Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a crisp autumn morning, the red and orange in the trees having almost reached their full splendor, when the letter with the bright blue seal arrived in L’Manberg.

The city was bathed in sharp light, the sunrise slowly rising above the rooftops and the busy streets that were filling with all sorts of people, from suntanned kids to wide-smiled merchants to more or less honorable knights and soldiers, waking up the alleys and squares and breathing life into the bustling city. Its rays kept creeping up, up, up along the buildings and pillars and statues and trees and everything the city was made of, until they reached the highest hill in the center of the city, the one the Royal Palace - a breathtaking blend of black and gold, all tall towers and massive stained windows and spacious gardens - stood on.

The king was at his favorite pastime: watching the children play. The windows he stood by gave a view of the Small Yard, busy with knights and servants and commoners and people running all sorts of errands while goats and chickens scampered at their feet and tried to get their share of whatever fell from the overflowing baskets of food that were being carried to and from the kitchens. It was also an excellent place for children to run around at adults’ feet and get into trouble, as anyone who had grown up within the castle walls knew very well. There were four of them, that morning; the usual group of children, known to everyone as the little troublemakers. The thought made the king smile. He had been just the same when he was their age, always running headfirst into disaster.

The four boys all held wooden swords, swinging them at each other with the confidence of children who wholeheartedly believe they’re fighting among the greatest knights in the land. They weren’t too far from the truth, either. Many of the knights of the Royal Guard were more than worthy of such a title, and the squire boys, however adorable they looked like, swinging the wooden training swords around with their skinny arms, were well on their way to join them. Who knew? One day they might surpass the knights they squired for and take their place in serving the Crown, and then they would in turn have little noble boys to train.

Tommy was the only one of the squires who wasn’t of noble origin, and a lot of the knights looked down on him for that, even more than they already looked down on all the squires simply because they were children and there to serve them. But it did not matter, because even though he was a commoner who had lived the first ten years of his life on the streets scavenging and pickpocketing, and even though he had never had any property - save for his clothes and the sword he had somehow managed to drag along - the head of the Royal Guard himself had personally asked him for a squire because he saw potential in the boy. That was an honor all the other squires were jealous of, even those older than him, even those who were on the verge of being knighted themselves. Even now the king could see, looking down at the yard where the four boys laughed and chased each other and clanked their swords together, that there was something different in the way Tommy held his training weapon, something more refined, something he couldn’t see in any of the other boys. Give him a year or two, he thought to himself, and he will be better with the sword than many trained adults.

He watched as Tommy spun around like a whirlwind and lunged at Tubbo, who barely managed to block the attack, stumbling backwards, arms trembling from the weight of the sword he was now holding in a defensive position. It was expected of sons from noble families to be skilled with the sword, and the rank of a knight was a suitable ambition for a third child who would be inheriting neither land nor titles, but it was no secret that Tubbo’s true talents did not lie in battle. It didn’t seem to bother the boy too much; he wasn’t the worst, if not anywhere near the best either, and in any case, living in the palace meant access to the library. It was the pride of L’Manberg, sumptuous halls with high ceilings and hallways filled with miles and miles of shelves, all full of books. L’Manberg was famous for its royal library, and Tubbo seemed to have taken it upon himself to devour every single book it held. He certainly didn’t look like a bookworm with his messy hair and disheveled appearance that made people think about a troublemaker more than anything else, but anyone who spent more than five minutes at once in his company quickly learned that his strength and passion were his curiosity and desire to learn more about the world around him.

Tubbo signaled to Ranboo, who blinked nervously and raised his sword. Both of them started circling around Tommy, trying to get into a position where they could attack him from two directions at once, and he in turn kept turning around, keeping both of them in his vision. Ranboo’s face was serious as ever, his lips pressed together and his nervous eyes focused on Tommy’s sword as his fingers gripped around the handle of his own. The youngest of the four wasn’t a squire like Tommy and Tubbo were, and he didn’t have any training like they did, but like little kids everywhere in the world, he was eager to be no lesser part of the group. The king watched him turn just enough for the birthmark to be visible through the windows… The sight didn’t make him vince, but he couldn’t say it hadn’t used to. Half of the boy’s face was covered by an ugly black stain with jagged edges, making his face look almost charred. The mark started from his chin, crept up to his cheekbone and curled around his right eye, which was an unnaturally bright shade of green instead of the deep brown of his other eye. 

It was a heavy burden for a child, to be marked like that, to be called cursed and to have whispers follow him across the hallways wherever he went. Him being the apprentice of the king’s father, the court mage, was no help; it only heightened the ominous aura that surrounded him. A quiet little boy with serious eyes and a terrifying mark, who claimed to have no memory of who he was or where he had come from, a complete and utter mystery to everyone, even to himself - that was a story that made people whisper things that Ranboo would be better off not hearing. 

The king's thoughts were interrupted by another figure, a blur of orange charging at Tommy from the back. He let a warm smile flare on his face, his chest puffing with pride. There he was: the crown prince Fundy, his own son. As proud as he was wild, as fierce as he was kind, a boy any father would be happy to have raised. The sun in the center of the king's universe.

He watched without a word as the tension in the boys' crude dance rose and rose, until it finally erupted into a storm of clattering swords and yelling. Tommy was in his element, sweeping his weapon with a large motion that knocked over Ranboo and sent Tubbo stumbling backwards. Fundy was out of his reach until he jumped forward and managed to actually get a couple hits in before Tommy's sword slammed into his forearm with enough force to make him lose his grip of his sword, which slipped from his hand and fell to the mud. The sight made the king's smile falter; he hated seeing his little boy get hurt, even though he knew this was merely children playing together, not a real battle, not a real danger. Still. It didn't make it any less a painful sight.

And then Ranboo was back on his feet and Fundy's sword was back in his hand; all four of the boys had wide, happy smiles on their faces as they continued to have what in their minds was no doubt a dramatic battle for the fate of the kingdom. They were young enough, innocent enough to not have yet realized that battles, while sometimes means to achieve glory and praise, were first and foremost a place of death. Not something they would be happy to be thrown into. But what would children born during peacetime know about that? The king himself hadn't lived through war either, nor had his father or his father's father, but he had heard enough about things that happen on the battlefield to be utterly terrified of the thought of his son ever having to step foot on one. 

He turned his back to the windows and headed towards the door across the room, his footsteps soft on the thick red carpet. The dim light inside the castle was dark and gloomy compared to the bright sunshine in the yard outside; the king did not want this particular room brightly lit. It was called the red room, a fitting name. Heavy red curtains framed the windows and ornate tapestries hung on the walls in every shade of red, depicting everything from battles to gods to people, previous kings and queens and little princes and princesses, all the history that mattered.

He remembered a saying he had once heard: one who has their face immortalized in a work of art will never die.

(It was not true, but oh, how he wished it was.)

He stopped in front of one specific piece of tapestry, the same one he paid a visit every single day. A reminder, a bittersweet memory... and, in his eyes, a threat as well.

The image woven into the fabric was a simple family portrait. An extraordinary demonstration of skill, so vividly alike the people it was depicting that it felt almost magical. A man, not much younger than he was now, next to a woman with fiery hair and kind eyes that to this day still tore the king's heart apart every time he let himself fall into them. And standing at their feet were two children, barely the age of two, a boy and a girl. Both of them so strikingly resembled the woman whose skirt they were both grabbing with their tiny fists for balance, and no one could see it more clearly than the king. The words sewn on the fabric under the portrait showed that this was a picture of His Grace the King Wilbur Soot with his beloved family.

Two of the four people looking down at him from up the wall were no longer part of this world.

Wilbur allowed himself a moment to mourn, his daily ritual of tearing the wound open, not giving it time to heal. It was necessary to remember what happened to them, just as much as it was necessary to keep them in his heart and never let go of them, so he would never let his grip of those he could still protect come loose.

He gave the tapestry one more wistful look, wiped something from his eyes and headed out. He didn't have the entire day to spend in the past. Outside the room he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a heavy, golden key. It fit perfectly into the keyhole. The lock gave a deep, satisfying clonk as the bolts moved to seal the door shut.

He hadn't permitted anyone else to step inside the room for years, save for a servant or two to keep the dust from accumulating on top of every surface. It was his most treasured place, his personal temple of silence and loneliness, and no one else would stain it with their presence. There was no soul in the castle who didn’t know better than to sneak into the room with a big, ornate letter S carved on the door. The red room was only for the king.

He turned his back to the door and went down a big spiral staircase, his hand sliding over the golden flowers decorating the railing. The steps were blackstone and the decorations were gold, the same two colors that repeated over and over everywhere he looked. Through the windows he could see the walls, the pride of the city and the reason it had never been conquered. The inner walls surrounded the castle and the outer walls the entire city, tall and thick enough to withstand any siege, however long. Wilbur had seen the city from the outside many times and it always looked just as marvelous as it did the first time. Black and gold shining in the sunlight, the castle twice enclosed in the strongest of walls reaching for the sky like a crown jewel. It was a beautiful city, and Wilbur was glad it was him to rule over, the city and all the lands around it as far as the eye could reach and even further.

He hadn’t grown up to be the king, not the way his son was, how he was being prepared for his future position every day. The previous king had been Wilbur’s uncle, and the crown should have eventually passed to his child, Wilbur’s cousin. Only Wilbur didn’t have a cousin, as his uncle died a tragically sudden death to an illness that had struck quickly and with deadly efficiency, before being able to produce an heir. The next in line had been his father Phil, but he was a mage, sworn to give his life to his work. He was given a choice between the throne and the art of magic, and he chose the latter. So the line of succession pointed towards the next in line, his fourteen year old son.

All that was far behind him now, and there was no trace left of the scared little boy who had so suddenly been hurled up on the hierarchy and given more power than his mind could comprehend. He had grown to be a man who ruled with a hand equally firm and fair, he had been blessed with a beautiful wife and two children who were almost too miraculous to be of this world… 

They had been happy years, for as long as they had lasted, and he was grateful for them. He really was. And for the sake of everything he had lost, he would protect what he still had to his last breath.

Wilbur set his foot on the last step of the staircase and entered the throne room through a side door. The blackstone pillars lining the sides of the room rose so high that it was difficult to see the ceiling, and between them hung golden drapery that glimmered faintly in the light cast by the chandeliers that carried thousands and thousands of little candles. The floor was bare, to show the mosaic that decorated it all the way from the entrance to the throne, depicting battles from the war. The mosaic was noticeably newer than everything else in the room. It had replaced the old art that had decorated the floor generations ago, when L’Manberg was still part of the Green Kingdom. There was no place for pictures of the Green Kings in the throne room of a country that had defeated their family line and taken the castle for their own, so the old artwork had been torn off and replaced by the story of the Independence War for everyone who walked across the room to see.

Everything in the room reminded people of the revolution, but the biggest trophy of them all was the throne itself. It was an incredible feat, a masterpiece made to respect the first king of L’Manberg; a five meters tall artifact made of pure gold. The gold originated from a giant statue depicting the last Green King who had held L’Manberg, the one who had lost to the rebels almost a hundred years ago. His statue, which had stood where the throne now stood back when this was a mere ballroom, had been melted down and reshaped into this demonstration of power. Wilbur had always found a throne made entirely out of solid gold a bit pretentious, but he had to admit it looked glorious against the big arched window behind it. The throne room was positioned next to one of the bigger gardens, the one with the decorative waterfall right behind the window, light coming in through the water casting rainbows all over the room and bathing the throne in soft light.

And it was his to sit on.

“Wilbur!” a woman’s voice called from behind him.

He didn’t turn around to face the person calling his name; he knew who it was. There weren’t many who were close enough to refer to him by his first name instead of his formal titles, but Nihachu was one of them. They had been friends before Wilbur was the king and they would continue to be friends if he somehow lost the throne. Wilbur thought himself lucky to have a loyal friend like her by his side, as he did more and more often these days. Being His Grace the King Wilbur Soot had its perks, but he would have lost his mind if he didn’t have anyone with whom he could just be Wilbur.

He smiled and tilted his head. “Niki! What a pleasant surprise.”

“It always is.” Niki stepped in front of him and gave a little bow. “Have you seen Fundy around? It’s almost time for today’s lesson. We’re studying history today.”

Niki was Fundy’s tutor, but she did a lot more, too. As much as Wilbur wanted to spend his every waking moment with his son, as the king he simply couldn’t do that. Niki had always been the one who took care of Fundy when Wilbur was busy with his royal duties. And when Wilbur was tired or overwhelmed or just couldn’t be the king he was supposed to be, she was always right beside him, ready to catch him if he fell. In all honesty, he didn’t know what he would do without her.

“He was in the yard a while ago,” he replied, smiling at the image that sprouted in his mind. His little boy, thinking he was so tough with a wooden sword in hand. “He was playing with the squire boys and Ranboo again.”

“I’m glad he has such good friends,” Niki smiled. “But he needs to come to his chambers. He's falling behind on his studies."

"He's a smart boy," Wilbur said, maybe a little bit defensively. Just a little bit. "But it's hard to make him learn something he has no interest in."

Niki laughed. "I suppose that's how it is with everyone. Especially children! When you get them to learn one thing, they forget the previous two. And when you finally think you've got them focused on you, they sneak out to play the moment you're looking elsewhere."

They laughed and Wilbur thought, not for the first time and not for the last, how much he appreciated Niki and her help with everything. “Well,” he said with warmth and amusement in his voice, “I’m wishing you luck with your attempts to educate him. The future king cannot fall too far behind on his history studies.”

“I will do my best.” Niki was going to say something else, too, but they were interrupted by the sound of quick footsteps.

A servant girl hurried through the throne room with a scroll in her hand. She was panting, her cheeks glowing from the crisp autumn air, and when she reached Wilbur and Niki she dropped into a deep curtsy. “Your Grace, my lady,” she greeted them, out of breath. “I have a letter to deliver.” She held out the scroll, and Wilbur could see the seal that held it tightly shut.

“It’s from the Invaded Lands,” he said, his brows rising in surprise. “What could they possibly want with us? We haven’t been keeping in contact with their court in a long time, they’re so far away.” He closed his hand around the letter and examined the seal. It was bright, light blue, pressed with a diamond stamp with the squiggly cursive IL placed in the middle. It didn’t strike him as forgery, but then again, he wasn’t really an expert in that field. 

“Thank you,” Wilbur said, flashing a quick smile at the servant girl, and then turned to Niki while putting the letter into his pocket. “I’m curious to see why the Invaded Lands are reaching out to us.”

He said his goodbyes to Niki, who hurried away to look for Fundy, and set his steps towards his chambers. Technically he had been on his way to meet with the Royal Council before opening the throne room to the daily stream of people seeking his help in various matters, but that could wait. He knew himself well enough to know that his curiosity wouldn’t let his mind stay on his royal duties anyway, even if he tried. So he wasn’t going to. Instead he climbed the narrow stairs to the King’s Tower, greeted the guard outside of the heavy double doors, and entered his private residence.

As soon as the doors were tightly shut, Wilbur strode past his bookshelves, past a side table carrying bowls of fruits and a carafe of wine, past a bed too big for a widowed man, and sat down at the desk by the window. The view from the highest tower was breathtaking, but he barely glanced at the clouds lazily making their way across the horizon, in too much hurry to light a candle and pull out the letter. The seal made a very satisfying crack as it broke under his fingers, and finally he could roll open the parchment and spread it on the table.

It had been too many years to remember when L’Manberg had last received a letter from Invaded Lands, but the spiky and slanted handwriting was recognizable enough to instantly pique his interest. These words had been written by the Prince’s own hand. That was not completely unheard of, but not a common occurrence either; royalties had scribes to write their letters for them, unless the subject was either deeply sensitive, such as personal congratulations or condolences… or if it was something that was hoped to stay a secret. Wilbur narrowed his eyes with curiosity as he hurried to read further.

To the one King and Protector of L’Manberg, His Grace Wilbur Soot, from Crown Prince Skeppy of the Invaded Lands, the letter began, and then the words pulled Wilbur in and turned to tension in his fingers, gripping the paper tighter than he was aware of. His eyes moved rapidly over the lines, deep wrinkles appearing on his forehead as he thought about what he was reading and what it meant.

The letter wasn’t long, and Wilbur was a fast reader. As soon as he reached the end, he rolled the parchment back into a scroll and hurried out of his room. He strode down the stairs, lost in his thoughts about the mysterious letter. L’Manberg had always had good relations with Invaded Lands, but they barely kept in contact these days. The distance between the two countries was too long, and the royal families had never been close. 

The last time Wilbur had seen any of them… It must have been the funeral, surely they were present that day, giving their condolences in the way the formalities demanded. Wilbur barely remembered that day; it was all a blur and a haze, locked in his mind inside a box he had lost the key to, but when he really strained his memory he could recall the faces from across the years. A thin, sad-eyed woman with a complicated web of jewelry around her delicate neck and her black curls gathered up into a chignon, a tall man with a bad limp leaning onto a cane, trying his best to stand up with a graceful straight back, and a quiet little boy with dark, observant eyes, not much older then than Fundy was now. All dressed in the same shade of deep, deep blue.

They had played their part as they were expected to, as had everyone that day; no one had felt comfortable around the grieving man with a wound still fresh and exposed, but they had had the decency to not let it stain the day of laying two souls to rest. Funerals were never days of joy and everyone had been mostly just glad when it was all over and they could each return to their own normal. For Wilbur, it had meant learning to live with the sorrow that cast its shadow over his every thought and action, poking his insides with sharp pangs of pain, constantly threatening to crush him under its weight and grind him down until there was nothing left.

He wouldn’t have been able to make it, if it hadn't been for Fundy.

Fundy, his little boy, his dearest treasure, the light in his darkness; the one thing that had pulled him through the days when he had felt like he was dragging his feet through mud that kept trying to pull him deeper and deeper under. It was as if the love that had previously been shared between three people had all turned to point at Fundy, washing over Wilbur in such magnitude that it was almost painful. The only time Wilbur ever felt at peace was when he was holding Fundy close to his chest, and the second he had to let his child leave his arms, the warmth that had filled him turned into fear.

When Wilbur looked at Fundy, his tiny feet that were so quick to run toward trouble, his face that lit up with joy in such a similar way as his mother's had, all he could see were all the ways the universe could take his son away from him. All the ways his small, fragile form could break and snap and shatter, so easily, with nothing to do to stop it from happening. Every day he got to spend with Fundy was a blessing, a gift he received with endless gratitude, and every day he prayed to whatever God was willing to listen to him: Please let me keep this. Please let me keep him. Don't take him away, too. 

His rational side knew that he couldn’t protect his son forever, that the world was a terrifying place full of dangers that lurked in the shadows, hid behind every corner just waiting for the right moment to strike, and sooner or later he would have to let Fundy face them with no one holding his hand through it. But not today, he told himself when Fundy was three and they walked by a pond in the palace's garden, feeding breadcrumbs to ducks. Not today, he told himself when Fundy was seven and they sat on the thick, ornate carpet that Fundy loved to play on and built mighty castles for tiny wooden knights and lords to live in. Not today, he told himself when Fundy was ten and still let Wilbur tell him bedtime stories whenever he had the time. The nest Wilbur had built for them in the tall, sturdy walls of the palace was soft and warm and safe, in all ways different from the world that existed outside them, and he wanted to keep Fundy in it for just one more year, one more month, one more day. He wanted Fundy to stay his little boy for just a little bit longer, before the inevitable day when he would have to let go of him. 

While his thoughts had been busy wandering in the past, his feet had led him to the door of the council room. The guard bowed to him and pulled it open for him to walk through, and he stepped into the spacious, lavishly decorated hall. Round marble pillars held up the high ceiling in two rows on both sides of the room, leading up to a double window that took up almost the entire back wall and showed a beautiful view of almost the entire southern side of the city. In the middle of the room, a long, black table extended all the way across the room from the doors to the grand window.

Most of the seats were taken; the closer they were to the end of the table, the higher in the hierarchy was the person sitting in it. Ministers and advisors, trusted nobles, holders of various high positions such as the treasurer, the high priest, the commander of the royal guard, the court mage. Wilbur greeted the familiar faces with little nods and walked past the table, his shoes pressing into the soft, rose-patterned carpet without sound. The biggest chair, almost alike to a throne, stood at the end of the table with its back toward the window. Wilbur sat on it and eyed the expectant faces that were all looking at him, wondering what could be his reason to arrive late to the council meeting. 

After a brief moment of silence Wilbur finally pulled out the letter. “Technoblade.”

Technoblade glanced at the letter and then back at Wilbur. The silver badge on his cape, engraved with the three swords of the royal guard, gleamed in the dim light of the room. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“You’re in charge of national security. Read this out loud and tell me what you think of it.”

Every pair of eyes in the room was set on Technoblade as he took the letter from Wilbur, rolled it open and started reading. The silence swirled in the room, thick with anticipation and curiosity. When Technoblade finished reading the letter and put it down on the table, you could hear a pin drop.

“Well?” Wilbur’s fingertips tapped impatiently on the armrests. “What do you make of it?”

Techno pondered his words for a couple seconds before giving his answer. “It’s certainly odd.” He pointed at the letter with his hand, rough and coarse from holding his sword through countless battles, and slid his finger along one of the lines. “He wants to come for a visit, but he asks you to keep it from public knowledge. He keeps his tone polite and formal, but his word choices seem too careful and secretive to just brush it off as etiquette. This letter strikes me as a veiled plea for help. He doesn’t want to say it outright, but it is there between the lines.”

“I see.” 

The atmosphere in the room had grown more tense as Techno read further. It was no secret that L'Manberg was cautious towards anything that came from beyond their borders, sometimes overly so. They were not known for their friendliness to outsiders, and would only stick their own neck out if a trusted long-time ally was truly in need of help. 

Historically, L'Manberg and the Invaded Lands had warm relations, but not that warm - and, frankly, Wilbur hadn't done much work to maintain political relationships during the years that he had spent inside the castle, wandering the hallways and ballrooms and gardens with either his thoughts or his son, who he kept strictly by his side whenever it was possible, because the pain of being apart from him for even a second was too strong to bear. It had gotten easier over the years, little by little as he saw him grow and started having some trust in his ability to run without tripping, to climb without falling, to reach out without being hurt, but he still felt hollow when he couldn't see his little boy near him or hold him in his arms. Like a compass needle without a lodestone to point to. What was a kingdom compared to Fundy’s laughter? Why would he care about politics, when all he really needed was to see his son happy and safe? 

But Wilbur wasn't the only father in the world, nor Fundy the only son. A memory resurfaced in his mind, a boy dressed in blue at the funeral, his mother's frail and shaky hands, his father's limp that he tried to hide. Things must be bad, Wilbur thought, if their son was asking for help from foreign courts. Even if his worries were not about his parents, it was still telling that it was him writing the letter instead of the King or Queen. A young prince, not much older than Wilbur himself had been when he was put on the throne. He remembered how lost he had felt, how scared...

“Very well,” Wilbur said, rolling the letter back up in one smooth motion. “L’Manberg will offer all the help we can. Have a letter written and delivered to the Invaded Lands at once.”

Chapter Text

“Can you reach it?”

“Shut up and let me concentrate!”

Fundy tightened his grip on the branch he had his fingers wrapped around and stretched his other arm higher, towards the colorful fabric of the kite that was stuck on the tree just beyond his reach. Ranboo was standing on the ground, peering up at him with a worried look on his face. There really wasn’t any need for that, Fundy thought, giving the trunk of the tree a little kick to emphasize the thought. He was a good climber, he never lost his grip or stepped on a branch too thin on accident. But that was just how Ranboo was; he always had a slight look of concern on his face, as though he was walking on thin ice that could crack and let him fall through if he didn’t position himself just right.

Fundy strained his arm one final time, his fingertips brushed against the fabric - and then, finally, reached far enough to get a grip on it. He pulled it through the leaves and waved it at Ranboo with a big grin on his face. “I told you I’d get it! Piece of cake.” He turned the kite around in his hand, admiring the colors of L’Manberg, happy to see it wasn’t punctured. It would still fly just as new. Wilbur would have been sad if the kite he had made together with his son had been broken. Not that Wilbur would get mad at him for something like that - in fact, Fundy couldn’t remember his dad ever being angry at him, he barely ever even scolded him. Mostly he left that for Niki.

“What are you doing up there, young man?”

Speak of the devil. Fundy glanced down to the ground and saw his teacher approaching with quick strides, holding the hem of her dress in her hands to stop it from dragging on the ground and getting dirty (unfortunately an impossible mission in the gardens). He started making his way down, quickly dropping from one branch to another, the kite awkwardly stuffed between his body and his left forearm. “Sorry! I’ll be down there in just a second!”

“You’d better be!” Niki watched his descent with a stern look on her face, her arms crossed and her foot tapping on the ground. “You know what your father thinks about you climbing trees. Especially that high.”

Fundy made the final jump and landed on the ground, out of breath and leaves sticking out of the orange mess of his hair. “Dad’s just a bore,” he said, rolling his eyes at the thought of Wilbur’s worried face whenever he did anything fun. “I bet when he was a kid he just sat inside and read books all the time.”

“It wouldn’t hurt you to read a book or two every now and then,” Niki said, signaling Fundy and Ranboo to follow her. “At least you’d stay out of trouble for some time. Come on, you two are needed in the throne room.”

“I read books all the time,” Fundy protested, speeding up to keep up with Niki’s quick pace as they made their way through the garden. “I just don’t like the ones you make me read. I like books about adventure. With dragons and explosions and shit. What’s happening in the throne room?”

They walked through a wooden door, decorated with a detailed painting of the pond in the center of the garden it led to, and continued along a long hallway. “An important guest is arriving today,” Niki said, without slowing down. Fundy and Ranboo were half-running to keep up with her. “Your father wants you to be there to welcome him with the rest of the court. And Ranboo, too.”

“What, me? Why?” There it was again, in Ranboo’s tone of voice; like a thinly veiled fear that he was in trouble, merely because he was being talked to.

Niki looked at Ranboo over her shoulder with a reassuring smile on her face. “You’re Phil’s apprentice,” she said. “You’re going to be the court mage one day. It’s one of the most high standing positions in the court. You need to get used to being out in the public. Phil doesn’t want to keep you hidden in his tower.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ranboo twiddled a lock of black, silky hair in his fingers - as black as the mark that covered half of his face. Fundy knew he was self-conscious about his birthmark, or whatever it was. It was understandable, especially with all the nasty rumors and gossip that it stirred up wherever he went. But maybe people wouldn’t have been so quick to jump to conclusions and call him cursed and a monster and a dozen even worse things if he didn't act exactly as they expected him to act. He was a reserved child, silent and timid, and he would rather hide his face and run from mean whispers than face them and defend himself. If Fundy had people spreading mean rumors about him, he would march straight to them and raise such hell that they would think twice before trying to defame the Prince’s name again… but whenever Fundy tried to hint that maybe Ranboo should stand up for himself more, the boy just looked even more terrified than usual. He was hopeless.

They continued along the hallway, following Niki’s brisk steps towards the throne room. With each passing second, Fundy’s curiosity climbed higher and higher. Who could the mysterious guest be? A diplomatic friend, perhaps, or a distant relative? Fundy had seen his fair share of cousins and aunts and uncles who he often had never met before, but whose full names and titles he had still had to memorize in order to not embarrass himself when they came to visit. It was a pain in the ass, especially when there was some sort of a celebration with a lot of guests who were all too ready to get offended by the slightest slip of words. But it wasn’t Fundy’s - or anyone else’s, for all he knew - birthday, and he couldn’t think of any other reason for an official royal visit. So the mystery guest would most likely just be a political ally or his dad’s friend or some high-ranked traveler who wanted to stop by off-record, without all the festivities and celebration that always followed whenever anything significant happened in the court.

With that, they had arrived on the great doors. The guards on either side bowed at them and pulled them open, and they saw the throne room in all of its glory. Fundy had always liked the place, even when he was too young to really understand its significance. The black pillars stood like giants in two rows, holding up the ceiling where the sea of candles, suspended high in the air by fifteen grand chandeliers, cast quivering, otherworldly light and ominous shadows everywhere. As a child, Fundy had spent hours sitting on the mosaic floor, staring at the ceiling and making up stories about the shapes he saw in the shadows: humans and monsters, nobles and peasants, dancing in the candlelight.

Later he had walked under the chandeliers with his father, listening to his lectures about what makes a good king with wide eyes of a child with unending admiration for his father, and then with Niki, who had sat on the mosaic floor with him, pointing out scenes depicted on it and telling him about the revolution where his grandfather’s grandfather had fought for L’Manberg’s independence. Yes, the throne room was indeed a place of many good memories for him.

His father was sitting on the golden throne, dressed in blue silk with ornamental golden crosses patterning the fabric, a shimmering black crown on his curls. There were only a few members of the court present. Phil was standing a few meters from the throne, his green robe almost glowing in the faint light, but most of Wilbur’s other advisors were nowhere to be seen, including Tubbo’s father, even though he had a seat in the council room. Technoblade was standing right next to the throne, as he always did - never far from the king, his hand always half a second away from the grip of his sword if needed. The king had never even been attacked on his watch.

Niki gave Ranboo an encouraging pat on the back and nudged him towards the people. Both children took their places around the throne, Ranboo next to Phil, partially behind him, and Fundy on the right side of the throne. Wilbur’s serious face melted into a warm smile and he gave Fundy’s hair an affectionate ruffle before focusing his attention back on the big doors on the other side of the room. "They may enter now," he said. He was using his king voice: powerful and graceful at the same time, laced with authority. 

Slowly, the doors were pulled open and Fundy could see two figures across the room. The high ceiling gave the announcer's voice a mighty echo as he called out the name of the guest: “His Royal Highness, Prince Skeppy from the Invaded Lands!”

“People call him the Blue Diamond,” Wilbur whispered, in a voice quiet enough that only Fundy could hear his words. “You’ll soon see why.”

Fundy squinted his eyes and peered at the other end of the hall, where the great doors had almost completely opened to reveal two guests. The throne room was big, it was a former ballroom that could hold thousands of guests, and the walk from the doors to the golden throne was a long one. Little by little the two figures drew closer and Fundy started being able to make out more and more details. It didn’t take him long to understand what his father had meant.

The man on the right, the shorter one of the two, was covered from head to toe in shine and sparkle. A simple, elegant crown rested on his black hair, a crown that Fundy first thought was white, but which was actually very light blue. His coat was decorated with tiny diamond shards in all the shades of more blue, woven into the fabric using some intricate technique that no one in L’Manberg would be able to even attempt to replicate, forming complicated patterns across the fabric. More diamonds could be seen on his necklaces and bracelets, they shined on his earrings and dangled from strings woven into his hair and decorated the heavy rings on his fingers. Fundy couldn’t imagine him being able to move without making constant sounds as the countless pieces of jewelry clinked and tinkled against each other.

The taller man, standing on his side, was dressed in a far more simplistic way, in practical red-tinted leather armor that didn’t have much decoration. He had a black and red cape on his shoulders, equipped with a hood that could, no doubt, conceal his face entirely and allow him to travel anonymously, but which had now been pulled down to reveal a serious, almost bored-looking face. He gave off a similar aura as Technoblade; Fundy had a feeling that he had a weapon hidden under his cape and that very few people in this room would have a chance against him if he decided to pull it out and put it to use. He was quite a scary sight, towering tall, a fighter’s grace in his steps.

On the corner of his vision, Fundy could see Ranboo flinch. He mouthed the word “what” at him, but Ranboo just shook his head in response. He looked distraught, almost nauseous.

Ranboo and Phil were standing only a couple meters away, so Fundy gave his father a quick glance to make sure he was focused on the guests and sidled up to them. “Hey man,” he whispered to Ranboo, “what’s wrong?”

“That man,” Ranboo whispered back. “I don’t like him. He was looking at me weird.”

Fundy looked at the stranger in his ominous, dark coat. It was true that he had been looking their way for a second, but Fundy hadn't noticed anything weird in his eyes. He had a kind, gentle face despite his scary appearance. Ranboo was probably just imagining things because he was nervous, but Fundy wasn't going to say it to him. He was a better friend than that. 

The guests had reached the raised platform the throne stood on. The knight bent into a bow, but the man in blue kept his back straight. 

Fundy tugged Phil's robes to get his attention. "Why isn't he bowing?" There was a trace of annoyance in his voice. Everyone had to bow to his father, because he was the King. He stood above everyone else. 

"He's royalty, too," Phil whispered back. "He's a prince, just like you. In his homeland people bow to him. You don't bow to Wilbur either, do you?" 

Fundy was still thinking about his words when Wilbur's voice rang through the room. "Welcome to L'Manberg," he said, spreading out his arms in a friendly gesture. "I hope your journey was a pleasant one. We have honored your request to travel incognito and therefore haven't prepared any formal events to celebrate your arrival, such as the ball we would otherwise host. I hope we can still show our hospitality to you in whatever ways you prefer."

"That is very kind of you," the diamond-covered prince replied. "We have been on the road for quite a long time.”

“I’m sure of that. We will provide you and your entourage with comfortable chambers to rest in. We have room for all the servants you brought with you.”

The prince smiled. There was something mischievous in his smile, something that Fundy found himself liking. “Oh, we haven’t brought anyone with us. It’s just me and Bad.”

“Oh?” The surprise in Wilbur’s voice was reflected on the faces of everyone in the room. Royals never traveled alone - they were always surrounded by knights to protect them and servants to make them comfortable and advisors to help them with any problems that may occur. “Are you sure that’s a wise thing to do? The roads are dangerous, and there’s not much one man can do if you’re attacked.”

The prince’s smile grew even wider. It made Fundy think about a child who’s reveling in the fact that he knows a juicy secret and isn’t going to reveal it to anyone else. “Oh, I have full trust in Bad’s ability to protect me. He’s not just any knight. He’s the best.”

Fundy resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at Technoblade. He knew he wouldn’t see a crack on his carefully composed, serious expression, but he couldn’t help but wonder if just a hint of curiosity could still seep its way through. He made a mental note to remember to mention this strange knight to Tommy later, just so he could laugh at his reaction. Technoblade was highly respected by everyone, but no one looked up to him as much as his squire, who seemed to think he was some sort of a god.

“Very well,” Wilbur said, leaning back into the throne. “You will have spacious chambers and enough servants to cater to your every need. A warm bath and a full meal are already being prepared to help you relax after your long journey.”

“I’m grateful for your generosity.” A pause, the kind of pause that occurs right before something important is brought up. “After I’ve rested for a bit, I’d like to have a talk with you as soon as possible. In private. Bring your court mage, if that’s possible. I have a question regarding magical forces.”

Phil took a step forward. “That would be me. I will do what I can to help.”

“I appreciate it.” Skeppy still didn’t bow, but he gave Phil a little nod. His playful expression from earlier was gone, vanished from his features, leaving only the worry in the wrinkles between his eyebrows and in the corners of his eyes. 

He looked older than his age. He looked desperate.

The meeting ended with more formalities that Fundy followed with growing boredom, shifting his weight from one foot to another and letting his eyes wander from the guests to the ceiling high above them. Of course it was interesting to see new faces in the court, especially when they were foreigners, but he hadn’t learned anything worthwhile about them. Only that the Prince needed some kind of help from his dad and grandpa. In all honesty, Fundy was much more interested in the mysterious knight who gave Ranboo the creeps. His presence was kind and warm, but who knew? Maybe there really was something darker bubbling just beneath the surface. That was the kind of story Fundy liked. It didn’t even occur to him to be scared - he barely knew the feeling. He had never had any reason to get familiar with it. All his life he had been surrounded by people keeping him from ever even scraping his knee.

Not that they’d always been successful. Fundy had become quite skilled at evading his nannies and guardians to roam around the castle and get in trouble. The castle was old, more than a thousand years old according to Niki and his father, and it was filled to the brink with secrets. Fundy knew dozens of secret rooms and tunnels and passages, he knew about hatches under rugs and tiny doors behind pillars and shortcuts that led from one hallway to another, and he could navigate the less luxurious areas of the palace that were used by servants, and he still knew for certain that he hadn't uncovered even a fraction of everything his home was hiding.

After the meeting, Fundy and Ranboo headed straight back to the garden. They hadn’t had a good chance to test the kite yet and Fundy was a bit worried that it wouldn’t fly as well as it should after the morning’s incident. So him and Ranboo made their way back through the long hallway, through the painted door, through the path winding under the trees and bushes and huge colorful flowers, past the pond where a swarm of ducks lazily swam around in the crystal clear water warmed by the hot rays of the midday sun, until they arrived on a small clearing in the miniature forest. 

The kite was not bothered by its unexpected meeting with the tree earlier; it flew high and it flew well. The colors of L'Manberg looked stunning against the light blue sky and the occasional big, fluffy cloud. Fundy liked the colors of the flag, he had always liked them. The first time he had tried painting a kite on his own, the colors had been all wrong because he ran out of paint halfway through and had to start over with pastel colors. It had looked nice, too, but Fundy wanted one that had the right colors, one that actually looked like the flags waving in the wind at the top of every tower of the palace. So Niki helped him with the colors and his dad helped him sew it all together and this new kite was just the way he had imagined it. 

They were just going to test whether or not the kite could fly as high as the top of the old pine tree that even Fundy had never climbed, when he noticed something in a window. The garden was small, and even though it was made to look like a forest, they could still see the walls of the palace reaching high up just behind the trees. Fundy had good eyes, he was sharp like a fox, his father used to say - a sly little creature who sneaked around in the shadows with a mischievous grin on his face. Fundy liked it, he knew Wilbur meant his words to be affectionate, he said them with a smile on his face and a hand ruffling his son's hair. My little fox, his father said, and Fundy felt like that was exactly what he was meant to be. 

Right now his sharp little fox eyes were spying a figure in one of the windows. He squinted his eyes and took a step closer. Ranboo furrowed his brows and looked at him with a curious face. "Fundy? What are you looking at?" 

"I think Dad's guests are in that window over there," Fundy replied and pointed at the high arched window that had been opened slightly on the hot day. "There, look."

"Oh,you're right. Is that your dad, with his back to the window?" 

"Yeah, probably." Fundy was already making his way through the trees, excitement pounding in his chest. The window wasn't too high up. In fact, it was right next to a pretty nice-looking tree… 

"Slow down!" Fundy could hear from Ranboo's voice that he had realized Fundy was up to something. "What are you thinking about?" 

Fundy didn't slow down. "You like climbing, right?" 

Ranboo was behind him, but he could imagine the exact way his face paled and how he gulped before saying: "No, not particularly."

"Great. It's no big deal, just put your hands and feet exactly where I put mine. Easy peasy."

They had reached the tree that grew right by the wall, reaching its branches toward the ajar window. It was high, but not unreasonably high - Fundy had climbed higher trees, and this one had good, thick branches that weren't too close or too far from each other. Fundy grabbed the lowest one and pushed his shoes against the bark, pulling himself up. "Come on! Don't you want to know what they're talking about?" 

Ranboo's curiosity finally got the better of him and he followed Fundy up. He wasn't a bad climber either, and despite his nervous face, he advanced the same speed as his friend. Together they made their way up, up, up, until they were close enough to be able to hear the conversation that was happening behind the window. 

"...to slow it down," said a voice that sounded like Skeppy's. "He's the reason I'm even standing here right now. But it hasn't stopped completely and we don't know how much time I have."

"A difficult situation indeed." That was Wilbur. "I've never seen anything like that before. It looks almost like diamond -" 

"Seems like demons have a taste for irony," Skeppy said in a dry voice. 

Demons? 

Wilbur had told Fundy all about demons. They were foul creatures who would use every opportunity to trick and deceive humans so they could cause as much chaos and pain as possible before finally consuming the human's soul. They were beings of pure evil, things that no sane person would ever even try to interact with. They didn't know human emotions like empathy or love, they only knew how to hurt and kill and destroy. 

To Fundy, they sounded really badass. 

Not enough to counter the fear of them that his dad had instilled inside him, though. Fundy knew better than to ever mess around with dark magic. (Even though he had repeatedly tried to pry some cool knowledge of it out of Phil, who seemed very reluctant to talk about such matters with a child.) Why would Skeppy talk about demons here, in a room with his dad and grandpa? 

As if on cue, Phil's voice rang from the room. "Unfortunately this is far beyond my abilities to help. Especially since it was caused by a demon. I don't work with them." There is a noticeable strain in his voice, there; something hiding behind the words, something just barely unsaid. "However, the Royal Library of L'Manberg has an entire section about magic. I've only managed to read through a fraction of it myself. You're free to stay at our hospitality for as long as you need and use all our resources on your research. I can't guarantee you'll find what you're looking for though, especially since not even your own Court Mage could do more than slow it down. That's already more than what I'm capable of."

"That's nonetheless very generous of you. Once again, I thank you for all your help."

The conversation didn’t sound like it had ended yet, but something interrupted Fundy and Ranboo's eavesdropping. A head of blond hair stuck out through the leaves at the root of the tree and Tommy's face looked up at them. "Hey! What are you two doing?" 

They both jumped at the noise, Ranboo so much that he almost lost his grip. While he was struggling to get back his balance, Fundy frantically shook his head and hushed at Tommy. "Shh! Shh! Stop yelling, you dumbass!" 

Too late - the conversation inside the room had come to a halt. Fundy and Ranboo hurried to retreat deeper into the leaves, while Tommy (who seemed to be catching up to the fact that something was going on) quickly jumped behind the tree. All three of them held their breaths as Phil pushed the window fully open and stuck his head outside, looking around with a suspicious frown on his face for a good ten seconds before seemingly deciding that it had been nothing. He shook his head, stepped back into the room… and closed the window.

“Great,” Fundy snapped at Tommy the second his feet touched the dirt beneath the tree. “Now we’ll never know what they were talking about. Thanks a lot.”

“Hey, don’t blame me.” Tommy glared at him, his arms crossed and a defensive pout on his face. “How was I supposed to know you two would be dangling up there? What were you doing there, anyway?”

“Listening to Wilbur and Phil talk with the guests.” Ranboo dropped from the final branch and walked up to Tommy and Fundy. “And just for the record, it was entirely Fundy’s idea.”

The change was immediate. Tommy's face lit up with curious excitement and he jumped up and down in place, his eyes shooting from Fundy to Ranboo to Fundy again. "Oh right, the guests! What are they like? Why are they here? Man, I wish I could have been there with you this morning."

"They're alright," Fundy shrugged. "We haven't actually talked with them or anything. The prince needs help for something. He was talking about some kind of a curse, but I have no idea what that's all about." Then, because he was still angry at Tommy for interrupting them, he added: "He brought a knight with him. The best knight in the world, apparently." 

Tommy immediately took the bait. "No way. We have the best knight in the world. I have never ever ever seen anyone beat Technoblade. I'd like to see this guy try."

"Arrogance is known to have cost lives on the battlefield," said Technoblade, who had just walked up to them from behind. 

All three of them jumped and hurried to straighten their backs and look as soldierly as possible, even Fundy, who was so much higher in the hierarchy than Technoblade that it didn't matter how he acted around him. But he had been raised to be polite, and his father had made it very clear that a good ruler respected those who served and protected them. The head of the Royal Guard would lay down his life to protect his king if needed, and it was very much possible that Technoblade would still have his position by the time Fundy would sit on the throne. Some day Technoblade could be the only thing standing between Fundy and dangers far bigger than him. That knowledge alone made sure that Fundy's respect for Technoblade was strong and ran deep. 

“Sir!” Tommy’s face was bright red from his chin to the tips of his ears. “I didn’t hear you.”

“You would have, if you paid more attention to your surroundings,” Techno replied, but not in a scolding tone. “A good knight never…”

“...lets his guard down,” Tommy finished the sentence with a subtle eye-roll. Fundy could tell that he’d heard the same advice many times before. “I know, I know. But -” he continued in a defiant voice - “you are better than that foreigner, right?”

The casual amusement on Techno’s face made way for a more serious expression. “It’s not that simple, Tommy. Hubris will never lead to real power. If you place your own people on a pedestal, it will only hurt more once your expectations fail. I would very much like to spar with the knight prince Skeppy brought with him, and maybe I’ll have an opportunity for a match during their stay. I bet there’s a lot I could learn from him. And the same goes for you.”

“Me?” Tommy looked confused. "But you're supposed to be the one who teaches me, not him."

Techno nodded. “But it’s not uncommon for knights to send their squires away for a year or two to learn from someone with a different style, different specialities. That’s the entire point of training someone, isn’t it? Not to produce a copy of yourself, but to give them tools to combine your training with everything else they know and their own personal spirit, to help them create something new altogether.” 

He placed his hands on the shoulders of Tommy, who seemed a bit taken aback by the sudden shift into a more serious territory. “You know I see potential in you. I want to nourish that potential, see it grow into something beautiful. Different regions have different fighting styles. You could learn a lot of things I could never teach you. But not in at least another year," he added, perhaps because of Tommy's expression, wide-eyed and quickly growing towards panic. 

For the rest of the day, Tommy didn't seem to stop thinking about this short exchange. He was quiet and lost in his thoughts, not paying much attention to his friends. Fundy wondered what it would be like if he himself had to go somewhere far away to study. There wasn't much to think about - his father would never, ever allow that to happen. For some reason the thought felt more annoying than reassuring. What if he wanted to see other parts of the world? Would Wilbur just not let him leave? Even if he had half the Royal Guard watching over him? Could he do that? 

Well, of course he could. He was the King; he could do anything he wanted. And even though he usually bent to Fundy's every whim, with this one thing he would be unyielding. Fundy had barely stepped foot outside the palace during the fourteen years of his life, and that wasn't about to change any time soon. His father would keep him close, right by his side, until the time came to pass the crown onto his head. Then he could finally do whatever he wanted. 

He was still thinking about this when the night approached and he was getting ready to go to sleep in his luxurious canopy bed under the painted-on stars on the ceiling. 

Fundy loved his room, he loved the high ceiling and the massive arched window with a sill big enough to comfortably sit on and watch the gardens far below him through the glass, he loved the murals on the walls that depicted forests and mountains and faraway seas, he loved the loft above a gilded spiral staircase that he could climb up to oversee this tiny kingdom that was his room. He had more toys than a child could ask for, from a five-story dollhouse that was almost as tall as Fundy himself, to a collection of music boxes made by the most skilled experts in the world specifically to play his favorite songs, to an entire wooden army of knights to fight an equally strong army of tigers and dragons in the form of plushies. He didn't play with his toys nearly as much as he used to - he was becoming a bit too old to find the childish joy they once gave him - but he didn't want to throw them out either. Not quite yet. 

His most treasured toys were his wooden swords and shields, light child-sized armor, hobbyhorses and banners and drums and everything knights needed to take with them when they rode off to battles. Fundy knew he would never be a knight, but he had grown up surrounded by stories of their fantastical adventures and heroic deeds. How could they not be the centerpiece of the stories he conjured up in his mind? 

A faint knock on the door reached his ears and he turned to see his father peeking through it. He smiled as Wilbur navigated through the mess on the floor - Fundy’s room was always messy - his shoes sinking into the thick carpet, and his smile grew even wider as his father sat down on the bed next to him, giving his red hair a little ruffle. The heavy signet ring on Wilbur's index finger scraped his scalp, but he didn't mind it. His father was here, they were together and nothing could ever pull them apart. Fundy realized that despite his thoughts about Techno and Tommy's earlier conversation, he would still rather choose this. He would always choose this. 

"I'm sorry I couldn't spend much time with you today," Wilbur said. "The guests are a lot of work."

"That's fine," Fundy replied, pulling a white nightgown over his head. The clothes he had worn for the day were in a pile on the floor, hastily thrown away with no thought spared to whoever would pick them up and take them to the laundry maids. Someone would, for sure - the palace had over eight hundred servants attending to all needs of the members of the court. Not just the Royal Family, but also all the other people who resided in the palace - advisors, ministers, grandmasters, lords and ladies, knights and squires, ladies-in-waiting, not to mention the families of all of those people. A lot of the more important servants had their own servants, too. It was a complicated pyramid of power and scheming, scandals and betrayals always bubbling right under the surface, but Fundy knew nothing of that. The only thing he knew - the only thing he needed to know - was that he and Wilbur sat on the very top. "I played with Ranboo and Tommy in the garden."

Wilbur had opened his mouth, as if to say something, but froze up and closed it instead. Fundy had just pushed his arms through the sleeves of the nightgown, momentarily exposing his left forearm which was decorated by a nasty bruise. Not a big one, and it didn't even hurt; but Fundy could see the worry that had flashed on Wilbur's face, for just a second. 

He pulled the sleeve down and grinned. The bruise was new, only starting to form, and Fundy suspected it originated from the hassle on the tree earlier that day, but he was not about to tell Wilbur that he had eavesdropped on an important conversation. "That's nothing. We were swordfighting. Tommy is really tough, almost broke my shield in half with that strike." That was a reasonable explanation. It was not uncommon for the boys to spend their time pretending to be knights - especially since that was the life that really was waiting for Tommy and Tubbo. 

Wilbur ran his finger over Fundy's arm, an inscrutable expression on his face. "They're playing too rough." His voice was carefully constructed, there was no disappointment or even worry, but Fundy could tell he was not pleased. 

"I told you, it's nothing." He pulled his arm back, annoyed by his father's clear overreaction. "Technoblade would say it's my fault for failing to defend myself. He doesn't think a little bruise is the end of the world. You should see what Tommy and Tubbo look like after training. They're always bruised all over."

"Tommy and Tubbo are squires, not princes." The concealed worry in Wilbur's voice had made way for a more gentle tone, the tone of a father just trying to explain the ways of the world to his son. "They're training to become knights and they have to know what a real fight is like. And Technoblade only says such things because he is a fighter, first and foremost. He has sworn to protect us with his life, he cannot afford to be soft. He is here to serve us with his sword and train children like Tommy and Tubbo who will continue that work after him. They need to be fighters, so you wouldn't have to be."

There was something about that way of thinking that struck Fundy as odd." But that doesn't seem very fair," he muttered. "Why do they have to risk their lives for us while we do nothing?" 

Wilbur was silent for a moment. When he spoke, his words felt more serious, more thought out. This was something important.  

"Think about it this way," he said. "Sheep are a shepherd's livelihood. They provide him with wool to keep him warm through the cold months and meat to keep his hunger away. The shepherd needs his sheep. He would not survive without them. But the sheep also need their shepherd. As long as he is alive, as long as he is watching over the flock, they are safe. They never have to worry about being attacked by wolves or not finding a place with enough grass for all of them."

Fundy tried to understand. He felt like he could see where his father was coming from. They had talked about kinghood before, of course they had, mostly about things like fairness and justice and responsibility. This wasn't too far off from his regular lessons. 

"If a foreign army one day crossed our borders and started attacking the people," Wilbur continued, "you, as the King, would gather up your forces and defend this land and its people. You would organize the army so it could fight to its full potential. You would negotiate with the enemy leaders to try and find a peaceful solution. You would keep up good political relations with other countries so you could ask them for help if needed. You would manage the finances with our trading partners so we would have enough food and supplies. And even at peacetime, you will still have to think about your subjects before anything else. You will need to keep the taxes at a reasonable level and then decide how to make the country prosper with that money. You will need to listen to the people when they are hungry or cold or sick and do your best to help them. You will look after them like a shepherd, and if you do it right, they will gladly give their all to serve and protect you. The people don't want anarchy any more than we do. They want a safe, stable country where their children can grow happy and carefree."

Fundy thought about it. "So we both protect each other. Just in different ways," he said, proud of himself for understanding his father's lecture. 

"That's right." Wilbur was smiling now, pride in his eyes, too. "Don't ever make the mistake of believing you're worth more than them just because you have a crown on your head. If the people are unhappy under the rule of their king, they will find a way to replace him. Just like we did a hundred years ago when we revolted against the Green King and separated ourselves from their kingdom."

"What if I fail?" 

Fundy rarely showed much vulnerability, not even to his father - he wanted to seem strong, like someone who knew exactly what he was doing and where he was heading, who never had any doubts about the position he would eventually have to fill. But now his eyes were round with worry and his voice was trembling. He looked at Wilbur with anxiety as his words swirled around in his mind. All that responsibility, all those people looking up to him. It sounded so hard. What if he couldn't do it?

Wilbur's face melted into compassion and love. "Oh, Fundy," he said, leaning closer to close him into a hug. "Don't worry about that. You're going to be a wonderful king, I don't doubt it for a second. And you have time, you have time to learn. You're fourteen. The crown won't be yours for years. I'm not going anywhere for a long time."

"You were fourteen when you were crowned," Fundy mumbled into Wilbur's shirt. 

Wilbur stiffened up a little, then hugged his son ever tighter. "Yes, I was fourteen when I was crowned. I was too young. Far too young. But this time it's going to be different. You won't have to go through what I did, I swear on my life."

They sat like that for a while, and Fundy thought back to what he thought about a few minutes ago. He would always choose this. No matter what someone else had, no matter how free someone else was, no matter how much he sometimes wished the palace walls weren't so high and the gates so heavy. He would always choose this. 

But somewhere in the back of his mind, a small voice was whispering to him that his father's arms were holding him a little bit too tight. 

Chapter Text

Tommy stared at the chessboard. He stared at it so hard and so intensely that it was a miracle that his eyes didn't burn a hole through the checkerboard. It didn't help him understand the formations and patterns that the pieces formed on the imaginary battlefield. 

He knew the rules; they hadn't been that hard to learn. The rules were the easy part. These ones hopped forward one square at a time, and those ones moved diagonally, and those two could jump over other pieces – that was all simple. The goal of the game was also easy: protect your king while trying to attack the enemy king. Just like a real war. 

It was the strategic part, the planning ahead and using the unique strengths of each individual piece to carefully prepare a trap for your opponent to walk into, that frustrated him. Unfortunately, as it turned out, that part was 99 percent of the game. 

"Try to figure out what I'm trying to do," Tubbo had advised him so many times, sitting across from him at the wooden table, the chessboard between them acting as a stage for fierce battles. "That's just as important as making up your own plan. If you can guess what move I'm going to do next, you can try to screw me over before I get to you."

Tommy glanced up at him, observing his focused face – narrowed eyes, a little wrinkle between his eyebrows, his mouth hanging half open. He was reading the board like one of those books he was always carrying around. 

He tried to heed Tubbo’s advice. He really did. But no matter what he did, no matter how many of his pieces he saved from doom by moving them out of Tubbo’s way just in time, no matter how many times he saw through Tubbo’s plans and made just the right moves to counter them, in the end Tubbo always managed to outsmart him somehow. There was always a backup plan, some move Tommy hadn’t been able to predict, and one by one his pieces moved from the board to the table next to it, as Tubbo’s pieces danced across the board closer and closer to Tommy’s king. When they finally managed to corner it, Tommy was almost relieved it was over.

“Good game,” Tubbo said, as he cleared the table and put the board and the pieces back inside the box to wait for the next time. “You’re getting better, I really have to give my all to beat you.”

“I don’t need your pity compliments,“ Tommy huffed, defeated. “Everyone knows you’re the smart one. I’m going to be a soldier, not a strategist.”

That wasn’t entirely true. No one said it out loud, since Tommy was only thirteen and had barely trained for a year, but he wasn’t just squiring for Techno to learn the basic skills needed to become a knight. He was being shaped into something more.

Technically the King had a separate military advisor, but in peacetime it was usually the head of the royal guard who took care of everything regarding national security and the safety of the royal family. And Techno was teaching Tommy more and more about this side of his work. At age 14, the squires were only starting the full extent of their service, but Tommy was already being pushed more and further than many of the older kids.

He had expected it to be hard; that was a given. Techno had not needed to warn him about the early mornings, the long days, and the heavy work alongside training. He had also guessed he’d have to deal with dirty looks from kids who had already lived together in the palace for years, kids from noble families, raised to see themselves above the common folk – some of whom would no doubt see Tommy’s presence as an insult to them. 

He didn’t mind waking up before the sunrise, scrubbing armor and caring for the horses, grooming their coats and keeping their mangers full. He would have joked about the horses eating better than him, but that wouldn’t be true. For the first time in his life, he had as much food as he could eat, and it was good food, too. Within months of moving to the palace he had begun to look healthier and was building some muscle, too. The heavy work, the constant running and lifting and carrying, also played a part. He had always been strong, but here he was thriving.

Techno put his newfound strength into use and worked him relentlessly, with barely enough time to rest. Even though he wasn’t officially a full squire yet, Techno treated him like one. Tommy had to learn swordsmanship, riding, swimming and climbing, he had to learn how to use axes and shields, how to handle spear, mace and many more weapons, and how to deal with cold and heat and hunger. His studies didn’t stop at fighting, either. Knights were supposed to be cultured and cultivated, and so Tommy learned to read and dance and play the lyre and know court etiquette and the code of chivalry. The most ridiculous thing he had to practice, in his opinion, was jousting – even among all the other utterly ridiculous and useless shit Techno made him do. It seemed like a complete waste of time; it wasn’t real fighting, it was just knocking people off their horses, and it was stupid and made Tommy look ridiculous, sitting on his horse with the long, striped stick in his hand. But it was important, for some reason Tommy couldn’t fathom, so he did his best to learn it. 

He did his best with everything, because the only reason he was here, well fed and well dressed instead of freezing to death in some alley, was because Techno had seen something in him. He did his best, because somehow he had clawed his way up from the hell he had been living in, and the thought of being pushed back down was too terrifying to even think about. And the only way to keep the tiniest possibility of it ever happening far away was to be the best of the best. He couldn’t afford to fail, so he didn’t.

When he first arrived in the palace, Techno made him train with the little kids, the ones who had just begun their training. It had felt like an insult, until Tommy realized that these seven–year–olds had already had more formal training than him, and some of them could actually put up a fight. That was so humiliating that Tommy practically hadn’t even put down his sword for weeks; he started his training fiercely, he took everything he could out of it, and he advanced fast. By now he was being put up against kids years older than himself, kids taller and stronger and faster, and even Tommy himself was surprised at how few of those sparring matches he was losing. He had always had some sort of vague suspicion that he was a good fighter, but he could have never even dreamed of being this good. 

And the more fights he won, the more people he beat, the more times he knocked someone on the ground, the less he could see people sneering at him or hissing “peasant” or “street rat” as he walked by. That was all he needed. 

If being strong was the only way for him to earn any respect here, then strength was what he would devote his life to. He had come this far, he had climbed from the alleyways to the royal palace, and he wasn’t going to let anything get in his way. He would show everyone what he was made of. He would become the strongest knight in the entire kingdom, even if it meant dragging himself through more hardships than he could bear. 

He had met Tubbo when he had been living in the palace for a couple of weeks, still learning and adjusting to this new life that was so very different to the one he used to have. A bunch of would–be squires around Tommy's age were practicing at the Small Yard, and Techno had decided that it was time for Tommy to join them. That was exactly what he had been waiting for. Now it was time for the real test, time to meet the people he would be training and living with for the years to come. 

The day he had met Tubbo was still clear in his mind.

By then everyone had already heard the story. A street kid, a penniless orphan who Sir Technoblade had picked up from some alley and brought here to train alongside noble children from prosperous families, because he was impressed by the kid. The rumors had, no doubt, changed and warped while making rounds around the palace, and by the time Techno brought Tommy before all the other squires, no one really knew what to expect. 

Tommy had been fine with that. He had decided to step into this new challenge the same way he had stepped into everything else in his life so far – with his shoulders pushed forward and an angry scowl on his face. If he acted hostile first, it wouldn’t matter if they all looked down on him. He just had to show them that he didn’t give a shit. It had worked so far, and it would work now, too. 

The only difference was that most people he had stood against so far in his life really had been looking down on him. Adults, or just older kids; people who were either handed better cards at life and thought it gave them the right to look at him with disgust or pity, or people who were just as screwed as him and had learned early on that pushing others down was the best way to keep their own head above the water. He hadn’t met a lot of people who greeted him with an open, friendly smile.

From his first cheerful “Hello!” to the twelfth time Tommy knocked the sword from his hand, Tubbo was something Tommy had never encountered before. He had had friends, sure, even people he trusted; but Tubbo completely lacked the hardened shell that everyone on the streets had built to shield themselves with. Tommy found himself utterly disarmed by the way Tubbo looked at him with neither disgust nor pity, only benevolent laughter at the fact that Tommy was clearly better at handling the sword than he was. 

"I'm not very good at this," Tubbo said after a while, out of breath, and Tommy pushed down a snarky remark like yeah, I can see that. "But it's okay. I'll learn." He flashed that same friendly, carefree smile, raising his sword once more. "Again?" 

And again they went, and then again and again, and just like that, Tommy had made himself a friend. 

The squires, hopefully future knights, traditionally started their training at age seven, and Tubbo had been no exception. By the time Tommy arrived at the palace, he had already lived there for over five years, and was much more accustomed to the way of living inside the walls. He turned out to be a great help to Tommy, who was still searching for his place in this group which, at times, was still so hostile to him. Tubbo acted as a bridge builder, helping Tommy get along with the other kids at the palace. 

One of them was the Crown Prince Fundy.

Of course Tommy had known that the prince lived in the palace too, but never in his wildest dreams he couldn’t have imagined actually talking to him. Royals were something completely untouchable, above the lives of commoners and nobles. If you were close enough to talk to them, you were probably in some horrible, horrible trouble. The royal family lived in a different reality altogether, one where people like Tommy simply didn’t exist. Fundy wasn’t like that, though – if it wasn’t for his fancy clothes and pristine knuckles that had never seen an actual fight, Tommy could have mistaken him for any kid among the servants, squires, and noble children who lived in the court with their families. 

He didn’t ask Tubbo how he had become friends with the prince – maybe nobles just were like that? Maybe being friends with the most rich and powerful people in the entire country wasn’t a big deal to them? Fundy was a bit full of himself at times, but he and Tommy shared an interest in general mischief and chaos, and along with Tubbo, the three quickly became notorious in the palace.

Ranboo had joined their friend group a year later. No one knew where he came from; one day he just appeared in the courtyard, strikingly lanky despite his hunched stance, the unsettling birthmark practically glowing on his face despite his attempt to conceal it behind his dark curls. No announcement, no explanation; just a mystery boy suddenly following Phil everywhere.

If Tommy’s arrival at the palace had caused a tiny scandal, Ranboo’s was even bigger news. The rumors were ruthless and seemed to have no end in sight. Everyone had some kind of a guess at who this mysterious stranger was and what kind of story had brought him here. Whenever the subject of this speculation happened to walk in on someone talking about him behind his back, everyone fell into awkward silence and did their best to avoid him. People seemed to try to avoid him as much as possible, anyway – he was cursed, a sad omen of bad luck. He was different, and that made him scary. The adults of the court didn’t take kindly to oddities, and the children followed the example of their parents.

Just like when Tommy had been on the receiving end of gossip and scorn, Tubbo made sure to approach the newcomer with nothing but open friendliness. At first Tommy was weirdly angry at the way Tubbo was suddenly spending so much time with a complete stranger – not because he was jealous or anything, that would be so dumb, he wasn’t the type to cling to people; he had always managed just fine by himself – but at the same time, he saw his own first few weeks in the palace as he watched Ranboo trying to stumble his way through the social hierarchy among people who had already decided they were not going to like him. Eventually his harsh exterior melted enough for him to join Tubbo’s efforts in making the new boy feel comfortable in his new home, and the notorious trio became the notorious four.

Right now the notorious four were heading back into the castle. Tommy and Tubbo had some free time, and they had ran into Fundy and Ranboo on the yard.

“Tell them, Ranboo,” Fundy urged as soon as the four were by themselves. “Tell them what you told me earlier, about the thing with the knight, tell them.”

“It’s really nothing.” Ranboo avoided the other kids’ eyes, keeping his gaze strictly somewhere around his toes. “That foreign knight. Prince Skeppy’s bodyguard or whatever. He gives me the creeps. And I think there’s something weird about him.”

“Ranboo thinks the knight was staring at him,” Fundy blurted out, as if unable to stay silent and let Ranboo downplay this awesome exciting mystery. “He seemed really upset and weirded out. It was so creepy, wasn’t it, Ranboo?”

“I didn’t say staring, ” Ranboo protested, but he didn’t sound very convincing. “It was just – it was weird, okay? I swear to God he was looking right at me and there was something weird in his eyes, like they were glowing, or – I don’t know.” He shuddered. “I don’t want to think about it.

Tubbo, who had stayed silent throughout the conversation, had a familiar wrinkle between his eyebrows. The one that always appeared when he was deep in his thoughts. When he spoke, his voice was slow and thoughtful. “Ranboo, you don’t remember anything from your life before you came here, right?”

All three turned to look at him. It took them a few seconds to realize what his words meant. Tommy drew a sharp inhale, his eyes widening from excitement. “Do you think he could be someone who… knew you? You know? From before?”

Ranboo shuddered. “If he did, he definitely wasn’t my friend. I don’t think I want to know why he was looking at me like that.”

Tommy thought about the knight, trying to remember if he had noticed anything weird about him. He had seen the visitors very briefly as they exited the throne room earlier, the blue prince jingling away with the absurd amount of jewelry hanging from every part of his apparel, the red knight following exactly three steps behind him like a shadow. As far as Tommy could remember, the knight’s eyes had been boringly normal, brown and non–glowing. Tommy might have even described him as a kind–looking man. The strange duo had disappeared into one of the long, winding hallways, and Tommy had hurried on his way to clean the stables. But he still remembered which way the guests had gone…

“I think they’re staying in the East Wing.” He strained his memory, saw them pass the door leading to the Peony Garden. “Somewhere around the flower gardens. Maybe at the Tower of Roses?”

“Or the Sapphire Chamber,” Tubbo suggested. “That’s close to the gardens, and it would make sense too. Symbolism and shit.”

Fundy clapped his hands together. “Well, what are we waiting for then? I know a perfect spot to get a better look at them. Maybe we can even hear something interesting.”

Ranboo fiddled with the edge of his sleeve. “Why is eavesdropping your solution to everything?”

Fundy just grinned in response. “We wouldn’t have to do that, if adults actually told us shit. But no one ever does, so we have to find out on our own.” He took a look at all three of his friends, one by one. “So are you in or not?”

Tommy nodded without hesitation and Tubbo followed right after him. Only Ranboo hesitated for a few seconds, until eventually giving a nervous nod. “I’m not going to claim I’m not a little bit curious,” he sighed.

“So that’s settled, then.” Fundy looked like he didn’t wish for anything more than to find out some big, horrifying secret about the guests. He was practically gliding down the hallway, leading their little party of spies. 

Fundy seemed to think he was the only one who knew about the hidden corridors and hallways and hollows that littered the castle and offered perfect opportunities for anyone wishing to move around without being noticed, but Tommy had done his own fair share of exploring too. His memory was excellent with maps and floor plans, and once he found an interesting spot, he never forgot about its whereabouts. Right now he knew for certain that this hallway would end up leading them up two staircases and then down one more, and they would end up right above the Sapphire Chamber. There would be a small, plain door used by servants, and it would lead to a mostly unused little tunnel between the hallways.

Sure enough, Fundy led them through the door and down another short, steep staircase. They ended up at the start of another hallway, much simpler and narrower than the previous one, with more doors to their left and what looked like a cleaning closet to their right. To Tommy’s surprise, Fundy opened the closet door and gestured to the others to follow him, with a finger on his lips to signal them to keep quiet.

One by one they all climbed into the cramped closet, pushing away the brooms and buckets. The back wall wasn’t wood – instead it looked like some kind of fabric, thin enough for faint light to shine through.

“We’re behind a painting,” Fundy whispered, or rather mouthed the words. Tommy leaned closer to what he now realized was the back of a canvas, his nose almost touching the surface. He could see some lights and shadows moving around in the room and hear faint voices.

The people who built this castle must have loved sticking their nose in everyone’s business, to build spying spots like this.

“...so boring,” someone was currently saying. “You know I don’t care about all that formal stuff. I just want to… I don’t know, do something fun for once. Everyone’s so serious all the time.”

“Maybe you should follow their example, then,” another voice said, slightly frustrated, or maybe worried. “You think everyone’s being too serious. I think you’re the one who isn’t taking this seriously enough.”

“Oh, come on, Bad.” So this had to be the prince. He had a playful way of speech, stretching out the syllables like a cat relaxing in the sun. “We’ll start going through the library tomorrow, and I promise, I promise I’ll take it seriously. But can’t we just take one night off and relax? Just do something fun? I want to pull a prank on someone. How about we switch places? You could be the cool, fancy prince and I’d get to be the strong, scary knight. ” The last words had a condescending, mocking clang to them, but they were also clearly said with a big grin.

The knight didn’t join in with the joking. “We don’t even look alike.”

“Whatever, I’m sure you could take care of that. With your –”

“Shh! You can’t just – oh my goodness, you’re insufferable. Keep quiet about it.”

Tommy glanced at Tubbo, who had squeezed himself right next to him in the tight space. Tubbo looked just as confused as Tommy felt. What the hell was that supposed to mean?

“I’m not insufferable, you’re just a bore.”

“Shut up.”

“No, I’m just –

“No, seriously. Shut up for a second. Just a second, okay?” The knight’s voice was completely different now, it was harsh and had a cold clang all of a sudden. The prince must have noticed it, too, because he didn’t argue back.

For a few seconds, there was only silence. Then –

A hand ripped its way through the canvas, grabbed Tommy’s upper arm and roughly yanked him forwards through the painting, throwing him down on the floor before he had any chance to defend himself. He scrambled backwards, gasping for breath, looking up to see the knight towering over him, the bright lights of the room blinding his eyes after the dark closet. Judging by the sounds of frantic footsteps quickly disappearing into the hallway behind the now–destroyed painting, everyone else had gotten away. Tommy wasn’t sure if he felt more relieved for his friends or scared for himself.

“What,” the knight nearly roared at him, and his voice rattled Tommy’s chest like thunder, “on earth were you doing in there? Who were you with? How much did you hear?” He seemed twice as tall as before, and Tommy could swear there was something different. Something dark, like an invisible veil over his face. There was a raging fire behind his eyes, a fire that could burn kingdoms to the ground.

Tommy’s eyes shot from the furious knight to the prince, sitting on a bed behind him and looking just as surprised as Tommy. He was all blue shine and shimmer – who the hell wears that much jewelry, anyway? If Tommy was still a pickpocket, he could just stick his hand anywhere in that guy’s outfit and get a handful that would feed him for months – and his earrings jingled against something in his hair as he looked from Tommy to the knight and back. “Cut him some slack, Bad,” he said, “he’s just a kid, okay? He looks terrified.”

For once in his life, Tommy didn’t care about looking scared, looking weak. He was only thinking about how to get out of here as fast as possible, preferably in one piece, paralyzing fear freezing him in place. “I didn’t hear anything! We were just – just –” The gears turned inside his head, and he blurted out: “We were playing hide and seek and I found a hallway and – I wasn’t trying to spy on you! I didn’t even know you were here! I swear!”

The prince got up from the bed and walked up to Tommy, who still couldn't take his eyes off the knight. He understood what Ranboo had meant, now – something about the man was making his heart hammer against his ribcage and his breath catch in his throat and his hands shake against the floor. He felt like a bunny being stalked by a fox, as if his most basic, deep–rooted survival instincts had activated to prepare him for fight or flight, just a primitive fear of death filling him to the brim. Even when the prince crouched down in front of him so that their eyes were on the same level, he kept his gaze fixed on the knight, his brain screaming danger danger danger .

The prince looked back over his shoulder and sent the knight an angry glare. “Could you please stop that? That’s completely unnecessary.”

A few seconds of silence. Then, “Fine.” The knight crossed his arms and let out a sigh. And just like that, Tommy could feel the heavy terror lift, fade away, until he had room to breathe again. He was still scared, of course, but it was no longer the unnatural panic it had been just a moment ago.

He finally managed to tear his eyes off the knight, and now that his every cell wasn’t lit up with terror, his rational mind could break through and remind him that he wasn’t a little kid who would cower in a corner whenever an adult got a bit scary. He had seen worse during his years on the streets, much worse, he wasn’t going to let any stupid foreigner knight scare him. So he put up his usual defiant face and tried very hard to look like he had the upper hand somehow.

Come on, Tommy. Come on! You’re not a pathetic little pickpocket anymore. You’re Technoblade’s squire. Act like it!

The prince turned back to Tommy, and he smiled, as if Tommy would fall for a trick like that. “Sorry about Bad, he overreacted. He can be quite intimidating sometimes.”

The knight looked like he was about to say something, but the prince put up a finger, and that was enough to silence him. Then he offered his hand to help Tommy up.

Tommy hesitated, but didn’t see any point in staying on the floor. He was trapped, anyway – if these two wanted to get him in big trouble, there was nothing he could do about it. So, he grabbed the prince’s hand.

It almost made him vince. His hand was cold – not cold as ice, but maybe as a rock that had been sitting in shadow for quite some time on a cold day. Was it weirdly hard and stiff, too? Or was Tommy just imagining it?

Nevertheless, he let the prince help him back on his feet. Feet that were only a little bit shaky.

“There we go,” the prince smiled. “We didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Prince Skeppy from the Invaded Lands. This is my… bodyguard, Bad.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tommy blurted out before realizing how dumb he sounded. Of course they knew he knew who they were, the entire palace was talking about them. The prince was probably just trying to be polite. “I’m Tommy. I’m Technoblade’s squire.”

“Oh, that’s impressive. We’ve heard lots of stories about his strength in battle. You must be very skilled to get picked by him.” The prince leaned closer and Tommy could see a glimpse of seriousness in his playful eyes, maybe even a hint of worry. As if he wanted to appear cheerful and carefree, but was holding something darker inside him. “Now, if you’re being completely honest, how much of our conversation did you actually hear? Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.”

Whenever an adult said that, it always meant that Tommy was definitely in trouble. He swallowed. “I really didn’t hear anything. I was only there for a few minutes. Something – something about you being bored, I think, and him –” he nodded at the knight – “wanting you to take something more seriously, I didn’t even understand what the fuck you were talking about, I swear –”

The prince signaled at him to stop, turning back to the knight. “See? No harm was done. The kid overheard some casual chatter, that’s all. There’s no need to make this a problem. He’s not going to tell anyone what he did or did not hear, and we’re not going to tell anyone we caught him snooping around in our walls.” He looked at Tommy, and there it was again, that mischievous smile that had just a sliver of worry, hinting that it was all just a facade. “Does that sound good? This can just… stay between us.”

Tommy nodded frantically. He still didn’t get what the big deal was, why they seemed so weirdly concerned about what he might have heard, but it was clearly important enough that they were willing to let him off the hook just to keep their secrets. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was.

The prince gestured at the door. “You should probably get going now, before people start wondering where you are.”

Tommy nodded again, taking a step and then another, slowly making his way towards the door. He gave the strange pair one last glance before pulling it open and darting into the hallway. 

He didn’t stop running before he was back at the squires’ quarters, and his heart didn’t stop pounding until long after.

Only after he had calmed down a little bit, had he time to think about how absurd the whole encounter had been. What the hell was that sudden overwhelming panic that had frozen him in place? And why did it feel like the knight had somehow caused it? Or was Tommy just so embarrassed about freezing like a prey in front of a wolf that he refused to believe the fear actually came from himself?

Whatever it was, Tommy was certain he would not mess with those two again. From now on, he would focus solely on his training, just like before. There was just one thing he needed to do first.

“What do you guys think it all meant?”

They were sitting on the grass at one of the palace’s many gardens – also one of the best places for private conversations, as the rooms and hallways indoors were never completely safe. Walls had ears. Kind of ironic, Tommy thought.

Tubbo straightened his legs and leaned back in the sun. “It sounds really weird,” he said. “Maybe he’s a mage like Phil. It could have been a spell of some sort.”

Tommy had deviated from his promise to not tell anyone about the encounter; just this once, though, and then he’d keep his mouth shut. His friends needed to know, they deserved it. And they knew not to run their mouths about it to anyone else.

Tommy turned to Ranboo, who was leaning on a boulder with his arms around his knees. “You know way more about magic than we do. Does Phil ever teach you stuff like that? Like spells?”

“I’ve told you before,” Ranboo sighed. “We don’t do much actual magic… stuff. He says I’m not ready for it. Mostly I just copy texts from old books or bring him instruments when he needs them. Sometimes we meditate and stuff. He talks a lot about having control over your mind. It’s really not that interesting.”

It was true, Ranboo had told them all that before. Tommy wasn’t sure if he believed it, though. How could literal magic not be interesting? Even if Phil didn’t let him take part in his actual work, surely Ranboo had to see something cool every now and then?

“Besides, humans are really difficult to control with magic,” Ranboo continued. “Like emotions and stuff like that. He’d have to be really really strong to be able to do what you described.” He shrugged awkwardly. “Or at least that’s what Phil says.”

“How did he even catch us, anyway? We were completely quiet,” Fundy pointed out. “Did he just, I don’t know, randomly decide to check if there was someone behind a painting? Who does something like that?”

“Now that you mention it…” Tubbo sat up, a pensive frown on his face. “That painting wasn’t on paper or anything frail like that, it was painted on thick fabric. How did he rip through it just like that?”

Tommy hadn't thought about that. Tubbo was right, it was weird. “Maybe it had brittled with time or something? Everything in this castle is super old.” Even as he said the words, he didn’t feel very confident in them. Just what was going on with the guests? Why did everything about them seem to be so… strange?

After the eavesdropping incident, they left the guests alone and just did their best to avoid them. Tubbo, who out of the four of them spent the most time in the library, reportedly saw them spending most of their time digging through the books about magic. Other than that, they rarely saw them around. Over the weeks, life returned to its normal tracks. For all of them except Ranboo.

The change wasn’t big, but it was noticeable. He seemed even more jumpy and anxious than usual, he spent more and more time in Phil’s tower away from other people, and all three of them were getting worried about him. 

Tubbo was the first one to broach the subject with Tommy. They met up at the armory, supposedly to polish some breastplates, but in reality that was just a way to spend some time in a place where no one would care about what they were talking about. Adults never paid much attention to kids when they were doing what they were supposed to do, they were just happy they weren’t causing any trouble for a while.

“I’m telling you, it’s about those two,” Tubbo said, scrubbing the big ornamental letter S embedded on the armor he was working with. The job was repetitive and sweaty, but it did feel nice to see the row of shining armor they had already gone through in a neat row on the wall. “That knight freaked him out so badly that he’s just not getting over it.”

“I don’t blame him,” Tommy grunted, furiously rubbing a particularly nasty stain. “That guy is so fucking creepy. I’m starting to believe what Ranboo said about him on the first day. I just don’t get why he would have a problem with Ranboo. It’s not like they’ve ever even met, right?”

Tubbo put the rag down on the table and looked at Tommy. Something about his expression made Tommy stop scrubbing, too. “I don’t know. There’s really no way for us to know, is there? For all we know, they might actually have." He fiddled with the rag. "What if it’s something serious? What if Ranboo is in danger? I know he’s always worried over nothing, but what if – what if it’s not just nothing this time?”

What could Tommy even say to that? Tubbo could be either right or wrong, but the worry in his voice was chilling. Tommy thought back to the way his entire being was nothing but terror down to his bones, and how Ranboo already seemd to always be out of balance, out of his element wherever he went.

He nodded at Tubbo. “You’re right. We have to help him. I’ll try to find and talk to him tonight, maybe we can convince him to talk to – I don’t know, Phil or someone. There has to be someone who knows how to deal with this.”

They finished their work in silence, and then Tommy went on his way. The sun was starting to set, they were approaching that magical moment where everything shone golden in the evening light, the last rays of the dying day. And under that golden light flooding in through the high windows, Tommy wandered the hallways, looking for Ranboo, thinking about what to say to him.

His feet made no sound on the soft carpet as he turned another corner, past the heavy burgundy curtains framing the breathtaking view over the palace grounds, past ornate vases overflowing with flowers, when something stopped him in his tracks. A voice, echoing on the blackstone walls. A voice that still sent shivers down his spine.

“I knew it,” the voice said, and Tommy wanted to move but he couldn’t. The knight must have been right around the corner, and all Tommy could think about was how does he know I’m here, how did he hear me, why would he – but then he heard another voice around the same corner, and it made his stomach flip.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Ranboo, in the voice of someone backed into a corner, someone who knows there’s no way out. “Please just let me go, I was on my way to my room, it’s so late –”

“You’re a half–demon,” the knight gasped, and Tommy could hear the excitement bubbling under his carefully contained voice. “You’re a half–demon and you don’t even know it yourself, do you?”

“No!” Ranboo sounded like he was on the verge of tears. Tommy didn’t need to see either of them to know what he must have looked like, his back pressed against the wall, his shoulders hunched as if making himself smaller could protect him somehow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I really don’t, p–please –”

Tommy couldn’t just stand there and listen. He didn’t know what the knight was doing, but Ranboo sounded so utterly terrified, as if at the brink of collapsing, and he was now sure that Tubbo had been right about the knight. He took a deep, shaky breath, got ready to jump around the corner –

And then it was dark. All light disappeared from the hallway, darkness permeating the space as something more than just an absence of light, like a heavy blanket stifling Tommy underneath, leaving him gasping for breath. 

If the terror he had felt in the prince’s room had been horrendous, this was a thousand times worse. He couldn’t see, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t –

I’m going to die here. He was so sure of it, he didn’t see a reason to even try to fight. Surely he couldn’t take this, surely it would shatter him.

And then, in just a few seconds that had felt like hours, it was over. The golden evening light was back, the weight was lifted from Tommy’s chest. He could hear birds singing outside the window.

He almost fell over rushing around the corner, his legs shaking so much that they barely carried him for the few meters of distance that he had to cross, but he was only greeted by the empty hallway. 

Ranboo and the knight had vanished.

“I just checked,” Tubbo huffed, out of breath from running. “Their carriage isn’t there. Their horses are gone from the stables, too. They’ve left.”

“And taken Ranboo with them,” Tommy finished.

Fundy raised his eyebrows. “Well, we don’t know that for sure –”

“Oh, fuck off, what else could this be?” Tommy snapped. He did not just go through seeing his friend getting kidnapped to have someone question him like this. “The creepy shithead threatens Ranboo and calls him a demon and does God knows what to make everything dark and shit – and now Ranboo is gone and so is him and the prince? Do you really think it’s just a coincidence?”

“We need to tell someone,” Tubbo said. “We need to tell an adult. Like Phil. We can’t handle something like this alone.”

“No,” Fundy interrupted, with a voice suddenly oddly weak and quiet. “No. We can’t tell anyone.”

Tommy and Tubbo turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”

Fundy’s face was pale as ash. “Dad hates demons more than anything. If Ranboo really has something to do with them…”

All three fell silent as the weight of Fundy’s words slowly sunk in. Tubbo was the first one to recover enough to open his mouth. “Okay. Right. We’d just be bringing him more trouble if we told anyone about what Tommy heard Bad say about him.”

“And we can’t really ask anyone to help us save him if they might be just as dangerous to him as the people who took him in the first place,” Tommy added.

“We’re on our own,” Fundy finished.

Another pause followed, but it was quickly broken by Tommy drawing his sword. Tubbo and Fundy watched as he turned towards the gates with grim determination.

“So,” he said, “it seems like there’s just one thing we can do.” 

Chapter Text

Niki stood in the middle of the empty room and let her thoughts wander freely.

It was how she usually approached a problem with seemingly no answer; gathering all the clues she could find, closing her eyes and just letting her mind explore all the possibilities. She found it easiest to arrive at a logical conclusion when she wasn’t trying to guide her train of thought into a particular direction, instead just following it passively as it winded and snaked its way through the obstacles. Eventually it would reach a place where everything would make sense.

Fundy’s room was empty. The prince himself was nowhere to be found. The last anyone had seen him had been last night, when Niki had put him to bed before withdrawing into her chambers for the night. This much she knew; the rest was a mystery.

Niki had been Fundy’s teacher and primary caretaker ever since he was no more than a little toddler on Wilbur’s protective arms. She knew him, and she knew him well. Never during the fourteen years of his life had he gotten out of bed before someone came to wake him up. He was not a morning person, and most days he had to be practically dragged out of bed. It seemed extremely unlikely to Niki that he would have gotten up on his own this early and decided to not tell anyone where he’d gone.

She had already gone through Fundy’s room, and she would be ordering someone else to do a more thorough search while she sorted things out elsewhere. First she would have to make sure that His Grace was aware of the situation. Then she would cooperate with the Royal Guard to organize a palace-wide search. Everything else would be put on hold; when the future of the kingdom is in danger, he becomes the number one priority of everyone in the castle. She had already called a meeting to discuss the actions they would be taking to find the prince as soon as possible.

The hem of her dress waved behind her in the pace of her hurried strides, the soles of her shoes clicking against the marble floor as she made her way through the hallway. Outside the grand windows, the sunlight was only starting to seep up from behind the horizon, coloring the fragile clouds in gold. The city was slowly waking up into another beautiful autumn day, but Niki spared no thoughts to the weather. She made the one last turn, pulled open the heavy dark oak door, and stepped into the room filled with people whose faces reflected various amounts of panic.

The nervous chatter filling the room suddenly came to a halt as every mouth closed and every pair of eyes turned to Niki. She kept a serious, put-together expression on her face and walked through the servants and council members to take her spot at the end of the table. 

She wasted no time on greetings or explanations. Everyone here knew what the situation was, and they all knew it was urgent. She simply pressed her palms against the table and let her eyes sweep across the room, catching every single nervous face. “So,” she began, “who was the first one to notice His Royal Highness’ disappearance?”

A young man, dressed in the simple clothes of a servant, raised a shaky arm. “It was me, my lady. I went to bring his royal highness his breakfast about an hour ago and found his bed empty.”

Niki blinked. An hour? “What do you mean, an hour ago?” Niki herself had only been informed about this no more than ten minutes ago. “What have you been doing all this time?”

The man’s jaw was shaking so badly that he could barely form words. “I, um, tried to look for him, f-from the gardens and the library, but I couldn’t find a trace. And then I bumped into Aimsey…” He nodded at another servant, also present in the room. “And they said someone should tell you–”

“But not the King?” Niki couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “It never occurred to you that His Grace should know about the disappearance of his only son?”

The man swallowed so hard Niki could see his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “I… I didn’t… His Grace is very, um, strict about the prince–”

“So you hoped to resolve the situation without alarming him,” Niki finished. She wanted to slap the poor man for his incompetence. “In other words, you were more worried about the King’s reaction than the safety of the prince.”

The man seemed to be on the verge of tears. Niki sighed and swallowed the nasty rant threatening to pour out of her mouth. Tormenting the servant any more wouldn’t bring them closer to finding Fundy. “So, what else do we know?”

“Two squires and the Court Mage’s apprentice have also vanished,” said a woman who Niki recognized as one of the ministers. “The visitors from the Invaded Lands appear to have left in the dark of the night. In addition, three horses are missing from the stables. If you want my humble opinion, all this together points to a kidnapping.”

Niki nodded, her lips pressed into a tight line. Scenarios ran through her head, all the possible explanations, all the ways this could end. Their chances didn’t seem bright.

“Okay,” she said, stoic with grim determination to solve this unsolvable disaster. “Someone needs to inform His Grace at once–”

“WHERE IS MY SON?”

Everyone in the room turned to face the door, which had just flown open with a loud crack. In the doorway stood Wilbur, barefoot in a dressing gown without his glasses, his hair a mess and his eyes wide with maddening fear. 

Every single person in the room was frozen in place at the sight of their king in such a state. Everyone but Niki. She strode across the room with determined steps, through the people all staring at Wilbur with expressions varying from shock to pity to fear, and stopped right in front of him. If she was the only one in this room with enough guts to tell him the truth, then so be it. She would not let Wilbur down, not as her king, not as her friend. Stone-faced and unflinching, she looked at him. “We don’t know. We’re trying to find out, but at the moment we do not know.”

Wilbur’s mouth opened wide but no scream came out, only cracked sobs. He lifted his shaking hands onto Niki’s shoulders and leaned on her, as if she was the only thing keeping him on his feet. “No,” he mumbled, “no, no, no. This can’t be happening. It can’t, it can’t –”

“Wilbur.” Niki didn’t bother using the king’s formal title. In this state Wilbur needed someone who saw him as a person, not just a king. “You need to pull yourself together.”

She wasn’t sure if Wilbur heard her, or comprehended her words. He kept mumbling incoherently for a few more seconds, until suddenly lifting his eyes to Niki’s, clear with resolve. “You have to bring him back. Do you hear me? You have to. This is an order.”

People in the room shared awkward glances, surprised whispers filling the air. “Your Grace,” someone said, an edge of uncertainty in their carefully slow words, “with all due respect, Lady Nihachu is a teacher. Surely someone from the Royal Guard would be a better fit for–”

“I’ll have you know,” Wilbur loudly cut them off, “that I trust Niki more than every single other person in this room combined. I would put my life in her hands, and my son’s life as well. If anyone has something to say about that, they can do it after resigning and leaving this palace for good.”

This sudden outburst was surely partially the fault of Wilbur’s shaken state, but the words were sincere and made Niki straighten her back with confidence. During her years in the palace, it had become clear to everyone that Wilbur placed far more trust in her than nearly anyone else close to him, but not many understood this peculiar relationship. After all, why would a mere teacher and a nanny be the confidante of the king?

Niki was not just a teacher, but the nature of her true position required her to keep it hidden. Few people in the palace knew what her real responsibilities were; fewer understood what a crucial piece she was in the court.

“I will do everything in my power to fulfill that order, Your Grace.” Niki did her best to keep her voice stable, her presence calm. Her hands gripped Wilbur’s, sturdy like a rock to support him. “No harm will come to the prince, as long as it’s in my power to protect him. I promise you.”

“Good.” The fire lighting up Wilbur’s eyes mere seconds ago was waning, the man in front of Niki diminishing into a crumpled pile of despair. He spared Niki one more look, a quiet plea in his eyes – please – and then he simply said: “Go to Phil. He can help you.” 

And with that, he turned away, pushed open the door, and disappeared into the hallway.

Niki wasted no time to go through the doubtful looks that surely most people in the room were sending her way as she exited the room as well. She owed them no explanation for why Wilbur had chosen her of all the people to bring back the prince.

Lady Nihachu is a teacher.

Niki was not just a teacher. She had never been just a teacher.

Publicly, she had majored in political history during her time in the Royal Academy, and graduated at the top of her class. That was only a half-lie; she had studied political history, that part was true, but her real aspirations had never lied in the field of academics. Most of her classmates had gone on to become professors or advisors or scholars, but that had never been Niki’s path.

Her mother had taught her much about herbs and their healing and harming abilities, and it was no surprise that poisons became her specialty, but she also greatly enjoyed unarmed combat, and – according to her teachers – was a natural in fencing. She mastered archery from the ground and from horseback, and learned to handle dozens of different weapons ranging from spears to longswords to daggers. The academy didn’t just produce bookwise scholars, it was a beacon of knowledge for all fields imaginable from poetry to magic, and Niki had been determined to learn how to protect herself and those closest to her.

She had trained under the finest of fighters and killers, practiced relentlessly on the bare training grounds of the Academy, and balanced her more theoretical studies with her determination to become strong enough to defeat any opponent in her way. Her days had been long and full of work, and her path had been littered with moments of questions and doubt, but when she had stood on a podium in her graduation ceremony, the wreath of the top student resting on her ceremonial hairdo, she had known that her life would be her own and exactly the way she wanted.

It was customary for the graduates of the academy to be placed in the service of the lord or lady of some powerful house for a year to spread the knowledge they had accumulated in the years of their studies. After this year-long period of service, they were free to go wherever they wanted. Considering Niki’s field of expertise, she had expected to become someone’s protector or maybe a fencing teacher for some lordling. No one had been as surprised as her when the King himself had requested her skills for his own purposes. And Niki would never forget the moment she had bowed before the most powerful man in the realm, excitement and nervousness filling her to the brim in equal measure, and heard him speak words that would change her life – bounding it to the prince’s.

Niki reached her chambers and quickly made her way to her closet, changing her gown into a more practical set of simple shirt and pants. She fastened her cape and made sure it covered the sword on her hip, as well as a knife sharp enough to cut a snowflake in half. The fabric billowed out behind her as she turned around and strode back out into the hallway, her every movement radiating sheer determination to fulfill her duty.

Niki was not just a teacher. She was a bodyguard, and she would either bring her protectee back safely or die trying.

Reaching and climbing Phil’s tower took little time; it was close by to her living quarters, and she strode up the narrow circular stairwell three steps at a time. The door was open when she reached the top – the Court Mage had been expecting her.

It wasn’t Niki’s first time stepping into this room that seemed part laboratory, part library, and part garden, but for a second it took her over as it always did. The atmosphere was hypnotizing. The walls were covered in shelves that held everything from ancient-looking books to crystals shimmering in every color to strange devices, the purpose of which she couldn’t even begin to imagine. Dried herbs hung from the ceiling, contributing to the odd, mystical smell filling the room, and in-between them little pieces of glass slowly revolved without the help of wind, casting colorful lights everywhere. Most surfaces were covered in endless clutter, still somehow leaving enough space for dozens of plants, some of which looked far too exotic to be from anywhere near L’Manberg. And in the middle of this controlled chaos stood Phil, in front of his workbench, one of the only clear surfaces in the entire room.

Niki wasted no time for greetings. “His Grace told me you can help me find the prince.”

Phil nodded. “I know what he means. Just a second, let me fetch it.”

It. So it was an object of some kind. Niki had an inkling, even before Phil returned and handed her a small case. Niki opened it.

It was a compass, as normal a compass could be. Nothing out of the ordinary. Except…

“It’s not pointing towards the north,” Niki pointed out.

“Correct.” There was something awkward in Phil’s voice, as though embarrassed to say what would follow next. “It’s embedded with a charm that makes it always search out the prince.”

Niki stared at him. “You put a tracking spell on Fundy?”

Phil cleared his throat. “I was against it. My son left me no choices, he used his authority as the king. Honestly, in his defense…” He shrugged, defeated. “Right now I’m glad he made me do it. Without the charm our troubles would be much greater.”

“I guess so.” Niki snapped the case shut and put it in her pocket, turning to leave. “Thank you.”

“Wait.” Phil reached his arm towards Niki, almost grabbing her arm to stop her from leaving, but halting the movement before touching her. There was a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows, and Niki could see his fingers trembling, inches away from her skin. “I need you to know something before you go. I strongly suspect it has something to do with all this.”

Niki waited patiently – more patiently than she should have, really, with the urgent situation at hand – as Phil searched for the right words. Finally, he spoke again. “How much do you know about demons?”

Niki hadn’t studied the occult; the topic was intriguing, but her ambitions had always been in the world of humans. “Not much.”

“Okay. I’ll go over the basics, then.” Phil cleared his throat and held open his palm between himself and Niki. “Every creature in this world can harness and channel magical forces. Some are born with natural talent, while others can reach high potential with disciplined training. Like sparkles, some of us glow stronger than others.”

As he spoke, a sparkle appeared through the skin of his palm and settled a few inches above it, floating in the air. It was joined by others, and soon there was a tiny fiery dance of sparkles fizzling in and out of existence above Phil’s hand, until he squeezed it into a fist, making them disappear.

“If humans are like sparkles,” he continued, taking a candle from a side table and setting it down on the workbench, “demons are more like the flame of a candle. Their magical potential is far beyond what even the strongest human mage could ever wish for. In short, their magical powers burn brighter and stronger than ours in every possible way.”

Now he held his hand above the candle, slowly lifting it upwards. With the movement, a small spark appeared on the wick of the candle, quickly growing into a steady flame that cast warm, yellow light on their faces. 

Niki stifled a shudder. This was magic.

“But there are also beings that fall somewhere between these two. It’s rare, but sometimes a halfling is born, not fully a human but not a demon either. And this is where things get a bit more complicated.” He continued to raise his hand higher, and the flame continued to grow, far beyond what any normal candle could sustain. “They have the magical potential of a demon… contained inside the frail body of a human. They might be able to suppress it for some time, but eventually it will force its way out. And when that happens…”

The flame was now burning so bright that Niki couldn’t watch it; she had to shield her eyes from the blinding light that filled every nook of the room, radiating enough heat to burn her skin. When she could finally open her eyes again, the candle had melted into a puddle on the table.

“The consequences are destructive,” Phil finished. “Few of them survive it.”

“And this has something to do with Fundy’s disappearance?” Niki had a feeling she already knew the answer. A lot of things about Phil and his apprentice that had puzzled her before suddenly made a lot of sense.

Phil’s eyes were dark from worry.. “The prince isn’t the only one who’s gone. I trust that you know about the three other kids who have also disappeared?”

“The squire boys and your apprentice.” 

“Yes.” Phil took a deep breath. “What I’m about to tell you is strictly confidential. You cannot speak of this to anyone, not even the king.”

Niki raised her eyebrows. Keeping secrets from the king was not only questionable, it was highly illegal. As the highest authority in the kingdom, he had the inherent right to command others as he wished, and lying to him or refusing to answer his questions was out of the picture. Depending on what Phil was about to tell her, his suggestion could count as treason.

“Ranboo,” Phil continued in a heavy, grim voice, “is a half-demon. When I found him in an orphanage, amnesiac, without a clue of who or what he was, I immediately knew. And kids like him don’t usually have happy endings. There are ways to take advantage of the powers of those like him, none of them safe in any way, and that fact almost guarantees them the fate of being taken or bought by some hubris-riddled mage who ends up killing them as part of some ritual. I couldn’t let that happen to him, Niki. I just couldn’t. I had to save him.”

“So –” Niki was struggling to fit this huge amount of new information into the picture she had of Phil and his peculiar apprentice. “All this time, you’ve been – he’s been–”

“You have to understand.” Phil’s voice was shaking now, teetering on desperate. “If my son knew, if anyone knew… you know how demons are viewed in this kingdom. You know how Wilbur sees them.”

Niki knew little of what had caused Wilbur’s intense hatred for demons in particular; he never seemed to hold strong opinions on dark magic in general. From what she had gathered, it could have had something to do with how he had lost his wife and daughter, Fundy’s twin sister, years ago, before Niki entered his service. If that was the case, it was no wonder he harbored such hate for their entire race. But surely he couldn’t blame a little boy for something he had no part in? 

She cleared her throat. “So you think Ranboo was their actual target?”

Phil nodded. “The council seems to think their main goal was to take the prince, but it makes no sense to me. They certainly don’t need ransom; the Invaded Lands have their diamond mines and more riches L’Manberg could ever wish for. And there is no bad blood between the royal families, either. But the day Prince Skeppy arrived in the city, I learned something that gives them a motive to want Ranboo for his magical potential. I don’t know why the other children are missing as well, but it must somehow be because Ranboo was taken.”

“I understand.” Niki didn’t ask for more details about the motive; she hardly needed to know it in order to carry out her mission. The important part was knowing what her protectee had gotten himself involved in, and having heard Phil’s side of things, the situation sure seemed tough. Niki had never disappointed Wilbur, though, and she wasn’t going to let this be the first time. “Thank you for the information,” she concluded, turning to leave. 

This time Phil really did grab her by the arm. The silent plea in his eyes, urging Niki to wait, was utterly drenched in fear. She furrowed her brows. “What?”

“I have to ask you something.” Phil’s grip was tight, almost painfully so, but it didn’t seem like the man was intentionally trying to hurt her. Rather, he was so distressed that he didn’t understand how hard his fingers were squeezing her arm. 

Niki waited.

“I know that Wilbur has given you an order as the king.” The words were heavy with worry and faster than how Phil usually spoke. His voice was shaking slightly, his knuckles white against Niki’s skin. “I know he has adjured you as a father. But please, please let me make a request to you as well.” He swallowed, his eyes dark. “I’ve seen what happens to kids like Ranboo when they end up in the hands of bad people. I can never forgive myself if anything happens to him. I know Fundy is your priority, and he should be, but if it’s in your hands, bring back the others as well. Do your best to protect them.”

“Phil.” Niki placed her hand on his, looking at his red-rimmed eyes. “You don’t have to worry. I’ll do everything I can to bring all four of them home safely.

Phil nodded, his face ash-pale. His hand trembled under Niki's fingers. "Good. That's good."

Never during her stay in the palace had Niki seen the man in such a state of distress. He must really care about Ranboo, Niki thought to herself. And whatever he fears might happen to his apprentice must be truly terrible. 

With the fingers tightly squeezed around the compass, she made her way all the way down the spiral staircase and through the hallways towards the stables. The fastest horse in the castle was already saddled and waiting for her; no one else, or even Niki herself in any other situation, could borrow Carl from Technoblade, but today was not just any other day. She needed all the help she could get to bring the prince back. And the other children as well, she reminded herself. She would have done her best to find all of them regardless, but after Phil’s plea she was all the more determined to get all four of them safely back home from whatever they had gotten themselves into.

At the gates of the city, she checked the compass. The needle was pointing south, towards the Invaded Lands. So far everything seemed to align with Phil’s theory.

She spurred Carl into galloping and let her mind fully focus on the promise she had made to Wilbur, on the promise she had made to Phil.

She would accomplish her mission or die trying.

It was a busy night at the tavern, compared to the usual. Of course, “busy” was entirely relative, and this particular establishment was barely more than a shed on the side of the road, miles away from the nearest town. It was not the kind of place that was full of music and laughter and cheerful drinking songs on any given day; the single room was dark, thanks to the grimy windows and the short candle stumps, half of which had snuffed themselves out in puddles of wax, and the innkeeper’s sunken eyes were even darker. However, that same morning there had been three unexpected guests, and now, at the final hour before sunset, a fourth one was about to step in through the creaking door.

Niki had been riding with almost no rest for two days straight. The children had a head start of possibly an entire night, and she had not a moment to spare if she wished to reach them as fast as possible. They must have been traveling without rest as well, though, as Niki still hadn’t seen a glimpse of them and her compass was still pointing steadily towards the south, no matter how far along the great road she advanced.

But unlike Niki, none of the children were trained to withstand as much physical vigor as her. They couldn’t possibly go on without rest forever; they needed to sleep, and - more importantly - they needed to eat. So Niki had been making a swift stop at every inn she passed along the way, hoping to find someone who had seen the little runaways on their way to the Invaded Lands.

So far, she had had no luck.

This place certainly didn’t seem very promising. Niki blinked in the dim light as the innkeeper glared at her from across the room, his eyes anything but welcoming. There were a few tables scattered across the bare dirt floor, most of them empty aside from a few older men - most likely regulars whose consumption of ale was the only thing keeping the barkeeper in coin - and although there was a crooked sign simply stating “INN” above the front door, Niki doubted that there had been any overnight visitors in years. There was a ladder behind the bar counter that led up to a loft, but other than that, Niki wasn’t sure where a potential customer could even sleep.

Nevertheless, she made her way through the room, pretending not to notice every pair of eyes in the room following her every step. She had her hood up and her hand near her sword, but she wasn’t here to start a fight. She would get whatever information she could and then be on her way.

“Good evening,” she greeted the barkeeper. 

The man did not reply, eyeing Niki up and down with suspicion. There was a scar right above his left eye, and it moved up and down with the movement of his face. He had a glass in one hand and a rug in the other, although the rug looked so filthy that Niki doubted it was making the glass any cleaner. 

Niki observed all these details, as well as the fact that she could clearly see the handle of a knife hanging on the man’s belt, his shirt half-covering it in an unsuccessful attempt to hide the weapon, and leaned closer to the man. “How is your business doing? Had any customers on this fine evening, aside from these gentlemen here?”

The man let out some kind of a grunt that Niki chose to interpret as a reply. He certainly wasn’t a man of conversation, it seemed.

Luckily there were ways to loosen up someone’s tongue.

She pulled out a small leather purse from her pocket, loosened the strings holding it shut and set it down on the counter. A few coins rolled out, glimmering gold against the dusty wood. It wasn’t all she was carrying, but she was almost certain it would be more than enough to make the barkeeper more cooperative. It was likely more than he made in months of pouring ale for piss poor customers.

“Traveling is hungry business.” She nudged the purse closer to the barkeeper. “I’ll take whatever food you have available, and the rest is for anything interesting you’ve seen in the past few days.

The man gave Niki one last distrustful look before grabbing the money and inspecting one of the coins against candlelight. It seemed to be to his satisfaction, because he turned around, limped over to a barely lit fireplace in the corner, and returned with a bowl full of something originating from the pot hanging above it.

“Rabbit stew,” he uttered, sticking a spoon into the mush that Niki suspected had very little actual rabbit in it. “I don’t have much left, the kids ate like horses.”

A lightning went through Niki, the spoon freezing halfway on its way to her mouth. She forced herself to keep her composure, not letting her reaction show to the outside. “Kids? What kids?”

“Just some urchins on their way south. Three of them, with horses too fancy for how they were dressed. Stopped by and ate half of what I had in the house, but paid well for it, so who am I to complain?”

“I see.” Three kids, not four. That meant they had either been separated on the way, or - more likely - had not left the palace together in the first place. “How long ago was this?”

“This morning.” The man’s voice was raspy in a way that suggests he didn’t use it much, and he seemed a bit surprised himself at how talkative he had gotten all of a sudden. This was probably the most wordy conversation he had had in a long time. “They arrived some time before noon and left soon after.”

Niki shoveled the stew into her mouth, both not wanting to waste the food she had paid for and knowing she most likely wouldn’t stop again before reaching the children. If they had been here this morning, it not only confirmed that they had been traveling on the main road, but also that they were only a few hours ahead of Niki. She could reach them before morning, especially if they would sleep instead of riding through the night. She thanked the barkeeper and hurried back to Carl, but not before giving the man another full purse of coins before exiting the inn.

Behind her, in a dark, shadowy corner of the room, a cloaked figure who had overheard her exchange with the barkeeper stared at her back as she hurried out. An ominous smile slowly bloomed under the cloak.

Chapter Text

“Your Grace, this is madness! A demon caused this tragedy in the first place – surely you can’t think another one of those monsters would bring anything but more pain–”

“What choice do I have? The curse is demonic in origin, only another demon can lift it.”

“Everything is prepared for the ritual. Just say the word, Your Grace, and we will begin.”

“I’m begging you, my prince! Do not do this!”

“My decision is final. What do I have left to lose?”

The circle is drawn, the price is paid. The veil between worlds is lifted by a gust of wind, for just a moment…

“Greetings, little prince. How can I be of service?”

Bad liked to watch Skeppy sleep. It was the only time he ever felt like he could truly protect him, to be sure that he wasn’t about to foolishly throw himself at something he was not capable of handling. Humans were so fragile, so prone to shatter from the slightest bit of force. It made Bad nervous. He would rather have Skeppy close by all the time. Within an arm’s reach, so he could shield him from anything that could possibly harm him.

He reached out his hand to sweep a loose strand of hair behind Skeppy’s ear but hesitated, not wanting to risk waking him up. The prince looked so peaceful in his sleep, all the worries of the world erased from his face. Bad pulled his hand back, merely gracing Skeppy’s black locks and the diamonds intertwined with them.

Skeppy hadn’t wanted to speak to him lately, after they’d left L’Manberg. At least when he was asleep, he wasn’t sending Bad dirty looks behind his back, or – worse – looking at him with open disgust.

It’d be okay. With time, he would understand. Bad would make him understand, he would make the world into one where Skeppy would know that there was nothing Bad wouldn’t do to keep him safe. There wasn’t a future where the two of them weren’t bound together by the strings of fate, no universe where they weren’t meant to walk side by side. If the world tried to tear them apart, Bad would reshape its fabric until it was right again, until all the obstacles between them were reduced to ash.

Bad was here to watch over him. No harm would come to the prince as long as the unbreakable contract bound their souls together. 

He sensed a shift, the energy of a new consciousness awakening, breaking through. He spared Skeppy one last longing look and headed towards the carriage. 

Just as he expected, the halfling was looking at him from the back of the carriage, eyes wide open though still disoriented. It was understandable,  given that he had been kept under magical sleep for the past few days. Bad could taste his fear on his tongue.

Good. Maybe that’d mean he’d cooperate without too much of a struggle. 

“You’re awake.” 

It wasn’t a question, but the halfling nodded anyway. He was huddled in the corner of the small space, his lanky legs pulled protectively against his chest. Bad could have used his aura, but he decided it was unnecessary. It didn’t seem like the halfling would dare try anything unwise. He was scared enough as it was.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“You said something about me being a half-demon?” The way the halfling said it made it sound like a question, the pitch jumping up at the end in an unsure manner. 

Bad nodded. Excitement boiled just under his skin, forcing him to focus on keeping his voice calm and his tone even. “Do you know what it means?”

This time the kid shook his head. Bad narrowed his eyes, wishing – not for the first time – that his abilities included detecting lies. The glamor in his cloak was useful in making him appear more human-like, and his aura helped when he needed to be intimidating, but telling truth from lie had never been his strong suit. Still, the halfling not knowing about his own true origins wasn’t too far of a stretch. The mage probably thought he was protecting his apprentice by keeping the truth veiled. Soft, illogical, as humans always were.

Then again, as of late Bad himself hadn’t been acting in the most logical way. Apparently, caring about someone will do that to you.

He was about to continue this somewhat one-sided conversation when the door to the carriage suddenly flung open behind him. He spun around, his hand finding the hilt of his knife with no conscious effort – but it was just Skeppy, who had either woken up or had only been pretending to sleep in the first place. Bad released a deep breath; it frustrated him that Skeppy could do that. With Ranboo waking up, Bad had immediately noticed his consciousness in the peripheral of his senses, but the prince was merely a human and therefore his soul didn’t glow as bright in Bad’s mind’s eye. With Skeppy being the contractor, Bad always knew precisely where he was, but the exact state of his mind was… fuzzier.

Skeppy looked fierce in his traveling clothes, a more practical take on his usual attire. A simple dark blue shirt and matching pants that were complemented by just one necklace, a few rings and bracelets, and some shards dangling from his dark curls. The crown, along with the rest of his impressive jewelry collection, was safely in a chest with the rest of their luggage. Even without it, every inch of him was radiating authority. “Bad. Leave.”

“I need to have a talk with him.” Bad struggled against the overwhelming need to bow his head and exit the carriage. It was physically difficult to go against a direct order from the Prince, and his muscles strained from the effort.

“So do I.” There was a threatening undertone to his words, one Bad knew better than to mess with. Skeppy’s usually so carefree and mischievous voice had a cold, sharp clang to it. “Get out.”

Bad gave up trying to resist the push and tug of magic that was nudging him towards the door with soft, tempting fingers. Skeppy spared him no looks as he strode through the cramped space with just a few steps, through the door and out into their temporary camp.

Disobeying the contractor was impossible. But Skeppy never told him he couldn’t listen.

He leaned closer to the wall and slowly, carefully, placed his ear against it. Skeppy’s voice carried through only slightly muffled, the words clearly understandable. “I want you to know that I was against this. It’s not right.”

“Then… can you bring me back home?” The halfling sounded so pathetically hopeful, surely having grasped that Skeppy was the one calling the shots here.

Unfortunately for him, Skeppy was only kind, not stupid. “It’s complicated,” Bad could hear him dodging the question. “You need to travel with us for the time being. But I assure you, no harm is going to come of this to you. We just need your help with something, and it needs to happen in the Invaded Lands.”

“Well, is it too much to ask to get a little bit more detail?” Bad wouldn’t have thought the kid had it in him to push back like that. “If you need my help, the least you can do is tell me what for.”

The silence that followed was heavy with hesitation. Bad held his breath. Finally, Skeppy said: “Why don’t you come out so we have more room to talk? You must be starving, too. I’ll get you some food.”

Bad jumped away from the wall, hurrying over to the campfire in a hurry to hide the fact that he had been listening. By the time Skeppy and the halfling emerged from the carriage, he was sitting by the fire and sharpening his knife seemingly clueless of the exchange that had taken place between them.

Skeppy guided the boy to the campfire, gesturing at him to sit down on a log they had placed as a bench. He did, his shoulders hunched, seemingly both scared and tempted to look at Bad. He kept his eyes down instead.

“Your name was Ranboo, right?” Skeppy’s friendly tone sounded almost desperate to Bad’s ears, betraying his pathetic need to assure the halfling that everything was fine. He had been furious when Bad had revealed what he had done, first refusing to escape with the halfling, urging Bad to return him to the mage and hide his terrible crime. It had taken Bad a long while of coaxing and persuading, explaining the circumstances over and over again, to make Skeppy understand the reality of the situation. That they had already crossed the line. That the boy was under a sleeping curse, and that if Bad were to bring him back, he would also have to turn himself in, because there was no hiding this anymore. That they would surely both be imprisoned, and Skeppy’s search for what he so desperately needed would be jeopardized. Skeppy had understood – eventually – that there was no other option than to follow through with Bad’s plan and flee into the night with the boy, but Bad could see how much he hated the truth he had been forced to accept. Skeppy loathed himself for having to do this. He loathed Bad. “I’m sure you remember our names, but just to refresh your memory, I’m Skeppy and this guy right here is Bad.”

“I remember.” The boy still refused to look at either of them.

“Listen, you’re right.” Skeppy’s arms were crossed on his chest, his right hand’s fingers nervously tapping on the left. “You deserve to know what’s actually going on.” He grabbed the hem of his shirt, as though intending to lift it.

“Skeppy?” Worry shot through Bad, a swirl in his stomach, a tingle in his fingertips. He shot a nervous look at Skeppy’s way, wordlessly asking: are you sure?

Skeppy’s eyes showed no hesitation, his jaw set and the grip of his fingers strong and determined. “He has the right to know, Bad. We owe him that much at least.” He pulled the fabric up, exposing his side. 

Bad turned away. He already knew what he would see; he needed no reminder of the sorry state the prince was in.

Right below Skeppy’s ribs, surrounded by seemingly normal skin, was a splotch of bright blue, shining like gemstone. It was about the size of his palm, with sharp, shard-like tendrils extending to all directions along his flesh.

Skeppy knocked his knuckles against the blue. The sound was sharp, like hitting a rock.

The halfling stared, unable to take his eyes off the diamond embedded in Skeppy’s skin. “What is that? Is it bad?”

“It’s not that dangerous right now. But it’s spreading. It’ll eventually make its way to my internal organs and turn them all to stone. Bad says I have maybe two or three years to live. I say I have two or three years to find a cure. I refuse to let a stupid diamond curse of all things be the death of me.” He pulled his shirt back down, tugging the hem into his pants. “You know how the Invaded Lands are full of diamonds? Mining is our way of life. Well, in one of our mines, we dug too deep and uncovered something that should have remained buried.”

The halfling listened without a word. Bad already knew the story down to every detail, but hearing it retold so casually still hurt. A dull pain in his chest, a reminder of how serious their situation was.

“The artifact was bearing a demonic curse,” Skeppy continued. “I was stupid enough to touch it before it had been properly examined by my Court Mage. Everyone was against me contacting Bad, they all wanted me to resolve this with the methods of our world, but it was very quickly becoming very clear that our methods would not be sufficient. And, well, since a demon got me into this mess in the first place…” He gestured at Bad. “I figured another demon could save me from it.”

“I’ve tried everything I can to get rid of it,” Bad said, quietly. “It’s beyond my powers. All I can do is slow it down. That two or three years was more like two or three weeks before Skeppy made a contract with me. I’m able to buy him more time, but… that’s it.”

“A contract?” The boy still didn’t seem to have connected the dots. “So you’re a mage or something? A healer?”

The corner of Bad’s mouth twitched. How laughable, to compare him to a mere human. “I am no mage. I’m something much more powerful.”

He pulled his hood over his head, simultaneously letting go of his glamor, which slipped from him and scattered to the ground like dry leaves. Beneath it, his eyes, two lights in the midst of darkness deeper than the ocean and darker than night, stared from the void. He no longer had a face.

To the halfling’s credit, he kept himself composed surprisingly well. Bad noticed how his hands were shaking, how much he was struggling to keep himself from showing his fear. “You’re a demon.”

Bad nodded. “And so are you. Well, half of you, anyway.”

The halfling glanced at Skeppy, then back at Bad. “I think there’s been some kind of a mistake. I – there’s no way I’m anything more than a normal human. I don’t have any special powers or anything. Phil hasn’t even taught me any actual magic yet.” 

“But he has taught you some things, right?” Bad leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. It was nothing but a guess, but he had a feeling he was on the right track. “About calming your mind, controlling yourself… Am I getting this right?”

“It’s just meditation.” The halfling shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t even understand how it has anything to do with real magic.”

“It has everything to do with real magic.” Bad pointed his finger at the boy’s chest, letting it poke him right where his heart was. “There is something inside you that he wants to keep under control. And I think you know it, deep down. Haven’t you ever wanted to find out what it is? You are capable of things you can’t even begin to imagine.”

Their eyes met, and… there. Bad could see it, the flicker of curiosity in those unmatching eyes, one brown and one glaring green. Bad’s blind, uncertain fumbling had found a nerve.

There was something the halfling was not admitting. Maybe not even to himself. Bad would dig it out of him, bury his claws as deep as needed, rip the boy open if that’s what it took to save Skeppy.

“But you’re not going to ask if I want to help.” The halfling didn’t bother phrasing it as a question.

Bad shook his head. “We’re past the point where we can negotiate. We’ve turned over every rock, looked through every nook and cranny, and nothing has been of any help. We’re grasping at final straws here. That’s what you are.”

“But we promise you won’t be hurt in any way.” Skeppy glanced at Bad, daggers in his eyes. “Once we get to the Invaded Lands, Bad knows what to do with your powers, how to utilize them to help me. And once we’re done, we’ll bring you right back home. You don’t need to worry at all.”

The halfling didn’t seem convinced, but at least he nodded. Really, what choice did he have?

Bad took his hood down again, weaving the glamor back together. He preferred to keep it up around Skeppy, not wanting to unnerve him with his demonic form. Skeppy claimed it didn’t bother him, but Bad could see that it did, at least on some level. It was, of course, natural of humans to feel uncomfortable around beings that fed on their souls to live. That was a fact Bad could not escape.

He did not need the reminder of how different they were to their core. Skeppy was Polaris, the brightest star. Bad was a black hole.

Demons weren’t supposed to get attached to humans. Humans were food, maybe playthings at most, entertainment and nourishment. Once you got an unfortunate victim to bind their soul to yours with a contract, you had to entertain their whims for a short while, and as a reward you could then feast on their soul. That was how it had always been, and anything else was out of the picture. 

Bad was young for a demon, but he had still seen ten centuries and made more contracts with humans than he could count. He had seen all of them; the ones who were desperate, the ones who were cocky, the ones who thought they could somehow cleverly trick a being magnitudes above them in every way. He had played with them, discarded them as soon as the contract allowed it, and never spared a thought for them after they were gone. Never before had he felt anything but mild interest towards their minuscule human lives.

And yet, this human… Bad couldn’t explain it, he barely understood it himself, but something about him was different. Bad liked being around him, not just out of the necessity of the contract, but because of something else. He hadn’t yet completely figured out what it was. All he knew was that he didn’t want to lose Skeppy, couldn’t bear the thought of something happening to him. Something about him made Bad feel… protective.

Bad tried his best to not think about it. Even then, it made him feel scared.

If he would have allowed himself to think about it, he would have been terrified.

Sometimes, late at night, he indulged in a fantasy of what life could be like if they never had to part. If Bad could find a way to make Skeppy immortal, so he would never have to leave his side. They could rule the Invaded Lands side by side, or they could leave and go somewhere else, travel the world, go wherever Skeppy wanted to go. Bad would keep all harm far, far away from him. Skeppy would never have to fear anything, he would never lack anything he wanted.

If only it wasn’t for the contract.

Once formed, a demonic contract cannot be broken, and a demon can only be bound to one soul at a time. If he were to run away with Skeppy, he would eventually starve to death.

On some days, it felt preferable to any of the alternatives.

Skeppy heated up some leftover stew from the previous night and they ate in silence. Afterwards, he brought the boy back into the carriage and nodded at Bad, who locked the door with a simple spell. He didn’t really believe the boy would try to run, and Skeppy probably didn’t either, but one could never be too careful.

The sun had set over an hour ago, and the moonlight colored everything in silver. The shadows it cast on Skeppy’s face made him look lifetimes older than his age as he turned to Bad to speak. “I really hope you know what you’re doing.”

I hope so too, Bad thought. He didn’t say that. Instead, he said: “I do. You have to trust me.”

“You know I would trust you with anything.” Skeppy’s voice was quiet, uncertain. Pained. “I’d trust you with my life. Just–” He hesitated, looking away. 

Bad waited. The world was quiet around them. Nothing else existed other than Bad and his god, bathed in silver light. Finally, Skeppy let their eyes meet again. 

“Just promise me that no harm will come to Ranboo. We are not the kind of people who hurt children. I won’t have that on my conscience.”

Bad opened his mouth, but the words got caught in his throat, dried up on his tongue. Skeppy’s serious, stern eyes were disarming. They left Bad stumbling with no balance. 

Skeppy was so good. 

Bad would never, ever deserve him.

But he could save him.

“I promise,” he replied, and though they shouldn’t have, the words came easy. “I won’t harm him in any way. You have my word on that.”

For a few heartbeats Skeppy just stood there, contemplating. Then he sighed and looked away again. “Good. As long as that’s clear, I can go along with your plan.”

Oh, it was clear. Perfectly clear. Clearer than Skeppy could ever imagine. Bad knew how to toe the line, how to leave out exactly what needed to be kept in the dark from the prince.

Demons couldn’t lie to their contractors, but that did not mean they had to be honest.

Late that night, after Skeppy had settled on his bedroll and drifted into sleep and the halfling was firmly asleep in the carriage as well, Bad sat at the remains of the campfire. A few embers still glowed faintly beneath the ashes, the last remnants of their golden light quickly fading and leaving only darkness behind.

Bad liked the darkness.

He closed his eyes and called, reaching out for a connection to be formed. It didn’t take long for his call to be answered. As soon as he was certain that he was being heard, he spoke. “I have the boy.”

Good. Bad rather felt than heard the response. It was green mist around him, sparks blinking in and out of existence in the blackness behind his eyelids. I’m looking forward to seeing if he really is what you claim him to be.

“He is.” He tried his best to not let his desperation show through. “He doesn’t know it himself, but he has incredible powers. There is so much, bubbling just under the surface.”

I do hope you understand the consequences of lying to me. The other demon’s tone, if it could be called that, was ever so slightly colder now, harsher. Once I have what you promised me, I will gladly lift the curse from your human. If you try to trick me, however… no one in this world or any other could devise a worse fate for him. Believe me, I have quite the imagination.

“I won’t let you down.” Bad’s night-black demon heart was racing. From fear. From excitement.

He was so close to getting what he had been working so hard for.

We shall see. I will be waiting for you in the Invaded Lands.

Bad opened his eyes.

The contract kept Bad tightly in Skeppy’s leash; he was unable to disobey his contractor or lie to him. It did not, however, mean that he had to always tell the truth. And demons were naturally good at bending the rules of their contracts.

No, Bad would not harm the halfling. That much was clear.

But that did not mean no one else would.