Chapter Text
The moment that shocking sentence escaped Pedri’s mouth, the ballroom erupted. Heck, even Jude was confused about what the donut was trying to do… Lovers?
What?
What did that have to do with Jude’s neck being snapped into two?!
“Pedri! What kind of new scheme are you plotting right now?!” a man draped in excessive luxury burst out in pure rage amidst the growing wave of aggressive muttering behind Jude.
The man nearly leaped forward from the exact spot Jude had been standing just moments ago—right before almost being escorted off to the chopping block—desperate to get his nasty, grippy fingers on Pedri.
If Jude recalled correctly through the fog of his memories, this was the same guy who had just testified against him alongside a bunch of others for alleged attempted murder and bullying. Bullying against someone... someone who? Jude couldn’t quite remember.
In the sparse, chaotic flashbacks currently frying his brain, this furious face appeared frequently.
He couldn't quite figure out the man's name or what had happened to make him act like such an animal, but one thing was crystal clear: the man held a massive, burning hatred toward both him and Pedri.
Yet, despite his lack of clear memories, Jude understood the hatred behind those eyes better than anyone.
As a world-famous footballer used to living in the crosshairs of relentless media critiques, Jude understood negative emotions better than most.
His head throbbed violently as he tried to force the loose memories rolling around in his head to make sense.
He was familiar with these people, yet they were complete strangers to him right now.
His brain was a chaotic mess of overlapping realities—who he was as Jude the footballer clashing violently with whatever nonsense noble identity he was occupying right now. It left him with zero control over what was real, what was fake, and what actually mattered.
Amidst Jude’s struggle to decode the chaos in his head, a sharp, white-hot headache began forming right behind his eyes.
It was a familiar ache—one that felt like it had been lingering there for a while. The exact same headache he most definitely had while causing this entire mess earlier today.
The sensation was deeply familiar, but he couldn’t put his finger on why. Not when his head was killing him and the flashing lights from the massive chandelier above were completely blinding him.
“Enough, Ferran,” the King commanded suddenly, stopping the grimy man moments before he could get his claws on Pedri. A sharp, dangerous spark ignited in the king’s eyes.
It did nothing to soothe the raging man child, but it definitely worsened the high-pitched ringing in Jude’s ears.
Jude knew for a fact that if this sorry excuse of a king could, he would have let the man child attack Pedri with zero consequences. It was entirely apparent from how painfully slow his reaction time had been.
As Jude's vision began to blur, the King leaned forward from his throne, his gaze locking onto Pedri.
“Lord López, I hope you are entirely aware of the gravity of your words. Both you and Bellingham are the respective Omegas of your houses.”
The agitated man—Ferran—let out a bitter, mocking scoff.
“I am well aware of that, Your Majesty,” Pedri replied. His voice rang out across the silent court, laced with a desperate sort of defiance.
But Jude knew better. Even with his body slowly giving up on him, he could see right through the act. That wasn’t defiance.
There was pure, unadulterated fear of getting caught in the lie hiding behind that soft voice.
“That is precisely why we have kept the nature of our relationship hidden,” Pedri continued, his voice trembling as he forced out the words.
“We know how the Empire frowns upon such relations. That’s why we desperately kept it hidden. But as it stands, my lover is facing the guillotine right before my eyes for a crime he did not commit. I will not stand by and watch him die—”
Jude didn’t think he had ever heard Pedri sound this broken. Not even back on Earth, when millions of tabloids, furious fans, and the entire club were shitting on him all at once.
Pedri had never cracked like this.
Jude knew Pedri was acting but something in him felt like it was real.
The King ruthlessly cut him off.
“Lord Pedri, your courage is impressive, I will give you that,” the King murmured, his tone dropping to a deceptively smooth, venomous register.
“But I hope you have not forgotten what your ‘alleged’ lover, the young Lord Bellingham, is actually accused of. It is an open secret among the nobility that he is utterly infatuated with Prince Haaland. This is hardly the first time he has been caught harassing Lord Fernandez out of jealousy. Until your outburst just now, there hasn’t been a single whisper of an attachment between the two of you. Therefore, it remains entirely plausible that Lord Bellingham attempted to take Lord Fernandez’s life to clear a path to the Prince.”
“Jude did harass Lord Fernandez,” Pedri blurted out, digging his heels in. To Jude, he looked completely frantic. “However... the harassment was entirely my plan.”
Everyone in Buckingham—no, the ballroom—froze. A wave of bewildered murmurs and low curses rippled through the crowd of nobles.
Fuck is Pedri high? What kind of Bridgetown plot twists is he coming up with right now? Jude might be In pain but he’s not brain dead. Even he knew all that crap coming out of that man was pure bullshit.
“And why is that, Lord López?” the King asked, tilting his head, looking thoroughly intrigued now.
Honestly is there even a reason to ask why? Pedri is an awful fucking liar.
At that, Pedri paused. His brow furrowed into a tight, panicked frown.
To the rest of the court, it probably looked like a man struggling to spill some unbearable, deeply painful truth. But Jude knew better.
The idiot had completely run out of a script to lie from. He had absolutely no clue how to carry the lie forward.
…
Jude was more than familiar with that look of constipation on Pedri’s face. The same face he wore each time he’s gotten in trouble with Jude’s mom.
Jude wasn’t aware how much trouble he’s really caused with his absolutely awful memories getting in the way, but he knew damn well a few drunken troubled antics earlier today wasn’t justified to get him tied to the guillotine. He knew there was more to the story, possibly really bad, and Jude wasn’t going to let his best friend get caught up in his mess. Whether it was unfair for Jude or not. Or the fact that execution without possible solid proof for his “alleged attempted murder and bullying” is utter nonsense and tyranny.
Marie Antoinette got executed for less.
Obviously he was referring to the king and his minions, not himself.
As Jude was getting ready to stop Pedri from involving himself further, lest he gets himself tied to the guillotine together with Jude. Side by side.
Plus, thinking about it with the banging headache at the back of his head, it didn’t seem like a bad idea for Jude to go get executed at that moment rather than having to live longer with it.
As he’s about to speak up, a familiar figure dashed right before Jude’s eyes.
A man almost the same height as Jude, albeit a little taller.
With a back of the head practically identical to Jude.
The moment he turned around to face Jude, Jude felt an awful sense of Déjà vu.
Jobe.
Jobe???