already perched for him on a chair. Without the cast on his hand, he slips into a jade coat easily.
Tommy removed it despite the physician's insistence that he keeps it on for another week. It
doesn’t hurt… much. At least the plum purple of bruises had faded into less vigorous blots of
yellow, and he can cover it up with a long sleeve.

Tommy doesn’t wear his crown often, not unless he needs people to see clearly who they are
talking to, and today is exactly the occasion. A delicate piece of silver, made from symmetrical
shapes that web around an emerald in the middle, slides down his curls – a familiar weight,
reassuring and crushing in equal degree.

At last, Tommy picks up a dagger from a niche between the mattress and the headboard, and
unsheathes it, steel scraping against steel. It’s a weapon as beautiful as it is deadly, with the handle
forged into the shape of wings, and edges so sharp it can cut skin like paper. Tommy slides his
hand against the flat side of the blade, feeling tiny intrications, not wider than the tip of a needle,
forming a line of snowflakes. He loves how comfortably the dagger sits in his hand, the fragile yet
perfect balance of a weapon lifted with two fingers – and hates it to an equal degree. When Tommy
grips the handle and twists the dagger around, he imagines tiny droplets beading at the tip like
tears. Drip, drip, drip, cries the steel, louder and louder, as his reflection swims in blood.

“Your Highness?” Beau peeks into the room again.

Click ! The blade slots back into sheathes. Tommy foists the dagger into his belt. “Lady Beau, do
you have any hair pins I could borrow?"

***

No more than ten minutes later he is marching down the hallway, his steps muffled by the carpet,
Beau’s skirts sweeping close. Tommy doesn’t need her to follow him to the exit – Wisp is already
here, along with four more guards – but she presses her lips together, side-glancing meaningfully,
so he gestures to them to fall back a bit.

“Is something the matter?” he asks.

“Unfortunately,” Beau sighs, wringing her hands. “A certain incident occurred the day before
yesterday, and it’s better if His Highness hears about it from my lips before anybody else’s.”

Tommy doesn’t have a good feeling about this. “I’m listening.”

“I may have angered Prince Technoblade. Unintentionally,” Beau says, as if somebody in a sane
state of mind would anger Techno on purpose. “He walked on me quipping Ranboo and… oh well,
didn’t seem pleasured by it.” There is more to that, Tommy knows, so he whips Beau a glare. “He
handed my horse over to Ranboo. As a form of chastisement, I suppose,” Beau begrudgingly
admits.

As soon as she finishes speaking, Beau pulls out her fan and waves it over her cheeks and neck,
despite the windowless corridors being chilly enough that Tommy can sense it through the coat. Or
is he the only one who feels this way?

Suddenly he wants to wrap his arms around himself. Techno rarely steps in to protect him against
Wilbur. He could be sitting next to Tommy, listening to his twin’s poisonous words, and only
occasionally glance between them with a sigh. Sometimes, Techno just leaves. Tommy had gotten
used to the fact that Techno would rather avoid any conflict… But then why in the world would he
step up for Ranboo ?

Maybe Beau’s not telling him the whole story, or she somehow had insulted Tommy’s brother
without realizing it. Techno had wounded her pride, which much is certain, and pride is a fragile
thing among nobles. Tommy knows from experience that the more it suffers the more painful next
blow will be. It would be hypocritical of him to scold Beau for something that he himself is faulty
for, especially since it’s her first slip as his aide.

“Techno won’t cause any ruckus,” is all Tommy says, ignoring the throbbing feeling in his chest.
“You may have a pick of any horse that belongs to the palace stables for as long as it isn’t Prince
Techno’s chestnut stallion. If you are to quip Ranboo more in the future, make sure that neither my
brother nor I hear of it.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” The fanning halts abruptly. “But the horse is not the problem.”

“Then what is?”

Beau snaps her fan closed, the sound of it so loud that a maid across the hall jumps. She lowers her
voice, "Can I speak to you freely, Your Highness?"

Now it feels like Beau is testing his patience. Tommy fixes her a look. "It seems to me like you’re
already doing that.”

"This level of honesty needs your permission in advance, or else you might truly fire me."

Tommy looks for a hint of sarcasm or amusement in Beau’s face and finds none. He waves her
ahead, if not for the truth then out of simple curiosity.

“It’s the crown prince’s own duty and right to deal with his servants’ misconducts, and no matter
how you look at it, Prince Technoblade is below you in status. The fact that he allowed himself to
choose and carry out a penalty in your stead is an enormous act of disrespect and a challenge of
authority. You can’t just overlook it.”

Beau’s words have the effect of a dropping chandelier. Only Wilbur and the Emperor ever use such
an openly demanding tone with Tommy, but at the same time, she isn’t inherently wrong. If it was
some secretary who tried to challenge any of his rights as the crown prince, he’d have their
enthusiasm smoldering fast, but Techno…

Tommy buries his feet into the carpet for a stop and whips around to face Beau. In an instant, he
forgets it all: courtesy, restraint, patience. “Was it my imagination, or you have just said that to my
face?”

If the ringing steel of Tommy’s voice intimidates Beau, she refuses to show it. “I don’t think my
concerns are unfounded,” she says, calmly folding her hands on her skirt, the fan clenched between
her hands. “Prince Technoblade is second in the order of inheritance, isn’t he?”

“And Prince Fundy is fourth, so must I see it as a breach of authority every time he forgets to bow
to me?”

“All members of the Imperial family are competitors for as long as they retain any rights for the
throne,” Beau says, calmly folding her hands on her skirt. “The crown prince's attention is
currently on targeting Prince Wilbur, but Prince Technoblade is the only one who can be a real
threat to his position.”

“It’s my older brother that you’re talking about!” Techno, who was the only one who supported
Tommy, who comforted him after Wilbur’s disappearance, who carried him to bed when he was
too tired or sick to walk. Who, above the throne and the crown, saw him simply as family.

Beau must feel that the ice under her feet is thinning, and fast, yet she still chooses to walk it. “In
my memory, you have two brothers,” she says, as if Tommy needs a reminder. “We both have seen
it happen before. It starts off with acts of insolence like refusing to use proper titles and ignoring
courtesy. You let it slide – because truly, how much harm can come from something as small? –
but before you know it, suddenly the whole world has turned upside down and you’re a trespasser
in your own home.”

A familiar knife cuts twice as deep. One moment Tommy was confident that they were arguing
about Techno, but now he isn’t so sure anymore. Beau’s every word easily applies to Wilbur, and if
you really think about it… Ranboo, too.

Whatever happens to the crown prince affects all his court. Tommy understands, now, where
Beau’s intentions are coming from, but it does little to tame his anger. For a few seconds, the grip
of fury is so tight on his throat that he doesn’t trust himself to speak. Beau notices as much, waiting
in patient, humble silence.

“It seems to me that you’re the insolent one here,” Tommy says dryly. “I gave you permission to
speak, so I won’t hold your words against you, but neither will I hear another comment as such.”

“As it pleases the Imperial crown prince,” Beau agrees.

They walk the rest of the way in strained silence. Beau tentatively leaves his side before he could
make it through the heavily guarded doors of the main entrance. Yesterday’s showers have left
their mark; shy as a debutante on their first ball, the sun hides behind the ragged cotton of clouds.
Tommy stops on the top of the stairs just to feel the wind breathing into his face, letting it quench
his temper until his chest is no longer full of sizzling coals.

“Thes!”

A silver-gilded carriage waits for him at the foot of the stairs. Six raven-black horses are harnessed
into three rows, a pair in each. They snort, bobbing their necks up and down. Dream waves at him
from where he is leaning against the door, under a twirling and snapping flag of the Antarctic
Empire. With a sudden wave of energy tolling on him, Tommy rushes down the stairs, skipping
two steps at a time.

Dream throws a critical look at Tommy from feet up. Tommy instinctively tenses when Dream
reaches out to his neck, but then he whispers, “ We have an audience,” and the hairs on the back of
Tommy’s neck stands upright.

Wilbur’s gate is an unmistakable rhythm of clicking shoes and shuffling steps – the sound that
once had Tommy leaping to his feet in excitement is now akin to a wailing siren to his ears. He
slowly relaxes, allowing Dream to unfurl his tie and loop it around his collarbone anew. The
warmth of hands blazes his neck even through pristine white gloves.

"Not too tight?" Dream asks, furrowing his brows in concerns, and Tommy shakes his head with a
sudden flush to his cheeks. This is all a play , he reminds himself. But then why does he feel so
warm when Dream smiles at him and pats his shoulder?

Wilbur comes up to them, hands shoved into pockets, just as Dream finishes fixing Tommy's tie.
The hem of his jacket flaps in the wind. Wire-framed circular glasses sit over his nose, his earring
swaying from side to side with each small movement of his head.

"You're bringing him along." Wilbur drags his glasses all the way up with the knuckle of one
finger and smears Dream with a long look that would've made anybody uneasy, if that anybody
wasn't the crown prince of Esempi.
"Why the sour face?" Dream coils an arm around Tommy's shoulders. "I promise to return your
brother, safe and sound."

Dream flashes Wilbur a bright smile, and for a moment Tommy imagines a sharp glint of fangs.

"You better," Wilbur replies dryly. His eyes flicker to Tommy, dark and unreadable. "Can I speak
to you alone for a second, Theseus?"

At this moment, a footman opens the door of the carriage. Dream waits for Tommy’s nod and
climbs in first, leaving him face-to-face with Wilbur.

“I’m surprised that you’ve volunteered, given that you’ve never engaged in event attendance
outside of the palace before."

Tommy shifts weight from heels to toes, clasping his hands together behind his back. "It's on me
not to realize that I rarely show my face in the capital." And let you flash yours too often. "I'm
planning to change that from this day on."

Wilbur doesn't seem impressed. "We both know that you did it just to spite me."

"Do I have to admit myself guilty?" Tommy holds back a smirk. He won't lie, the expression on
Wilbur's face is pretty damn satisfying. "In any case, somebody from the Imperial household has to
be present. Not you, since the Emperor doesn’t want to risk fueling the unfavorable rumors
wheeling recently.”

“Because of you,” Wilbur reminds.

"Thanks to me," Tommy corrects, hopping up on the steps of the carriage and ducking his head to
fit into the doorway. Dream is already settled on one of the padded benches, throwing one leg over
the other. Tommy sits down on the opposite side.

"Safe travels," Wilbur says, and suddenly he's smiling. "And watch the road."

The door closes with a click.

***

The palace stands on top of a hill, one of many that gradually spike into snow-powdered mountain
peaks. The road curls and twists around it, and if Tommy was a bird soaring in the skies above, it
would look like a giant python in deep slumber with its head resting just before the main gates.
Techno wanted at least twenty guards with the crown prince at all times, but it was Wisp who
overlooked his private security in the end. Tommy was able to negotiate his escort down to twelve
people: six at the front, six more at the back, marching down the snake’s spine with the speed of
the Emperor limping on his cane.

At first, Wilbur’s parting smile wouldn’t get out of Tommy’s mind, worry twisting into five
different knots a minute. As scenery changes outside of the carriage, however, his words feel less
of a threat and more like a petty attempt at soiling his mood. Most of the trees along the road have
long since been cut down, and a rare stump sticks out of the grass, bristling with branches and
bearded with moss, but in the distance, pine giants stand like soldiers of an ancient army guarding
the hill.

"I thought I'm supposed to be the tourist here, but you're looking out of the window as much as I
am."
Squinting his eyes at a scatter of greenish cones among the needles, Tommy doesn't immediately
register Dream's chuckle. "I haven't been out of the palace in a long time," he admits. Within its
great walls, his every step is watched and judged by hundreds of people, and every word that he
says runs a risk of being used against him. Tommy hasn't realized how much it was suffocating
him until he takes a gulp of air smelling of soil and wildflowers, and feels like he can finally
breathe.

"Do you know the legend of how the Antarctic Empire came to be?" Techno once asked him, when
he was… Six? Maybe seven years old. The Emperor and the crown prince were away on a trip for
two weeks, and Techno had taken Tommy for a horse ride. Don’t tell Wilbur, or else he’s gonna be
red with jealousy , he said, curling his arms around the boy's small form to lift the reins.

"No," Tommy had said, shifting in the saddle, head tilted curiously. "Tell me."

"Well… Once there was a king who owned a precious emerald unlike any other in the world. It
stood on a high altar for the whole kingdom to see. One day a black crow had stolen the emerald
and took it far, far north, and the king had sent a group of soldiers to retrieve it. They rode the
plains, swam the rivers and climbed the mountains. Even when their horses had all died and the
soldiers started dropping from exhaustion, one after another, the survivors continued to follow the
shadow of wings gliding above them, knowing that the crow was bound to reach its nest one day.
Well, it turns out that they’ve found it.”

And just like in his memory, the road takes a sharp turn, and the hill plummets into a cliff. Only a
long line of sturdy stone walls to separate them from hundreds of feet of nothingness; Tommy has
never been afraid of height, but even then his stomach drops dreadfully. A jagged cloud drifts
away and bares the capital to the sun’s watchful eye: every building and every tree, streets in
arching shapes and roads that gradually climb up and down, cobbled waves in an ever-frozen
ocean. From all the way up here, the city looks like a nest cradled in the mountains’ gentle, cold
palms.

Techno told him by the time that the soldiers finally retrieved the emerald, they realized that they
no longer knew the way home. So they stayed to live here, built a castle on the hill, a village
beneath it, and chose themselves a new king. People differ in opinions as to where avians belong in
this legend: some say that they were here before the soldiers came, or that the emerald thief
themselves were an avian , Techno had said, but Tommy wasn’t listening anymore. In his head, he
was flying over the hillsides, ebony wings almost slicing the tip of pine trees.

Even all these years after, he feels the same way he did all that time ago, Techno's broad chest
propping him from behind, his fingers tangled in the horse's mane and the whole world beneath
him. He should've been scared of how small he was in comparison, but instead a strange sense of
power circles in him. I'm a prince , Tommy thinks, and this is my Empire.

"What's the plan for today?" Dream asks, shifting in his seat.

Tommy blinks himself back into awareness and turns to Dream. "Attending the opening of a new
town square,” The population of the capital has grown enough that the Emperor had the city
expanded a few miles to the east, and officially the project is put into service today. A prince is
supposed to attend, give a speech-"

"And grace the commoners with his benevolent will,” Dream waves the rest away. “I have
experience."

Tommy snorts. "You get the essence, then.”

On occasion, the Imperial family makes appearances at public events, be it opening of a new
hospital or festivals celebrating the autumn harvest. The Emperor and the crown prince are usually
too occupied with the state affairs to bother themselves with something as minor, so that part of his
duties was passed to Wilbur.

“You told me that I should make more public appearances outside of the palace, to remind
commoners who their crown prince is, so here we are. It’s a good opportunity for people of the
Empire to meet you, too."

"More like your chance to attract more attention to this visit by bringing someone for people to
gaze at,” Dream points out.

In truth, Tommy is simply nervous. It’s been two, maybe three whole years since he last visited the
capital, and underneath a calm facade he feels sick to the stomach with worry. Dream always
radiates an aura of confidence, and rightfully so: he is smart, he is experienced, and with him
around Tommy feels less of a terrified chicken and more the crown prince he is supposed to be.
He’s taller than Tommy, too. In case things go south he can hide behind Dream’s back and let him
handle the consequences.

Not that Tommy would ever actually do that, but the thought alone lifts his mood a little. "People
are curious," he smiles, crossing his legs, "and you make a good circus monkey."

For a long moment, Dream is silent, and Tommy's insides clench. Did he go too far with the
jabbing? Could it be that Dream took his words seriously?

Then the prince sputters into a laugh, and Tommy soon follows, relief flooding his lungs. "What is
wrong with you?" Dream shouts, wheezing.

"I doubt that criticism is apt when I take it all after you,” he grins.

Dream throws his hands up. "Oh, come on! Insulting people wasn’t part of my teaching!"

"Must be my natural charm, then." Dream gives him a doubtful look, and Tommy makes an
offended noise. "For the historical records, I am extremely charming."

"Undoubtedly you are, Thes."

"I’ll let you know that I do not appreciate the sarcasm-"

It takes over an hour for the carriage to get down to the bottom of the hill, but time sprints
unnoticed through their heated conversation. Certain tension roping Tommy’s insides slowly melts
away. It’s… nice, in an odd way, and reminds him of how he and Wilbur used to poke fun at
another in the past. Next time Tommy smiles, it turns out strained, so he discards that trail of
thought before Dream could notice.

Soon the bumpy mountain road turns into a cobbled street. Buildings rise to either side of them,
triangular roofs hoisted on top of two to five stories of bricked walls. The city, too, had felt the
lingering touch of a generous summer: trees planted alongside the road and peaking out of
backyards are gently swaying their emerald tops, basketed flowers strew the balconies and front of
buildings. Tommy gazes mournfully at a pot of violets in clear need of watering, and tugs the
curtains on his side closed.

He can hear a commotion brewing outside as they join the flow of other transport. The capital is
full of highborns and aristocrats, and it’s nothing out of the ordinary to see a richly decorated
carriage passing by, but the uniform of his guards and the flag mounted at the top is enough of a
hint that the passengers are no ordinary nobles. His escort deals with the individuals who are too
slow to clear the way for their crown prince, and the street rumbles with the sound of neighing
horses and yelling voices. More and more curious onlookers strive to get a distant peek into the
side window… and reel back when Dream tilts his head, a smiling mask slotted onto his face.

“Why a smile?” Tommy asks, when a kid, barely older than Fundy, points a finger at them,
shouting something. Her father immediately shushes the girl and tugs her away.

“It’s simple and memorable,” Dream replies, dragging the curtains down. His voice sounds a bit
different with the mask on, and even if it feels strange not to see his face after all the time they’ve
spent together, Tommy can easily imagine his expressions based on the tone and gestures alone.
“Besides, it has a formidable look to it, doesn’t it?”

"If it pleases you to believe so.” Before Dream could feign offense, Tommy speaks up again. “By
the way, I have one more thing on my agenda after the ceremony. Queen Niki’s visit is coming to
an end, and I’d like to pick a parting present, if you wouldn’t mind a little delay.”

"That reminds me, I still need to get some gifts for my sister,” Dream says, rubbing his chin in
thought. “She won’t ever forgive me if I return home empty-handed.”

The reminder that Dream will have to leave the Empire at some point makes startles something in
Tommy, and he clenches the fabric of his pants. “What is Princess Drista like?” he asks, if not only
to distract himself from the ache rolling his ribcage. “Perhaps I may assist you with that.”

“Like me. But small,” Dream seems to think it over, and adds: “And vicious.”

Tommy sputters out of surprise. “Vicious?”

“On her last birthday I got her a trident and she tried to stab me with it. For self-preservation
reasons, I shan’t get her any more weapons.”

At that moment the carriage comes to a sudden halt, and Tommy flies out of his seat. Dream
catches him by his shoulders and prevents him from flattening his nose against the back of the
bench. By some miracle, his crown didn’t fall off. Tommy mouths a thanks, and peeks out of the
door window just as Wisp levels up with them.

“What’s the matter?” Tommy asks.

“We seem to have arrived, Your Highness,” Wisp says, pulling at the reins, his horse’s neck
jerking upright and nostrils flaring. The captain sounds puzzled, and that already puts Tommy in an
alarmed mood. He ignores the footman rushing to open the door for him and shoulders his way
outside.

It’s one of the quieter parts of the city, where the buzzing markets are only a distant cry, and an
occasional cart carefully wheels its way among front porches of houses and smaller shops. His
carriage and escort have clogged the street entirely, but as soon as Tommy makes his exit all
complaints that might have been brewing are swallowed by silence. He ignores bowing pedestrians
and dismounting Wisp, only wincing when his pristine black shoes sink into a layer of road dust,
and takes a look around.

Recognition floods him instantly. Even though Tommy had only been here twice in his life, both
around a decade ago, he remembers this house from the top of a crumbling roof, remembers a tiny
window that he had climbed through and an avian living in a dusty attic. His hands involuntarily
clench into fists.

“Wisp,” he calls, and the captain reappears, leading the coachman in front of him. A small man
with a cleanly shaved head pales as soon the prince’s gaze finds him, sharper than any blade could
ever hope to be, and nearly falls to his knees when Wisp pushes him forward.

“Is this some sort of mockery?” Tommy thunders.

“Y-Your Imperial Highness..?”

Confusion flashes on the coachman’s plump face. Alright, then. If he wishes to play an idiot
Tommy will treat him like one. “We’re half the city from where I’m supposed to be right now,” he
says, leaning closer so that his face is practically looming over the man, his figure throwing a dark
shadow over both of them. “Explain how that happened.”

The coachman looks close to fainting. He can’t seem to decide whether he should be explaining
himself or just straight up plead for mercy. It’s a pitiful sight, really, and if Tommy was any less
furious he might have given the man a moment to regain his senses.

“Are you deaf?” he scowls instead. “Maybe I should have your ears cut off, if you’re not using
them anyway.”

That sombers him up. “Forgive me, Your Imperial Highness,” the coachman bleats. “Prince Wilbur
told me that there is a change of plans and instructed me to take you here.”

Of course it’s been Wilbur. Nobody else knew of Eryn, not at the degree he did. Tommy closes his
eyes, inhaling through his fuming airways.

“Your apologies fix nothing,” he says. “Do your job properly this time, and fast, or else you soon
might not have one at all.”

The coachman nods energetically and scurries away. He would’ve had the same reaction even if
the crown prince asked him to make the carriage fly. Watching him go, Tommy turns sharply
aware of all the gazes pinned on him. Riders still waiting for the carriage to pass, eyes blinking
from behind window shutters, his own guards – all have witnessed him losing his temper.
Agitated, Tommy spins around, the hems of his coat swirling, and pulls himself back into the
carriage.

“What happened?” Dream asks.

“Wilbur happened,” Tommy says, wishing he could kick something, and kick so hard that it would
shatter to pieces. “The bastard had sent us the wrong way.”

Watch the road, it echoes in his head, again and again. Tommy isn’t sure who he is angry at more:
Wilbur, for sabotaging him, the coachman, for taking orders from the wrong person, or at himself
for not predicting this outcome. Maybe if Tommy had a better knowledge of the city than he
stitched together from his childhood memories, he would’ve noticed that they were going the
wrong way. He could practically hear Wilbur crooning, what kind of crown prince doesn’t know
his own capital?

A riding crop whistles in the air, and the carriage jerks into movement just as Tommy plops down
on the bench. “Where is the ceremony supposed to be?” Dream asks. “How much time would it
take to get there?”

“Across the city. Two hours, maybe two and a half,” Tommy crosses his arms, biting his lower lip.
Now that the initial wave of anger is wearing off, nervousness is starting to nibble at his stomach.
“We’re going to be late either way.”

“Tell the coachman to take his time, then,” Dream says, calm as ever. “Let it seem like you’re
meant to be late. Better seem like a snob than a fool, after all.”

Tommy suppresses a flinch. In this context Dream isn’t necessarily calling him that – a fool – but it
feels like he is, and it strikes Tommy almost as hard as the realization of what Wilbur did.
Nevertheless, he passes the order through Wisp, and the rest of the ride continues in total silence,
with Tommy pressing his back into the bench so hard that it aches.

Only when Dream slides the mask off, concern in his eyes, that Tommy becomes aware of his own
rapidly bouncing knee and painfully clamped hands. He eases himself into visually relaxing despite
the pressure building up in his sternum. The heir of the throne can’t seem weak. Not in front of
anybody, and especially not in front of Dream, the only person who believes in his abilities as a
prince.

Tommy can’t disappoint Dream. That thought alone gets him through two hours of boiling in his
own nervousness. Tommy recites his speech in his head, manages to forget the entirety of it and
remember it anew. By the time they reach their destination, sweat thickly coats his back, but he
secures the crown on his head one more time and shuts his worries behind a steel wall. The person
who descends down the stairs, head held high, is no longer Tommy but calm and collected Prince
Theseus.

He feels envious of Dream at that moment, that he can’t simply hide his face entirely by a mask.
His own is made of lies and fake confidence, and as intangible as it is, he can practically hear it
crack when thousands of gazes are raised upon him. With Wilbur and the tea party, there were
barely twenty people, nobles that switch topics of rumors as rapidly as the sky switches between
sun and clouds. Give it a few weeks and some warning from the Emperor and everybody will
forget every unpleasant comment that they’ve ever thought of Wilbur. Nobody is going to forget
how the crown prince didn’t deign to show up on time for his first visit to the capital in years .

Tommy had a speech prepared for him, a lot of lengthy gratitudes to people who worked hard on
building the city square, but whether it be from the scorching afternoon heat or nervousness, he
goes through it in a haze. He does remember vividly, however, the whispers, buzzing and sizzling,
shared from ear to ear. Commoners always have seen nobles as snobbish and prideful, but some
inner voice tells Tommy that there is something more to the disdainful glances he’s receiving. It
drives him crazy that he doesn’t know what .

By the time that the ceremony is over and the crowd begins to disperse, flooding the newly opened
shops and streets, Tommy wants to tuck his head between his knees and simply stop thinking. But
he can’t. Princes don’t get the privilege of showing their feelings, or having feelings for all that
matter. As far as people should be aware Tommy doesn’t feel anything at all.

The worst part is, Wilbur didn’t even have to be here. Oh, how smug and delighted would he be,
knowing that he had delivered his sweet revenge, reclaimed his pedestrial in the competition of
who can fuck the other over more. Right was the person who said that the higher you climb, the
harder you fall. Tommy was so excited for this visit that in the end it only served to make him
twice as agonized over the outcome.

Back in the carriage, Tommy closes his eyes, gathers all feelings of anger, shame and humiliation,
and imagines himself suffocating them. Predictably, it doesn't work.

“I‘m sorry,” he says hollowly when there's a creak of Dream sitting down next to him. “For
 inviting you along for this disaster.”

"Don't apologize." The heated sincerity of Dream's voice has Tommy sneaking a look from under
fluttering eyelids. "It wasn't your fault, and you handled it to the best of your ability.”

But is my best enough? Tommy thinks. He doesn’t vocalize that question. It would sound like
Tommy's feebly begging for comfort, and he refuses to stoop that low.

Wisp suddenly appears, pressing a flask into his hands, water splashing over the top. Tommy
doesn't realize how thirsty he is until he tilts it over his lips and gulps half of the blissful coolness
at once.

"Where to, Your Highness?" Wisp asks, taking the flask back once he can't swallow another sip
anymore. Tommy goes quiet. It seems as though the wisest choice would be to return to the palace
now, and not leave it any time soon, or preferably ever. But turning back to the palace also means
that he has to face Wilbur with his fake smiles and even more fake words, and Tommy doesn't
think he would be able to prevent himself from throwing some punches if he sees that face now.
What a wonderful nail in his coffin would that be if the guards or Techno show up and have to
physically pry them away from one another.

Tommy lifts his chin, and suddenly he meets Dream's eyes. A warmth light sparks in them,
anchoring and guiding him, like the beam of a lighthouse might guide a ship in a storm. Suddenly
he knows what he has to do. Tommy won't give Wilbur the satisfaction of running his day, and
keep going if only just to spite him.

"Dream, do you still want to get that gift for your sister?" he asks.

***

The fashion house, inherently a fusion between a clothing boutique, a hairdressing salon and a
tailor's workshop, stands out among other buildings with walls of white stone, draping veins and
multitude of balconies bulging out like decorations on a cake. The head seamstress and the owner
of the business Aimsey had a noble ancestor three or four generations back, and that provided her
with a wide customer base ranging from wealthy commoners to socialite aristocrats. Duchess Clara
was one of them, and Tommy is personally acquainted with Aimsey from the few times he had
accompanied his aunt on her shopping trips.

They walk up to the front porch, past a glass showcase of an elegant white gown embroidered with
sunflowers, and to double birch doors that creak softly when Tommy pushes them in. Sunlight
flows freely into the building through the tall glass windows, glistering on silk and velvet fabrics,
leaping between plants in porcelain pots. The ring of a bell alarms people inside of their arrival:
seamstresses and other customers alike drop their current affairs to greet the crown princes with
bows and curtsies. Tommy waves them away, his eyes searching for Aimsey-

And finds Techno and Ranboo instead.

Chapter End Notes

EDIT: BUTTERFLY REIGN TEMPORARILY RENAMED INTO ANTEATER

REIGN
The details are explained here ----> [Link]
 [Link]/post/686605822442225664/anteater-reign-spread-the-word

CHAPTER SUMMARY

[WARNING. The summary doesn’t include all the details and subtext of dialogue. I
strongly advice to read through the whole chapter if you don’t want to miss anything
important.]

Techno is washing Wilbur’s hair for him. After nearly drowning in a shipwreck three
years ago, Wilbur had developed severe hydrophobia, and Techno has been helping
him to cope with it in various ways. Techno gets sad thinking about how close they
used to be as kids. Now they can get along when neither is speaking. Wilbur is upset
over the tea party, which turned him to the topic of gossip in court. Techno knows that
Wilbur cares about other people’s opinions to an obsessive degree, especially
Tommy’s. Wilbur disapproves of Tommy’s friendship with Dream, Techno says that
they need to respect Tommy’s choices. An argument breaks out. Wilbur manipulates
Techno’s guilt over the events that happened six years ago. Techno never told Tommy
that he could have stopped Wilbur that night, presumably because he was afraid that
Tommy would hate him for it. Wilbur assumes that Esempi might be to blame for the
over assassination attempt on Phil, and implies that Dream might be here to hurt
Tommy.

Tommy has a dream about a memory from when he was thirteen old. He started
growing his hair out to match with Techno. Techno helped him to brush it. Techno
asked Tommy what he wants for his birthday, and after initially replying ‘Wilbur’,
Tommy asks for a dagger. He is woken up by Beau throwing a pillow to his face.
Tommy gets ready for his day and takes the dagger with him.

Beau tells Tommy about the incident that she got into recently. They get into an
argument. Beau thinks that Techno can be a threat to Tommy’s position as the crown
prince, and Tommy denies it. They part ways and Tommy meets Dream and Wilbur at
the entrance of the palace. There is some public event today that Tommy is attending
in Wilbur’s place, and he is bringing Dream along as his emotional support brother.
More bedrock bros flashbacks and some discduo jabbing with each other. Turns that
Wilbur did some sabotaging and sent Tommy the wrong way of the event he was
supposed to attend. Tommy publicly yells at a servant, arrives late and becomes an
object of public disdain. He is emotionally devastated but decides not to stray from his
plans to spite Wilbur and goes to shop for a gift to Niki. Discduo arrives at a clothing
boutique that belongs to Aimsey, and runs into Techno & Ranboo.

AUHOR NOTES

Br!Techno, am I right?

This chapter was supposed to have 4 more scenes but it was getting too long so I
moved them to the next one and oh boy, is it gonna have a sweet cliffhanger. I legit
think that ch23 is gonna be one of the most important ones in the entire fic, so look
forward to that in 1-1.5 weeks (yup, I wanna have it SOON), depending on how
depressed I am going to be after getting my exam results back tomorrow. /hj
 And I'll tell you how mine went, was okay
Chapter Summary

A hand wraps around Tommy’s upper arm and yanks him away with enough force to
send him flying across the room. He stumbles into something and crashes to the floor.
A headless mannequin falls on top of him and strikes all air out of his abdomen.
Through the explosions of color in his eyes, Tommy kicks it away and leaps to his
feet, wielding his dagger protectively – only for it to stagger and drop an inch when a
pair of rage-fogged maroon eyes meet his abashed blue.

“T-Techno?” he croaks, all his rage suddenly shriveling.

Chapter Notes

WARNING!

This chapter contains themes that could be potentially upsetting for some readers. If
it’s possible for you to get triggered from anything, look through ALL the tags
carefully. This is the last warning. From this chapter on it CAN and WILL get worse.
For spoiler reasons I will not be putting individual tags before each chapter so make
sure to check for changes every now and then.

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Last time Tommy remembers, Ranboo's hair was as black as a raven's wing, but now there are
strands of white spewn across his forehead, presumably dyed in that color. Somehow it serves to
make Ranboo’s expression all the more lost. Somehow, Tommy doesn’t believe it.

Aimsey makes her presence known by a pointed cough. When Tommy’s attention splits from
Ranboo, she curtsies, picking up the skirt of her black dress. Brown hair spills freely from under a
coif of pearls on red embroidery, and a ruby necklace the size of a nail resides on her collarbone.
Modest but fine-tasted, Aimsey dictates the fashion of the capital with every new outfit that she
appears in. Tommy is sure that, within a few weeks, even the palace ladies are going to switch to
ebony silks and crimson jewelry – tailored and sewed in Aimsey’s workshop for a tidy sum.

“Your Imperial Highness, I haven't anticipated your visit,” Aimsey says. “But it’s a pleasant
surprise, of course.”

Aimsey draws the corner of her lips apart. She has a face made for smiling, whether with her lips or
eyes or just her gaze alone – polite and good at listening, always having some witty reply of her
own, she is a treasure for any bored noble seeking company while they shop. The amount of
rumors and secrets that she hears in a single day could be used as a weapon to break fates and ruin
entire noble lineages, if only Aimsey hadn’t steered away from the court intrigue like a ship from
shallow waters.
Duchess Clara called it a folly. Tommy is more inclined to believe that Aimsey had taken a look at
the weapon in her hands and willingly molded it into sewing needles. It’s a wise choice, perhaps,
but none that was ever available to him. If he turns around and leaves now people would know that
it’s because of Ranboo.

Had I known who I was going to run into, this visit wouldn’t happen at all . If Tommy’s expression
does ripple a little, it’s back to normal so fast that anybody who had seen the change would
question their own eyes.

“No more than I did,” he replies politely. “I assume that you're not yet familiar with Prince Dream,
brother of King Foolish and heir to the throne of Esempi."

Dream nods a greeting, and Aimsey curtsies again. “It must be a lucky day for my establishment, to
be graced by the presence of not one but three princes. I’ve been recommending our new collection
of jewelry to every customer who came in today but I’m afraid that it will be dim in comparison to
what you are used to in your home kingdom, Prince Dream.”

“I’m sure that I will find something to my liking,” Dream hums. “Feel free to take your leave. We
wouldn’t want to distract you from your other customers.”

“Very well,” Aimsey says. “My assistants will be around. Please let them know if there is anything
you need.”

She claps her hands and it’s as though the entire boutique unfreezes at once. Conversations between
a group of ladies that halted the moment that Tommy and Dream had entered starts up again, a low
rumble of voices, and while they had gathered around a dress that one of Aimsey’s assistants
presents them, Tommy’s instincts tell him that the discussion is far from the topic of clothes and
fashion.

Aimsey approaches the table that Techno and Ranboo sit at. She says something, so quietly that
Tommy only makes out the word ‘measurements’. Ranboo glances at him once and quickly looks
away when their eyes meet; he stands up and scurries after Aimsey, and they both disappear
upstairs. Tommy is ought to be relieved, but whether it be from experience or simply a gut feeling,
uneasiness rolls behind his sternum, building up in his stomach thickly. It reminds him of those
times when the Emperor wants to see him without a prior notice or Wilbur goes quiet for a long
time – an invisible danger, a wave building up behind a dam, one he won't see until it breaks. There
was a time where Tommy preferred to hide low and hope that the tide would pass by, but the days
of cowering are long behind him.

"You should go ahead and continue without me,” he tells Dream. “I need to speak with my brother
first.”

Dream frowns with a whiff of uncertainty, as if he isn’t so sure about leaving him alone with
Techno, but in the end, he nods. "Alright." He puts a hand on the front of Tommy’s shoulder as he
goes by. “And Thes… I’m right around if you need me.”

A feeling of warmth rushes through Tommy; gone as fast as it appeared when he falls under the
mercy of Techno’s chilled purple eyes. Tommy takes a long exhale; thoughts crawl into his mind
against his will, all in Beau’s voice… It’s just his brother who he’s going to talk to, so why does he
feel so on edge?

Techno's expression is unreadable as Tommy takes the seat next to him. He lifts a cup from a silver
tray, sips out of it, and opts to stay silent, eyes trained on the rich red liquid as if it holds all the
secrets of the universe. Neither of them says anything until one of Aimsey's assistants pipes in,
“Would you like something to freshen up with, Your Highness?”

“I’ll have the same of what my brother is having,” Tommy says.

That makes Techno pay attention. “You’re not drinking wine,” he pins Tommy a hard look.

Tommy isn’t sure what a more appropriate question is: why is Techno drinking, or why in a tea
cup.

“If you’re having some I don’t see why can’t I,” he says instead. It’s not like it would be the first
time he tried alcohol. As a child, he was allowed a small glass of cider on a celebratory occasion,
or some wine diluted in water to ease the pain like that one time that he fell off a tree and broke his
arm.

Tommy reaches out to snatch Techno’s cup from under his nose and barely brushes his finger
against the handle when his wrist is caught in a tight grip. Tommy looks up to Techno staring into
his eyes.

“I said no,” Techno repeats.

He tries to free his hand, but he’d have better success breaking out of a metal shackle.

“Feeling overbearing today, I see,” Tommy states dryly. Techno’s grip tightens, and only when he
hisses in pain that he feels it loosen and disappear. Tommy glares daggers at his brother while
rubbing his wrist soothingly. “Fine. Fetch me some black tea instead," he says if only to get rid of
the watching eyes.

“What are you doing here, Theseus?” Techno grunts as soon as the woman is out of earshot
distance.

"I could ask you the same thing," Tommy says. "Are you here to try on the dresses? Because don't
take it as an offense, but I doubt that you would fit into any of them."

“Ranboo wanted to get his hair dyed, so I tagged along for company.” Techno’s deadpan look
prickles Tommy from the corner of his eye. “Nice hairpins, by the way.”

Tommy involuntarily touches tiny glass flowers at the end of the hairpins, needling the longest
strands to keep them from falling to his face and neck. “I got them from my aide, Marchioness
Beau,” he says, his tone akin to the dagger resting next to his heart – sharp but not dangerous, not
while it's sheathed. “You know, the lady that you had offended a few days back.”

Techno draws out another sip of wine; Tommy knows that, behind the nonchalance, he is being
observed with attentiveness of a smith inspecting a weapon.

“To my memory, it was the lady who offended Ranboo first,” Techno shrugs. “Picking on him
without a reason, using his lack of knowledge and experience to insult him… it was lowly. I had
more than a fair reason to reprimand her.”

“Fair?” The word feels weird on his tongue, foreign – an empty sound in a society where unspoken
rules are that you praise the powerful and slander the weak. Tommy grimaces. Techno really has
little experience maneuvering in court intricacies, and it shows. “It isn’t about fairness, Techno.
Marchioness Beau is of higher birth and standings, a good-reputed socialite, and one of my own
servants on top of that. You shouldn’t insult her because of a misplaced feeling of justice.”
“Is it my feeling of justice that’s misplaced, or your anger?” Techno asks.

Heat rushes to Tommy’s face; a reply crawls up his throat, all poison and acid, but the weight of
the glances thrown out at him from different parts of the boutique make him swallow it back down.
He summons a small smile to his face, a movement that comes to him as natural as breathing, and
the only real thing that remains in his expression are his eyes. Tommy isn’t meaning to call Dream
over, but the moment the white mask catches his diamond-glazed gaze, he starts making his way
towards the Antarctic princes.

“Prince Technoblade, I am in dire need of your assistance,” he declares, slapping two objects on
the table. “Which hat is better, the blue one or the pink one?

Techno’s unimpressed look could rival the way that the Emperor stares at Tommy when he
manages to mess up particularly badly. He presses the cup to his lips, realizes that he’s out of wine,
and releases a deep sigh. “I’m the head military commander of the most powerful nation on the
entire continent,” he says. “Do I look like I know a thing about hats?”

“Pink it is, then,” Dream hums. “I must say, you have a very good taste… You should keep this
one to yourself, and help me pick another twenty.”

Techno accepts the hat automatically, but when Dream’s words sink in, pure despair flashes on his
face. “Wait- why in the world would you need twenty hats?”

Tommy tries to hold back a snicker. Something tells him that behind his mask, Dream is doing the
same.

“I’ll leave you to that, then,” Tommy says, standing up – which is just another way of saying, have
fun! – and slips away before Techno could stop him.

***

The second floor of the building is used as a tailoring workshop, and is much less crowded than the
main boutique. In the corridors, Tommy runs into another person just once – the seamstress
curtsies, eyes on her shoes, as he walks past. One of the perks of being the crown prince; nobody
can question or tell him off if he is somewhere he isn’t supposed to be.

Tommy hadn’t visited the boutique in a long while, but he remembers where the exit is for a wide
balcony that rings half of the building. Turned away from the street and hanging over the roof of a
nearby inn, it shields him from stray glances as he quietly pushes the door closed and stalks along
the vein-covered wall. Tommy tells himself that he had come for some fresh fair, but even if that
was true in the beginning, his intentions change when he suddenly hears someone saying his name.

He could’ve easily ignored it. The crown prince, after all, is bound to be in people’s mouths. But
when he hears in again, frozen and listening in carefully, the familiarity of the voice sends specks
of irritation through his body. His steps turn slow and cautious, his breathing – quieter than the
whisper of wind in leaves. Lowering himself into a crouch, he leans as close to the balcony doors,
veins tangling in his hair and brushing his neck.

“– do you mean?” Ranboo’s voice grinds Tommy’s eardrums like a flint against metal. He closes
his eyes and opens them again to keep himself from huffing.

“Thirty nine. Forty two and a half…“ Sounds like Aimsey. A low murmur is followed by a swish
of something unfurled – if Tommy had to guess, a measuring tape – and a snip of steel scissors.
“You don’t have to answer, if you don’t want to.”
“No, I just- I didn’t know that rumors from the palace could reach that far.” Ranboo quietens.

“Raise your arm please.” Aimsey writes something down; the desk must be standing close to the
balcony, because Tommy can clearly hear the scrape of a quill on paper. He presses himself further
into the wall, flattening his back against the scratchy side of the bricks and hoping that the
pounding of his heart isn’t as loud to Aimsey’s ears as it is to his own.

“Gossip is a disease that spreads in noble and commoner circles alike, but people have been
especially curious about you,” Aimsey says. “It’s rare that a commoner is invited to the palace as a
guest, yet gets a privilege of being acquitted with the Imperial family. Not even the members of
the wealthiest merchant families in the country make it further than the reception rooms.” Just as
it’s supposed to be , Tommy thinks. The palace is not a passage yard to let anybody into it.

“In a way, you’ve become our representative among royalty. When the rumors have spread that
Prince Theseus sets nobles to harass you and treats you poorly, people were understandably
perturbed,” Aimsey continues. “Because of his past and marriage, Prince Wilbur is often seen as
the point of connection between the imperial family and common folk, so it only further spurred
people’s disdain when Prince Theseus made an appearance today instead of his brother...”

Aimsey speaks on, and Ranboo replies something, but it gets drowned for Tommy in the sound of
ringing in his ears. His fingers clench the vines, harder and harder, squeezing the life out of green
stems until he can feel them snap and shrivel. Suddenly it makes sense why people were giving
him all those hard looks. Tommy wonders whether it would have been better if he never learned
the truth at all. Why , after everything that he has done, after every sacrifice he had made, they
preferred the traitor to their rightful crown prince...?

“Ah.” Ranboo’s voice hitches through the fog in his ears, “well it’s not a lie , but I’m not really a
commoner, right?”

“In the eyes of the most you might as well be. You certainly don’t resemble one, with their snobby
attitude and sense of self-importance twice the size of their wallets.” They both laugh lightly, and
then Aimsey turns serious again. “Sorry for bringing it up. One can never know which rumors are
true and which are not. I wanted to make sure that no harmful misinformation is spread within the
walls of my establishment.”

“That’s good- yeah, I’d like it not to,” Ranboo takes in a deep breath. “Prince Theseus is honestly
terrifying, and I’d rather try and stay out of anything that can anger him any further.”

Fury boils under Tommy’s skin, melting muscle and bones into one mass of unbridled fury. He
snarls soundlessly, too fucking late .

“I’m sorry to hear that you had to be in this situation,” Aimsey says, clueless of the storm gathering
at the horizon. “The doors of the boutique are always open if you need somebody to talk to.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate it,” Ranboo shuffles in place. “Are we, um, done?”

“Almost. Here, take a look at the fabric. I’d suggest this shade instead, but if you want to go with
your previous choice, we can work with that.”

“No, it’s fine. I like it.”

“Alright, then. Your order should be done in a week or two. We’ll have it delivered directly to the
palace. You can rest here for a while if you’d like so, and come back down whenever you feel
ready.”
The hinges of a door creak softly, and Aimsey is gone. Tommy sets his crown down quietly,
counts half a minute under his breath before he emerges, slick as a shadow, through the balcony
door. He slams it closed behind himself, and Ranboo, who had sat to Tommy with his back turned,
leaps up from a cushioned chair.

“WHAA-”

Tommy’s arm colliding with his neck cuts Ranboo’s scream short instantly. He makes a gurgling
sound deep in his throat, and quietens when Tommy pins him into a wall, rolls of fabrics scattering
and turning the floor into a crisscross of colorful patterns.

"Who do you think you are?" Tommy growls.

Ranboo tries to say something, but only gapes wordlessly until Tommy slackens his hold and
allows him to take a full gulp of air. "Well, I-I am me,” he strangles out. “I mean, I thought I’m
with the memory issues here-"

Anger takes over Tommy; pure rage slipping itself into his hands and taking full control of his
movement. The dagger in his fingers before he can register ever reaching for it, the tip whisking
dangerously close to slicing Ranboo's cheek open.

"I could kill you," The words murmured on Tommy’s lips are almost as threatening as the weapon
hovering over Ranboo’s face, and pure, animalistic fear visibly shudders through his entire lanky
form. "Put a knife straight through your fucking eye, right now."

Even the worst of Tommy’s rages couldn’t fully drown out the calculating part of his mind; while
the rest of his body fumes with wrath, it splashes in a cold ocean, telling him that he can’t kill
Ranboo without tightening a noose around his own neck. It doesn’t stop him from imagining how
satisfying it would be to slice the blue vein flailing underneath his arm.

"Not that I claim to be an expert, but wouldn't a scene that gory mess with the whole perfect
reputation thing you got going on?" Ranboo pitches out meekly, and Tommy’s vision flashes red.

“ Shut the fuck up!” he roars. If Ranboo wants to play with fire, Tommy is going to give him
fucking fireworks. He tosses Ranboo to the floor, among the scattered fabric. When the boy tries to
roll away, Tommy kicks him back down to his side. “You are nothing .” Ranboo screams out as
Tommy presses a boot over his ribcage, a little short of cracking the bones in. “You are just a
cockroach under my feet, disgusting and useless. Have as many favors from the Emperor as you
want, plot with Wilbur against me, but nobody will ever see you as anything more than an ugly
freak ."

A hand wraps around Tommy’s upper arm and yanks him away with enough force to send him
flying across the room. He stumbles into something and crashes to the floor. A headless
mannequin falls on top of him and strikes all air out of his abdomen. Through the explosions of
color in his eyes, Tommy kicks it away and leaps to his feet, wielding his dagger protectively –
only for it to stagger and drop an inch when a pair of rage-fogged maroon eyes meet his abashed
blue.

“T-Techno?” he croaks, all his rage suddenly shriveling.

Ranboo whimpers from where he is curled up on the floor. His entire body trembles akin to a string
that has been stretched to its limit and let go, chest rising and falling fast and every second breath
coming out gasping. I caused this, Tommy thinks, and his sweat turns cold. A feeling crashes
through him and twists his ribcage in a hard wrench, but before he could even begin to comprehend
it, Techno turns away from him and kneels in front of Ranboo.

“ Techno ,” Tommy calls, slotting the dagger back into its sheath. When his brother doesn’t do as
much as twitch, his anger unfurls akin to a phoenix burning anew from its ashes. “Look at me,” he
demands, sailing a determined step forward.

“Ranboo, can you hear me?” Techno mutters, carefully placing a hand on his back. Ranboo cries
out and scoots away from them blindly until he finds a corner to shove himself into, knees pulled
up, face hidden in his thighs and hands placed over the back of his head.

“Techno!” Tommy raises his voice. Techno’s head snaps to look at him and Tommy almost wishes
that he didn’t; he had never seen so much unbridled wrath in a person’s eyes before.

"What is wrong with you?" Techno growls.

"Wha- what is wrong with me ?” Tommy sputters, throwing his arms up. “Look at yourself ! Why
are you wasting your time on him?”

Techno’s eyes narrow, searching for something in Tommy’s lightning-sparking eyes and clenched
jaw, and when he doesn’t find it, shock flickers through his expression. “Theseus, this was an
assault .”

“So what?” Tommy snarls, sharply aware of how the handle of his dagger burns lines into a
scarred palm. “Call it what you want, Ranboo deserved it.”

“Deserved how? ”

He appeared in my life , Tommy thinks, and it was enough to ruin it.

“Do you mean to tell me, in all seriousness, that you're choosing to support him over me?" Tommy
bristles.

“ Shut up , Theseus.” Against every instinct that tells him that Techno is supposed to mean safety ,
when his brother speaks to him with that tone, a simpler, animalistic part of him wrenches in fear
and forces his lips to glue together. "Maybe instead of blaming other people, try for once to
consider that you might be the problem?"

Tommy staggers back, eyes blown wide. “Wha-what?” But that slap wasn’t enough for Techno,
because he presses on, sounding as if it was his world that was crushing down and not Tommy’s.

“I tried to be patient with you, but you’ve crossed every line. Now I see that the Emperor and
Wilbur were right. You're just a spoiled vicious princeling who abuses power in favor of his own
temper."

Techno’s words rain like knives on Tommy, and oh , real knives would’ve hurt a lot less than this.
His brother’s face splits into a display of despair and regret, but Tommy is already retreating
backwards, his vision swimming. He trips on the overturned mannequin and catches himself at the
last moment, nails scraping and breaking on a wooden shelf.

“Theseus…” Techno trails off, unsure, but Tommy doesn’t want to hear what Techno has to say.
Doesn’t need to hear to know that this is a point of no return for them. It was bound to happen one
day: trees centuries old wither from inside out until they can stand no more, mountains are meant
to crumble under the whipping winds and relentless rains, and brothers, sooner or later, will turn
against you. Tommy had dreaded this moment, but he hadn’t imagined it to hurt this much.
When Tommy regains the ability to speak, there is twice as much grief in his voice as there is
anger. “ Fuck you , Techno,” he spits. “You, of all people, were supposed to understand .”

Tommy storms out to the balcony faster than Techno could see the traitorous sparkle of tears
behind his eyelashes. He hates how brittle he feels – how little would it take to sway his anger into
regret. He waits for a voice calling out his name, a sound of footsteps, arms catching him from
behind – any sign of his brother still caring would be enough to snap the threads of wrath and
reveal the bleeding, rotting wound of hurt that he desperately wants to grasp it with. But Techno
never comes; when Tommy glances over his shoulder, he can see him lifting passed out Ranboo
into his arms and carrying him away.

Foolish boy , the universe seems to laugh at Tommy. I thought I had taught you better than to hope
. The wrath pulls tighter, harder, bringing the edges of the wound together in shapes of crimson
butterflies, and Tommy swears that he’ll never allow anybody to reopen it again.

The anger is not as easy to squelch. It’s as though somebody had put a candle into a field of dry
grass; catching fire, it blazes wild and hungry, and the wind only serves to fan it more. Tommy’s
temper was a source of problem for him in the past, but he was taught better than that. Good
princes aren’t impulsive or irritable. They can control their own emotions. Tommy repeats it like a
mantra, settling against a wall and squeezing his eyes shut, I’m in control in control in control-

Tommy pulls back and slams his forehead into the wall. And before the shock settles in, he does it
again, and again, and again -

It’s after the fifth time that stars spring in front of his eyes, and Tommy pulls back with a groan,
one hand tugging at the roots of his hair, dropping his head so low that it nearly touches his lap.
The anger and the hurt are here, still, but while the pain is thundering in the forefront of his mind,
the cacophony of his thoughts dips into blissful silence. Tommy runs a tongue over his chapped
lips and lets out a wet laugh when the next portion of air fills his lungs without a shudder. At last,
he can breathe.

The absence of fear or second thoughts doesn’t surprise him at all. He isn’t twelve anymore,
sobbing in horror and choking back tears when he had touched his forehead and his fingers came
back sticky and wet with blood. He is smarter now, old enough to know how much force he can put
in the strike so that it doesn’t bruise too badly. Tommy is in control .

Are you really? His inner voice asks him dryly, in a way that is too akin to Techno’s monotone.
Tommy sinks his teeth into his lip and grits out, “ Shut up ,” but it only retreats with a sigh. He
would’ve banged his head again, just to silence it, if it wasn’t for his hearing straining at a sound of
someone’s steps. Tommy springs upright just in time to face Dream standing on two feet.

“It’s you,” he says, relieved. And then again, arms wrapped around himself in a rib-cracking hold,
“…it’s you.”

“Why did you disappear so suddenly? I almost started to think that you had left without me,”
Dream says, brows knitted in concern, and Tommy’s nails dig painfully in-between his ribs. It had
been a close call. If Dream had walked in on him a minute earlier... Tommy didn’t know how he
would explain, no, I wasn’t trying to crack my skull open, it’s just the way I contain myself.

"Dream, I'm really not in the mood,” he said, deciding that honesty is better than accidentally
snapping at his only friend. “I might not be- not very pleasant to interact with right now."
Tommy’s words have the opposite effect of what he wants. Instead of leaving him alone, Dream
inspects him with a gaze, the ever-bright look in his eyes dimming a shade or two. “Talk to me
about it. What happened?”

The offer leaves his mouth so easily as if he actually expects Tommy to answer, and that’s worse
than if Dream had punched him in the gut. I’m weak , words pinch Tommy’s tongue, and afraid of
what you would think of me if you knew that.

“No need to concern yourself,” Tommy turns away as if Dream would somehow read the thoughts
swirling behind his eyes. “I’m feeling better now.”

“So you admit to not feeling well in the first place.”

Tommy clenches his hands in the air. “Can you just-” Tommy spins around, pulling his lips back in
a snarl, but freezes when he sees Dream kneeling to pick up something from the floor. Tommy had
completely forgotten about his crown, discarded prior to his confrontation with Ranboo. Dream
examines it curiously, and sunlight bounces between the edges of a silver disk. Something changes
about his expression under the mask; a miniscule shift that Tommy doesn’t see as much as he feels
it in his shrinking abdomen.

“You shouldn’t just leave your crown lying around,” Dream tells him, the crown’s jewels
projecting a misty glow of green on his mask, “lest somebody else might claim it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tommy says, frowning. “You can hand it over now.” He takes a step
forward, and Dream takes one back. “...Dream?”

“Try asking nicely,” Dream hums.

Cold dread consumes Tommy’s insides. “This isn’t amusing,” he spits, reaching forward. The
crown slides mere inches away from his fingers as Dream slides one foot away and shifts his
weight. “Dream!”

“What’s the matter, Thes? Not so composed now?”

"Oh you fucki-" he cuts off before he finishes, and Dream – Tommy can practically hear it – grins
underneath his mask.

"Say it."

The mockery in his voice is the last straw for Tommy. He lunges, and the man leaps back, over the
railings. In less time that it takes Tommy to open his mouth and shout, Dream spins in the air once
and lands on the roof of a building underneath: whole, unharmed and smug as a cat in a birdhouse.

“You want your crown back, you have to take it.” And then Dream runs .

Tommy throws one leg over the railings before it dawns on him what he’s about to do. He glances
frantically behind his shoulder, as if somebody would appear there to tell him that this is a stupid,
impulsive idea... But Techno is with Ranboo, and Wisp with the rest of his security are waiting at
the front of the boutique to escort him back to the palace.

Before Tommy knows it, he’s jumping off the balcony. Dream’s fucking crazy , he thinks, clay
tiles scraping his arms as he lands on two feet and ducks into a roll. And maybe I am too.

One of the main things that Techno had aimed to improve with Tommy’s training is his speed. I am
already fast, he whined. To prove him wrong, Techno told Tommy to catch a crow in a courtyard.
It took days of sneaking and pouncing and failing, both knees and elbows scraped bloody, for him
to even brush a finger against the bird’s tail. Dream might not have wings to soar into the air with,
but he hops from roof to roof like it was all he did his entire life.

Screw him, Tommy isn’t so simple either. Techno’s guidance is in the way he runs and breathes,
Tubbo’s – in hands groping for purchase and pulling him up slim walls of a belltower, but the
stubbornness in spite of the wildfire in his ribcage and panting breaths – that is utterly and
completely Tommy. Dream makes a noise of surprise when he glances over his shoulder and finds
Tommy a dozen feet below him. Distracted, the older prince nearly rams into a giant copper bell.

Tommy grins and uses that hitch to cut the distance between them. First one and then the other,
they leap off the tower and into the terrace of a flower shop. Tommy lands with one foot on the top
of a railing, hurdles over the edge and ducks under a hanging flower pot, only to nearly trip over a
stool that Dream kicks his way. A woman screeches at them – the owner of the shop, she must be –
wielding a watering can. Dream swings out of the way, but Tommy bowls straight into her. The can
is sent flying and spraying the street below. Yelling out an apology, Tommy runs full out.

The lack of stamina soon starts catching up to Tommy as gaps between the buildings grow wider.
Dream moves left and then right. Tommy darts right, not quick enough to cut his path short. The
older prince pounces like a cat to an angled roof, Tommy tries to follow – his jacket gets caught on
something and yanks him back. The roof ledge flashes inches away from his outstretched hand,
and then Tommy is falling, a scream dying in his throat.

His arm nearly pops out of its socket – and his heart from his chest, for all that matter – when
Dream catches him at the last moment . A vein bulging on his forehead, he tries to pull Tommy up
but instead swings him at a wild curve in the air, and then they’re both barreling with momentum
into the side of the roof and rolling off of it like a wheel of cheese. When Tommy feels freefall a
second time in a span of three seconds he is very certain that they are both gonna break their necks.
Something does break with a deafening crack , but instead of a very personal and very deadly
acquaintance with a cobbled road Tommy and Dream land into something soft and prickly.

Tommy’s hand emerges out of the hay first, clenching the jeweled crown, and the rest of his body
follows with a gasp and a strangled, “ Fuck .” Dream eyes him from feet to head. Seemingly
satisfied at the lack of obvious injuries on both of them, he sags forward, legs pulled up under him.

“I owe Sapnap a hundred golds,” he informs Tommy casually, as if they hadn’t just dropped from
the top of a two-story building.

“ What ?” Tommy strangles out, too confused to ask anything else.

“We placed a bet on whether you ever swear,” Dream says. “Sapnap was sure that you do. I
assumed that you don’t.”

A punch flies into Dream’s face. It seems as though running and jumping like a mad squirrel isn’t
his only hidden talent: he blocks Tommy’s fist and easily dodges the consecutive attacks. If they
were on solid footing, Tommy might have landed a punch or two, but rolling in a stack of hay and
disoriented from the fall, he is as threatening as a newborn calf.

“Careful, my mask is somewhere here,” Dream says when a shard cracks underneath his shoe, “or,
well, what is left of it.”

“What the fuck!” Tommy screeches. “You almost killed me!”

"Did I really?” Dream says. “I think you look more alive than I’ve ever seen you before."
This time Dream makes no movement to dodge his fist; it drops on itself, too short of its mark.
Tommy’s heart is still pounding like crazy, his face and hair slick with sweat, but energy thrums in
his veins, wild and intoxicating, boiling out all the worries that lay heavy in his heart until it feels
like it’s stuffed with clouds. When he thinks back of their race, of the rooftops and the flower shop
and the belltower, a traitorous laugh bubbles on Tommy’s lips. Lies tend to be acidic and bitter, but
when he murmurs, “ I feel alive, too,” for once it tastes sweet.

Dream clearly tries to hold back a smile. Tommy's cheeks blaze anew, but he can’t let his near-
murderer feel too happy about himself. “Fuck you,” he says, ”bitch. Prick. Dickhead-”

Tommy dusts off his old vocabulary of vulgar language; Dream’s brows climb higher and higher
on his forehead. “Feeling better?” he asks when Tommy runs out of swears to spit his way.

“Let’s just get going,” Tommy grumbles, first shifting into a crouch and then to his feet, shaking
dry straw out of his hair and clothes.

They had landed in some sort of enclosed area – if Tommy had to guess, the courtyard of a tavern
or an inn. Shaggy wooden building of stables rises nearby, horses neighing and snorting. Tommy
and Dream climb the wall – or more like Dream dashes to the top and helps Tommy up, because
one of his hands is occupied with the crown – and then they’re on the other side.

A quiet rumble that Tommy hadn’t paid attention to before now turns out to be coming from the
river. The sun hovers over the very horizon now, painting the stream in dandelion yellow and lily
purples, shining like millions of tiny gems. A short wooden fence surrounds the river on two sides
and flames dance inside the glass lanterns hanging from arching posts every few dozen feet. Shops
line the shore, bakeries and shoemaker’s and jeweler’s, breathing warmth and blinking
welcomingly with open doors and windows.

Instinctively, Tommy retreats closer to the shadows. People are walking both directions, talking
and laughing and hurrying along; somebody is bound to recognize the two crown princes, or so he
thinks until he sneaks a glimpse at their reflection in a window. Dream’s without his mask, and
Tommy, with delicate fabric of his clothes battered and dirtied in the race, jade jacket abandoned
altogether on a roof of some building, barely recognizes himself at all. For as long as he keeps his
head down and his crown out of curious sight, Tommy isn’t a prince.

Before he knows it, he’s bending over the fence, dipping his hand in the stream’s way. Curiosity
gets the better of Dream. He follows Tommy’s example and immediately regrets it when icy water
spits all over his fingers.

“I don’t know what I expected,” he complains, shoving his hand underneath his armpit. “It’s
simply cold, like everything in this damn empire.”

“Cold,” Tommy agrees. In a puddle of water that had gathered underneath the fence, he can see a
grin full of awe on a face he barely recognizes as his own. “Which means that it’s real.”

Tommy’s smile suddenly falters, at once remembering that all his problems are real too. Last time
he ran off like this, Wilbur and half of the city guards had turned the city upside-down searching
for him. It would be wise if he returned before Techno notices him missing and blares an alarm…

The palace looms over the rooftops, piercing the belly of the sky with the comb of sharp towers; to
Tommy it seems more of a prison than a home. He pulls his hand back, leaning on the fence with
his elbows. I’m not ready to lock myself up just yet , he realizes, hugging his crown to his chest

Dream climbs the upper bar of the fence, back turned to the river, propping one heel on the lower
one for balance. With silence as the third companion, two princes watch the sky shed bright
oranges and put on a coat of twilight. Tommy can’t truly appreciate the sunset knowing that both
the sun and the moon are against him, counting down the little time he had left of self-proclaimed
freedom. A minute could pass or an hour; in the end it could never be enough.

“I pity you, northerners,” Dream suddenly says, shivering. “You don’t know what a proper
summer is like.”

"Scalding hot? Swarming with mosquitoes?" Tommy pins Dream with a side-eyed look. "Thank
you, but I'd much rather dress warmer than sweat waterfalls all the time."

"It's not just the heat," Dream argues. "Golden beaches strewn with seashells that blink in all colors
of the rainbow, the bubbling of waves as they crash into sand shores, the smell of fish smoked on
coals, the flap of storm-worn sails and creak of wooden decks, wind whipping your face on a cliff
at the edge of the world… You haven’t really lived until you experience that.”

“You like to brag about your kingdom, I get,” Tommy rolls his eyes, just to mess with Dream a
little, and the prince laughs.

“In the east, the isles are so close to one another that it takes forever to find where aquamarine
atolls turn into the true blue of the deep ocean,” he says. “We like to have our vacations there, just
me and my siblings. Foolish and I take turns navigating and steering the ship, and Drista… well,
Drista is herself.”

Dream snickers to some inner thoughts of his own. An odd feeling swells in Tommy’s chest, one
that isn’t just from the knowledge that he won’t ever experience anything like this himself. Maybe
it’s envy in him speaking or old memories lurking in shady corners, maybe it’s how Dream mouths
the names of his siblings with undertone warmth that murmurs of love and family, but it hurts to
think about it too much.

“You can navigate a ship?” he asks, leaning closer.

“It’s not that hard if you know your skies well. Here, look.” Dream waves a hand across the night;
a scatter of stars, brighter by every minute, blink and shine like gems sewn to a lady’s gown. “If
you find the constellation of Ursa Major-”

“Ursa… What?”

Dream looks at Tommy like he had grown not one, but three extra heads. "The Great bear?" he
tries, which doesn’t ring any bells either. A long ago, Techno had tried to teach Tommy about
constellations – particularly because of the myths associated with them – but he got quickly bored
of the whole ordeal. “ Stars are stars,” Tommy had declared. “And you, Techno, need a new
hobby.”

Dream must realize that Tommy is utterly helpless; hands appear to the sides of his head, and
before he could protest, turn him to look a little higher off the horizon. "A group of stars that
together look like a giant ladle thing. That's Ursa Major."

After an embarrassing minute of squinting his eyes and feeling like a total idiot, Tommy finally
sees it. "Whoever named it the Great Bear was most definitely blind ."

"They wouldn't name it the Great Ladle, would they? Can’t exactly make up many stories about a
cooking utensil. If you look a little bit higher and to the right, there’s the second constellation that
looks almost the same, Ursa Minor–”
"A stupid name-"

"Ursa Minor," Dream insists. "If you connect the head of the Great Bear and the Little Bear, like
this,” he slowly moves his hand, drawing an arrow between two constellations, “you'll find that the
tail of the Little Bear is Polaris, the North star. It's the most stationary star in the entire night sky,
and one of the brightest. Throughout the year, stars and constellations rotate around the sky, but the
North star barely moves at all. If you know how to find it, you’re never going to get lost.”

“Except if it’s during the day,” Tommy points out. “Or if it’s too cloudy, or raining.” The Bears
wink, one star after another, and suddenly they no longer seem just lifeless specks of light. The
mystery behind name-giving, Tommy supposes. Even a rock or a flower seems soulless no longer
if it possesses a name. I’m Tommy, nice to meet you , he thinks to himself. The exhaustion of the
race earlier must be catching up to him; when his eyelids droop a little, he sees the North star flare
a radiant, lazuli blue.

"Was it King Foolish who taught you all that?" he asks, turning to his friend, and Dream does what
Tommy least expects him to do: he freezes. Countless times he had seen Wilbur burst in flames,
and Tommy himself had been burned pulling him out of the ashes; it was like the mountains had
collapsed when he first had seen Techno cry. Yet it shocks him like nothing else before when
Prince Dream, the heir of the Royal throne, his mentor and his friend, the most remarkable person
that Tommy had the honor of meeting – glooms.

"King Foolish… Eleven years, and I still can't quite get used to calling him that," he says. "My
brother was barely an adult when he was crowned. I wanted to grow up faster and help him bear
the weight of the crown. Foolish wouldn't let me. He made sure that I had a normal childhood, as
much one was possible for somebody like me."

The mask had been there for a reason, Tommy understands. It's Dream’s world, his sorrow, and
Tommy is a stranger who happened to stumble upon him in a moment of weakness. He tries to look
away and pretend that he had never seen anything – the crown princes are not weak, never in front
of other people – but it’s Dream who stops him, and just as if it was another star in the night sky,
lets Tommy peek into his soul.

"My brother has given me more than I can ever thank him for," he says, "but the skies… That I
owe to my mother."

Tommy breathes in a lungful of salt and summer. The stars overhead dim and flare again, pulsating
in tact with the slow rhythm of their hearts, and the grief of one turns to two. Tommy squeezes
Dream’s hand, weakly, feebly, and he grips it back with the despair of a drowning man flailing for
the surface, as if that shy touch is the only thing still keeping them both from falling apart. And
then something just clicks inside Tommy; he drops his crown and wraps his arms around Dream.

One second stretches into infinity of Tommy dreading what Dream is going to do. There is a
moment where he is simply made of stone – and then he asks, cautiously, as if he’s afraid to
frighten away the miracle that happened before his eyes, “Thes, are you hugging me?”

It’s the most awkward hug that Tommy had ever had in his life – Dream is already taller than him,
and with the additional height of the fence his arms barely reach the man’s torso – yet a hug all the
same. "That's what I am for,” he says quietly, half-hoping that the murmur of the river will carry
his words away. Dream, however, hears.

"Hugging people?" he clarifies.

“You looked like you needed it."

Dream laughs; Tommy hadn't known, until now, that laughter could sound this heartbroken. "You
think that after everything- I'm the one who needs...?"

Tommy waits for him to continue, peeking from where he had reluctantly hid his face in the older’s
arm; light shifts in Dream’s eyes, and next moment he feels a hand at the back of his neck. “Yeah.
Yeah I guess I do.”

Tommy freezes, his mind stuck on a bridge between pulling away or leaning closer. Everything
about this feels foreign and familiar, freezing and burning, both too little and too much. For a
second Tommy believes himself lying underneath blankets with a high fever, but then a gust of
wind caresses his forehead, and he knows for sure that he isn’t dreaming.

"You might have driven me to tears for real," Dream presses his hand to his face. "I detest it."

Hearing him say that, with just a tiny strain to his voice, ebbs Tommy's embarrassment. "Now
we're even in the power of destroying one another's reputation," he says, pulling away. "I do not
comfort people, you do not weep. Do we have a deal?"

"Fair enough," Dream says. "You know… I think Esempi could use a little winter. Circumstances
don't allow me to bring the entirety of the Empire to the south, so a certain northern prince would
do."

Dream reaches to pick a piece of straw out of his hair, and Tommy breathes out deeply to keep
himself from chasing the touch. "I'd love to, I really would," he says. "But I don't think I can."

“Why not?” Dream asks. “Two weeks of journey there, two weeks back, and a month or two in the
Kingdom. Emperor Philza would not say a word of protest if the invitation came from the King of
Esempi himself, especially if it’s made to sound like a diplomatic mission."

"Wherefore your brother would do something for a prince that he doesn't even know?"

"He trusts me,” Dream says with such confidence that Tommy doesn't doubt him further. He closes
his eyes, thinking it all over. A few months in the Esempi is a couple months of him absent from
the Empire, his throne and duties and the court. It might be a long-term loss, especially now, when
he’s trying to assert and strengthen his position as the crown prince. Every logical reason tells him
that he must stay, but…

In the Esempi, there is no Wilbur. There are no brothers that he needs to be wary of and fathers that
would rather not look at him at all, nobody to poison his life whether it be on purpose or not.
Tommy doesn’t want a miracle, just a short reprieve. A couple of months, a week, a day… is it
really too much to ask for?

He cracks an eye open to look at the crown that he had dropped earlier, and that’s when he sees
them: a figure on the other shore of the river. Moonlight silvers a black cloak, touches the tip of
the person’s nose and trails to the object they’re raising in one hand.

Tommy shoves Dream away.

The crossbow shoots.

Pain erupts in the side of Tommy's head, a mangled cry erupting from his lips. He is on the ground
all of a sudden, his ear burning like somebody had dipped it in liquid fire. A tornado of images
swirls before Tommy’s eyes – the cloaked figure, people shouting and running. He’d think that an
earthquake had started because of how badly everything shakes, but then he’s put to rest against
something solid and his vision focuses on Dream's face hovering over him.
"You saved my life,” he says.

"Or endangered you by proximity, depending on which one of us they were aiming for,” Tommy
hisses through gritted teeth, reaching for his ear. "Fuck, hurts like a bitch,” he mumbles. “How bad
is it?”

“Like ear piercing done with an arrow,” Dream says. “Here, save it for a trophy.”

Dream puts something in Tommy’s hand, and he clenches it automatically. A glance down reveals
a crossbow arrow, short and thin, with a blood-stained tip. Few inches to the side and it would’ve
pierced him straight in the forehead, crushing bone and sinking into flesh…

A full-body shudder has Tommy lurching and gagging violently. He would’ve thrown up, if there
was anything in his stomach to begin with. Swallowing a mix of water and bile back down and
wiping his lips, he ignores the burning in his throat and, without much thinking, shoves the arrow
into his pocket. Where did Dream go…?

Someone yelps and curses, steel screeches; Tommy tilts his chin up, one hand grasped around the
handle of his dagger. The riverside, empty just mere seconds ago, is flooded with armored men:
blue of his own guards dazzles among the rusty gold of city watch. In the middle of it all, Techno
points a sword at Dream. Despite the tip pressing dangerously close to the pulsing vein on his
neck, his face is akin to a stone sculpture. Sapnap reaches for his sword, snarling; Dream gestures
him down before a fight could emerge.

"We don't want to start a war here, Sapnap. This is all but a terrible misunderstanding," he says, his
eyes flickering to Tommy. "Thes, could you please ask your brother to put his weapon away?"

“You’re a bit late to the party, Techno.” Tommy staggers to his feet and hides the dagger again.
“They were shooting from the other shore. Black hood, crossbow, around my height, I think, a bit
taller, perhaps. Most certainly not Dream.”

“Forgive me for not knowing where the crown prince had run off to on his own accord,” Techno
says dryly, but sheaths his sword with a clack. Others follow his example with a second hitch.
Wisp tries to approach, plucking out a roll of bandages; Techno’s glance stops him dead in his
tracks. If Tommy feels guilty for his escape then it’s only for getting his guards in trouble with the
General, but he doesn’t have much time to gather sympathy when the scalded-red eyes snap to him
next.

“We’re going back to the palace.” That’s a command, not an offer. Tommy sags and allows
Techno to guide him away, to a home or to a prison or to the gallows, he isn't sure. Images and
sounds barely brush him, flowing around like a river might around a stone. Techno wouldn't look at
him no matter how many times he glimpses up, and the hand on his shoulder grows cold.

Awareness jolts back into Tommy with one foot inside the carriage and Dream's voice calling out
his name. He turns, and sees the prince strolling up to them, sliding a new mask to his face. Sapnap
follows in his footsteps, one hand at a sword and looking ready to slash their way through the
crowd of guards.

“I’m here for my brother only.” Techno says, tearing into Dream with a look.

“What a coincidence, we're here for your brother too," Sapnap quips, and Dream lifts a jeweled
disk. In the midst of everything, Tommy had completely forgotten about his crown. He accepts it,
and Dream sneaks a moment to squeeze his hand reassuringly.
"It's yours," he says. "Don't let anybody treat you less than it calls for."

A faint white scar stretches like a lightning along the crease of Tommy's palm, but what is
invisible to the eye is not as easy to erase from memory. "I would die before I did," Tommy says,
meaning every word.

Dream steps away, giving him one last smile before the door closes and shuts Tommy away.

***

Assassination attempts are a regular part of the Imperial household’s life, though less for Tommy
than any of his family members, thanks to his good relathionship with nobles – but it wasn’t
always this way. First time that an attempt on his life was made, he was twelve, and as far as the
majority was aware, utterly unfit to be the crown prince. Dusk of the dynasty , people used to
whisper, but Tommy hadn’t understood the true danger behind those words until a venomous
snake came crawling from under his dish lid.

“Good relationships with people means that fewer of them want you dead,” a black-haired man
said, approaching when everybody else in the room was too afraid to breathe. The snake whisked
its tongue out experimentally, distracted from hissing at Tommy, and when the man hadn’t moved,
started slithering up his hand. With a snake coiled around his arm, he turned back to the crown
prince. “I, for one, like being alive. What about you, Your Imperial Highness?” the man had asked,
and that was how Tommy first met Quackity.

Throughout six years Tommy’s life was threatened a few more times. About some he only learned
from other people’s words, danger taken care of before it could come any close to harming him.
Sometimes it was because of a security issue not timely resolved or some madman who cared
about the prince’s death more than about their own life. This time, though, Tommy had honestly
and genuinely fucked up.

It’s dark in and out, with the city long behind them, and a single lantern inside the carriage to cast
ghostly yellow glow on their faces. It turns into a competition of who is going to speak up last, if it
could be called a competition; to Tommy, the silence feels closer to torture. He would prefer
Techno to shout, to reprimand him, scowl, at the very least – but save for one time that he
exchanges words with guards outside, Techno doesn’t so much as look at him.

“Are you not going to ask what I was thinking of?” Tommy snaps when the silence becomes too
much to bear.

“Why would I?” Techno asks. “At this point I’m doubting if you possess that ability at all.”

Tommy suppresses a flinch. He kicks his shoes off and brings his knees to his chest, tucking
himself into a corner and wishing that he could just sink through. A few minutes later, the bench
creaks underneath him. Tommy peels an eye open, and finds Techno sitted on the same side as
him, a wet rug and bandages in tow.

Techno, although not unnecessarily harsh, doesn't try to be gentle either. He holds Tommy’s head
with one hand while the other works on cleaning the wound. Tommy grits his teeth tighter,
squaring his shoulders, but hisses all the same when a needle stabs his skin without a warning.

“You’re angry, I get it,” he tries to slap his brother’s hand away, only for his wrist to be caught in a
firm grip.

“I’m not playing games with you, Theseus,” Techno warns. “Stay still, or it’s not going to heal
right.”

Tommy reluctantly drops his arm, allowing Techno to continue working. The needle pierces his
ear a few more times, well-practiced stitches bringing the edges of ruined flesh together. Tommy
bites his lips to keep himself from crying out, but there is only so much pain that pride can
swallow. Techno pauses when he hears him whimper. His movements turn gentler; a cloth soaked
in something cool presses against his ear, the final layer of bandages fixing it in place.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight," Techno sighs, wiping the blood off his hands and tossing the
rug aside.

“Pretty hard to do that from a hundred miles away,” Tommy mumbles, dropping his head to rest
against the window. He’s so tired , and would fall asleep right away if not for the sting and ache
bringing him back to wakefulness every few seconds.

“I’m not leaving,” Techno brushes Tommy’s blood-coated hair out the way, careful not to disturb
the wound. “Not after this.”

The words that Tommy dreamed of hearing all these years don’t come from a brother but a warden.
Are you staying to guard me, or to herd me? Tommy thinks dully, watching the lantern tremble
with the movement of the carriage.

“I should've practiced this near-dying thing more often then,” he says, shrugging Techno’s hand
off. “Would’ve saved me a lot of trouble if I knew that’s what it takes to crack your indifference.”

“Whatever you might think or believe, I do care, Theseus,” Techno’s brows draw together, and he
pulls his hand back.

Tommy straightens and shifts with his back to the window so he could give his brother a proper
glare. “I’m thoroughly touched by your attempt at being comforting,” he spits words like venom,
“but unfortunately, I’m allergic to bullshit.”

“Strange,” Techno drawls, arms crossed. “You seemed to be doing fine around Dream.”

The entire day had been showering Tommy in gunpowder, but the accusation in Techno’s voice –
aimed at Dream – strikes the match that blows the remains of his self-control to smithereens.
“Why- just why ?” he shouts, springing to his feet. “For six years – six fucking years! – you
avoided being part of my life, but now that I finally found a person who understands me and
doesn’t treat me like shit- you have the audacity to tell me that Dream is the one I should avoid? At
least with fucking Wilbur it makes sense…” Tommy clenches his fists, “but you , Techno? What
does you give you the fucking rights!?”

His flailing has the carriage trembling, and the lantern swings dangerously from side to side, light
and shadows like changing masks on Techno’s face. “I’m your family.” Techno straightens up.
“That gives me plenty of rights.”

“Don’t you dare to start that crap now!” Tommy reels back, as far as he could in the tight space.
“You’re only my brother when it’s easy for you, when it doesn’t oppose your views or challenge
your opinions. If tomorrow the Emperor told you to kill me, wouldn’t you put an axe through my
back without a word of hesitation?”

His every word strikes Techno – the indifferent, impenetrable Techno – like it hurts to hear. Good ,
Tommy thinks. Let the roles be reversed this one time.

"When you chose to be the crown prince, I swore to serve as your shield and sword,” Tommy
moves closer to him, and now there isn’t just anger in his voice: his tone is turning desperate, too. “
You told me you want Wilbur back so I spent years looking for your brother. What more could you
possibly want me to do ?"

" Be there !" Tommy cries out.

A wheel gets caught on a hubble, and the whole carriage jumps, lantern shattering against a wall,
both of them thrown off their feet. Tommy tears the curtains off in an attempt to retain his balance,
and a silver dusk of moonlight spills through the window. A candle rolls up to silent Techno’s feet,
wick black and shriveled, and for the first time that day – or ever, perhaps – Tommy takes a
moment to look at his brother, at the dark circles nestled under the eyes so much alike to his own
dull blue. He is listening , Tommy thinks. For once he is trying to understand.

“You were an adult when everything that we thought was constant in our lives had disappeared in
an instant.” Tommy knuckles his eyes for a moment, and when he looks up at Techno again, they
are full of smoldering grief. “I was eleven , Techno, and what did you do?”

“I left,” he says, a confession of truth, of blame and of remorse.

“You left.” Techno’s face becomes a blur through Tommy’s watery eyes; he stumbles in place,
stutters and sobs. “Again and again, when I needed you the most.” Tommy clasps the roots of his
hair, choking. “A-and each time I wondered- what am I doing wrong ? Why am I not enough to
make people stay ?”

Glass cracks underneath Techno’s feet – and then warm hands are taking Tommy’s wrists and
carefully moving them away from his tear-stricken face. Such a simple motion, but Tommy’s
knees give out, and he slumps forward – Techno catches him before he could hit the bottom.

“You were supposed to be better,” Tommy whimpers.

“I know,” Techno murmurs, pressing his chin to the top of Tommy’s hair. “I’m sorry.”

Tommy shakes through a breath, Techno's smell enveloping him equally tight as his arms. The last
time Techno held him like this, they both lamented the loss of a brother, but the whiff of roses
wasn't trailing Techno’s each step. The same warmth that Tommy had craved for years is here,
now, but Tommy himself – his mind and his tears – are cold. If Techno had thought to glance
down, he would see the crown firmly grasped in one of Tommy’s hands.

“The anniversary is coming up soon,” Techno says. “Father and I are going to visit her grave. Do
you want to-?”

A shudder wrecks Tommy’s entire form. “ I can’t.” He chokes on a word, trying both to hide his
face in Techno’s chest and shake his head furiously. Techno shushes him, the slow rise and fall of
his chest reminding him how to breathe.

“It’s alright,” he says. “I’m sure she would understand.”

By the time that they had reached the palace, the tears had already dried on Tommy’s face, but he
allows Techno to lead them both into the entrance and through the corridors to the northern wing,
only briefly stopping in the gardens for something that he doesn’t bother squinting his eyes at. The
wound had opened up again, blood warm and sticky. The first thing that Techno does in his
chambers is apply new bandages while Tommy patiently sits on his bed, and then they both find
some clothes for him to change into.

Tommy has to roll up the pants three times before he could begin to walk, and exits drowning in
one of Techno’s shirts. The light from the windows etch his brother’s figure into a mere shadow,
but when Techno turns around, a sun is grasped between his fingers – a tender, blooming yellow
rose.

"Why did you take it?" Tommy asks, and Techno blinks, as if for a moment he had lost the
awareness of where they are.

"It feels familiar," he says, tucking the rose behind Tommy’s other ear. He leans into the touch
until his cheek rests in Techno's big and warm palm. A scarred thumb brushing his eyelids, tracing
the line of his jaw – Tommy understands.

“It feels like home,” he murmurs, and when Techno steals a glance at the door, asks, “Stay with
me?”

Techo hesitates, but Tommy adds, “Just until I fall asleep,” and he gives in.

They settle together, among the pillows and blankets, with Techno sitting cross-legged against the
headboard and Tommy’s head pressed next to his thigh. Tommy battles sleep for as long as he can,
but darkness is a patient fighter; it absorbs his vision inch by inch. The last thing that Tommy
remembers before it overpowers him completely is Techno, a ragged white cloak on his shoulder,
walking out of the door.

***

I will be there for your birthday , Techno said, and then he was not.

The broken promise didn’t sting as much as the sight of a cape on his desk that smelled of ashes
and roses and soil. In the folds of softest fabric, among the seams of fixed tears, in the white furs of
phantom warmth, was tucked a newly forged, shiny dagger. It was an apology, and like the nature
of apologies is, useless.

Tommy clenched the sheathed dagger with two hands, so tightly that it left raw red traces where
metal had dug into soft skin. He wanted to fling the stupid gift at the wall. He wanted to scream
and tear and destroy, but instead he left the palace drowning in a cape too big for his skinny
shoulders. Each step that he took up a hill was impossible labor, and by the time that he had
reached the top, his lungs were burning and he dropped to his knees from exhaustion.

They used to have picnics here. The memory sprung up like a distant lullaby, his parents’ laughter
and the voices of his brothers quarreling akin to fragmented cords. Sometimes Tommy thought
those memories weren’t his at all. They must have come from some other world, where mothers
were immortal and brothers kept their promises, where raised in his father’s a boy could imagine
himself flying. A distant world, an impossible world; a world that most knew by the name of
childhood.

You are a child, still , the world had whispered. Grass gently tangled itself between his fingers, the
ground cold but softer than any carpet. Tommy sat back, legs crossed, and whistled out a long,
high-pitched tune. It swept through the treetops, whipped in the grass where it reached mountain
ravines and echoed deep within. He whistled through the night, again and again, weaker each time
until his throat was too hoarse to make another sound. The voiceless stars sparkled above, and
flowers murmured their sorrow, yet there was nobody to answer a wingless songbird keening for
his flock.

Tommy hadn’t noticed when exhaustion had pulled him under, only that one moment he was
floating and the next he dropped the dagger with a strangled gasp. It lay in the grass, next to the
steel sheathes; they must have slipped off through his numb fingers in his sleep. Tommy
whimpered and hunched on himself, cradling his injured hand. The sight of blood made him sick,
but curiosity – some twisted, morbid version of it – wrenched his leaking eyes open anyway.

Steel had peeled skin almost horrifyingly easily. The blade had slashed an inch perfectly along the
diagonal crease of his palm. Tommy could’ve missed it if it was not for red quickly beading the
edges of the cut. He watched in daze as the crimson seeds sizzled their path through cold skin, and
veined stems grew into grotesque flowers.

It was beautiful.

It was blood.

The sight should have scared Tommy, but as a sob rattled out of his lungs, he lifted the dagger and
pressed it to the edge of the wound. Tomorrow, I'll be strong , he promised. But today Tommy was
angry, he was petty and lonely and everything was too much. Emotions welled in him, they
poisoned his heart, and with every drop of crimson that trickled in-between his fingers, he turned
just a little bit number. Today Tommy turned thirteen, and the best birthday gift would be not to
feel anything at all.

Two thirds the length of his palm had been cut and oozing crimson when an owl hooted in the
distance. Tommy paused, lowering the blade, and listened. Even though the only sound in the
simmering night was his own labored breathing, he knew that he wasn’t alone anymore.

“Tsk, tsk.” Clara stepped out of the shadows, her wings uncurling and momentarily cutting away
the moonlight spilling over Tommy’s shoulders. "You have precious blood running in your veins,
little crow. Don’t spill it for nothing.”

Tommy hunched on himself further, but it was pointless: Clara already had seen everything that she
needed to see. He didn’t protest when she had gently pried his fingers open and took the dagger
away. Suddenly she swiped the weapon down; Tommy squeezed his eyes shut on instinct, and
opened them again when he heard the sound of fabric tearing. Clara reached to him with a handful
of stripes cut out of the upper skirt of her own dress.

It was a pretty dress, all deep blues and silvery lace. If Tommy had any strength to spare, he would
have apologized that she had to ruin it. As it was, he stared motionlessly ahead and obediently
allowed Clara to take his injured palm into her own. She pressed a roll of fabric to the cut and
wrapped it with makeshift bandages. By then the pain had numbed down to weak stinging, and
there was only one thing that Tommy cared about.

“Will Father hear about this?” he asked meekly.

Clara paused, and looked up to him, unblinking, with pupils that took up most of her eyes. “It
depends,” she said simply. “Do you want to die?”

Horror seized Tommy; he shrank into himself with a strangled, “No…” Clara held his hand as he
waited for him to speak, and the disappointment that Tommy was so afraid of never came. There
was too much patience and understanding in them; far more than he deserved and more than
enough to make him break.

“I saw Wilbur doing it once,” Tommy confessed, eyes screwed shut. “I snuck into his room,
wanting to surprise him, and there he stood, with a- a paper knife and a bleeding cut on his arm. It-
it was the first time he had done something like that, I- I think. He freaked out a lot, gasping and
sobbing and all. Made me promise that I would not tell anybody.”
Tommy whispered to avoid straining his voice, but there was no secrecy in the way he barely
moved his lips; only tiredness, infinite exhaustion carved in granite. Numbness had tolled on him
once more, as if with every word that he uttered, he lost a part of himself. “Back then… back then I
didn’t understand what happened, or why he was doing it. I just knew that Wilbur wasn’t doing as
well as he wanted others to think… so I kept at his side, never leaving him alone. I was there for
him, and he had said that he will always be there for me.”

Clara’s lips were sealed. She was listening carefully, and as Tommy looked up into her eyes, the
realization came to him. Wilbur lied.

“My brother had abandoned me, didn’t he?” The question that Tommy was so afraid of for two
years had left his mouth, and there was something finalizing and desperately pleading in them in a
way that a dying man’s last words would be. The sun had glimpsed over the horizon and striked a
reflection across the blade of the dropped dagger, and the answer came to Tommy in the form of a
boy of wilted flowers and eyes full of shattered glass.

It finally crushed Tommy then. Not his mother’s breathless body swallowed by the jaws of a
grave, not the empty rooms with ghosts of his brothers, but the realization that this stranger was
him. He could convince himself that Mother was reading a book in the library or Wilbur was about
to burst through the doors any moment now, but he couldn’t get rid of his own face. Every mirror
and every reflection would remind him that nothing would be back to being like it was before.

“I don’t want to die,” Tommy whimpered. “I just don’t know how to live.”

The tears didn’t seem to stop. Tommy cried and wept like a newborn babe in Clara’s arms, his
body too small to contain his grief. Sharp talons brushed his scalp gently, and spotted brown
feathers blanketed his shuddering form. Tommy was little more than a pile of bones and blood:
breathing, with a heart pounding weakly and tearing apart on itself, but not entirely alive.

He felt so much colder when Clara eventually pulled away. Like a puppet with its strings cut, he
sagged forward and propped himself weakly on his elbows. Tommy didn’t want to rise again, but a
hand slid underneath his chin and tilted it up until he was forced to look into Clara’s face. He had
seen all sorts of expressions in her eyes, from pity to sympathy and anger, but never something so
simultaneously sinister and dazing.

“You can never be hurt if there wasn’t love in the first place,” she said. “Without trust there is no
betrayal and without hope there will never be disappointment,” she paused. “Without guilt, there
will be no remorse to stand in your way.”

Clara let go of his chin. Sunrise burned Tommy’s eyes through the crusty glue of dried tears, dull
diamonds fluttering open when something cold was pressed into his fingers. The weight and the
shape were too familiar for it to be anything other than his crown.

“You can rise, Theseus, or you can fall,” Clara said, clamping her hands over his, so tightly that a
sharp angle stabbed into the bandaged cut and reopened it. “This is all you have now. Protect it, no
matter the cost.”

Tommy listened and allowed Clara’s words to grave themselves into the back of his mind. When
she pulled away, he was still holding the crown. Life had taken away everything that he cared
about, and in exchange tossed him a piece of jeweled metal. Tommy loathed to look at it; he
thought of it as mockery, the universe’s cruel joke… but as the cut had bled through the bandages
and patterned silver in crimson, he asked himself how come he never understood that it was a gift.

Now Tommy knew the truth. His love for Wilbur, tucked next to his heart, with time had begun to
rot, pumping poison into his bloodstream. He needed to get it out, carve it out with a simmering
knife if he wanted to live. Today was the day he finally became Prince Theseus. Today was the day
he killed Wilbur.

They returned to the palace together: Tommy first, Clara so close behind that for a moment, her
wings looked like they were his. Sunset generously showered the throne room in gold, but where
Tommy walked there were only shadows. A crown on his head, a dagger at his belt, and a new
gape in his heart, Tommy took his rightful place on the crown prince’s throne.

***

The balcony doors open with a soft croak. Polished marble is seething cold underneath his bare
feet, but Tommy curls his toes and walks forward anyway. He stands leaning on the handrails
while the sun rises; from all the way up here, the servants and guards rushing through the
courtyard look no bigger than scurrying ants. By now everybody must have heard the news about
the assasination attempt on the crown prince yesterday. The air buzzes with anxious haste;
Tommy’s ear stings underneath the bandage, still, but his breathing comes out as even and slow.
He has no reason to be worried, not when he had close calls far more than this. Let Techno handle
the aftermath of yesterday while Tommy… Tommy will build tomorrow.

A light of doubt shimmers in Tommy when he tugs a flower off his hair. The yellow rose had
wilted overnight; sun-nurtured petals shriveled and turned blue. Tommy fists them slowly, as
gentle as the death's goodbye kiss. When he unwraps his fingers, and the wind sweeps away the
dust, he knows what must be done.

Tommy gets on his knees in front of the jewelry box, the dagger in one hand, Beau’s hairpin in the
other. Both the blade and the needle are thin enough that he can maneuver them into the lock
together. Tommy owes his lockpicking skills to Tubbo and their shared boredom; the deft
movement of his fingers – to Niki’s knitting lessons. After a few minutes of fiddling, a
characteristic click notifies him of success.

He pushes the lid open, and for a second the bright glistening of jewels blinds him. Diamonds,
rubies, sapphires and pearls all go unnoticed while he searches through the contents of the box. At
last, weak warmth pulsates on his fingertips. Grabbing the chain, he pulls out the Star.

There is no jewel in this world rarer than Nether stars. One of those shiny stones is worth the same
as a good chunk of the palace. While the rest of the gems were all gifts to the Empress from the
Emperor and nobles, The Star came as her only dowry. Stealing it would be a crime prosecuted
with all the harshness of the law… if there was anything to prosecute after Techno was done with
the thief.

Tommy isn’t worried about being seen. Nobody is allowed in this part of the palace, let alone near
Techno’s chambers. With Techno himself out and about it won’t be soon that the gems'
disappearance is noticed, but Tommy had waited three months, he can muster enough patience for
another week. Before he knows it, his feet are carrying him to the other end of the corridor, to a
door of birch wood and carved butterflies.

He almost doesn’t recognize his old chambers. The walls had been repainted, erasing younger
Tommy’s clumsy attempts at drawing, shoe stains from where he had propped his legs upside-
down. His childhood toys are gone, his clothes, his blankets, pillows, bouquets of dried flowers,
pretty stones he found in a lake and all the small trinkets he used to have on the shelves or lying
around… It was like Tommy had never existed at all.

Abandoned. Forgotten. Replaced . A chorus sings in Tommy’s ears. He spots a pot of flowers
 standing on a table. A breath of chilly air sneaks in through a window left ajar, alliums bobbing up
and down as he approaches. Dropping the Star from a scarred palm into the pot, he swipes some
soil over to hide the purple glow and adds another word to the chorus, vengeful .

“Ranboo, how could you?” Tommy whispers into the empty room.

Chapter End Notes

Props to Vil for beta-reading this chapter!

<CHAPTER SUMMARY

Aimsey greets Tommy and leads Ranboo away. Tommy argues with Techno on the
topic of Beau harassing Ranboo. Dream distracts Techno while Tommy takes a break.
He eavesdrops on Ranboo and Aimsey’s conversations and learns that commoners
have started supporting Ranboo. He physically attacks Ranboo, Techno steps in, tells
Tommy off. Tommy takes it hard and resolves to bang his head on a wall to calm
down. When Dream appears he asks Tommy what happened, but Tommy wants to
keep everything in like an idiot he is so Dream steals his crown and baits him out for a
rooftop chase.

After wrecking some chaos they make it a riverside and chat. Dream tells Tommy
about his home kingdom, and then about some stars and constellations, getting sad
when Tommy accidentally reminds him about his mother. Old habits die hard, so
Tommy in his emotional support younger brother nature hugs Dream to comfort him.
Dream short-circuits and offers Tommy to take him to Esempi for a visit. Tommy
considers it but then somebody shoots them out of a crossbow.

Tommy is mostly unharmed. Techno appears and takes him away. Tommy and
Techno argue. Tommy confesses how it made him feel that Techno left all the time.
Techno comforts Tommy and apologizes to him. Author makes a passerine reference
to mess with your feelings, and Tommy falls asleep in Techno’s room.

Tommy dreams a flashback. He turned thirteen and Techno left him dagger for a gift.
Tommy sat on a hill through the night and cut his palm on the dagger on accident,
which escalated into a self-harming episode. Clara interrupted and asked him whether
he wanted to die. Tommy said no, but he didn’t know what to do, sure now that
Wilbur had left him for good. Clara nudged him towards the decision to live from
there on for his position as the crown prince.

Back in present, Tommy walks out the balcony and makes a decision. He takes a
Nether star from Kristin/Techno’s jewelry box and puts it in Ranboo’s room to frame
him for stealing.

AUTHOR NOTES

I know I said 1-1.5 weeks, but hey, this chapter turned to be longer than I anticipated
(also, I've had my graduation ceremony and my prom, yay!). Tommy fought Ranboo,
 got a hug (or more like Dream did, lol), told Techno about he feels… Things are
looking great, if you ignore 1) Tommy almost dying, 2) Tommy commiting a major
crime 3) Tommy’s self-harming tendencies.

Buckle in cause things are about to pick up pace now :D

End Notes

Special thanks to:

Snow, for beta-reading
Cotton, for the awesome work-skin
Mellodi, for managing the Teyzone discord server
And all of you who are giving me validation and recommending BR to other people.

(If you're enjoying the story, commenting is the best way to show it! ;D)

Butterfly Reign is now available to be read on wattpad, BUT it is always going to be

updated later than a03 version. Yeah I love a03 and prefer for people to read BR here but I
also I admit that offline reading is appealing so here's the link.

Chapter titles from Golden Throne by Winterym

Socials:
Discord server for all of my fics
Tumblr
Youtube channel

BR FANART, ANIMATICS AND OTHER FAN CONTENT

Masterlist of fan content links

More info links:

BR character descriptions
Remarried Empress and BR character matches
Masterlist of BR characters

Works inspired by this Butterfly

one Garden by CheesyChip, the brothers i've never met. by qui_nn,
When the World Doesn't Believe You... by s_got_stolen, And If I Was
Hanged? by CanOfBees, I'll Mourn You My Own Way by CanOfBees, The
Emperors Declaration by SketchyFace, I am an anteater by cnthus, Lost
hope? I hope not. by FjcCunanan, { I'm finally free.. } by o- E C H O - o
(3ch0_P3rs0n), Anteater Diaries by Closeted_ender, Bluejay by
Fletchlingclaws, Will I ever be free? Butterfly Reign. by SleepyUnknown,
Dread the Shades of a Dahlia by KevaSR, An Alternate Ending by
Soulless_Angel25
Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!