Chapter Text
“Father, please reconsider.”
“I’ve made a decision. There’s nothing for me to reconsider.”
“Why not ask Uncle Diego to come watch over things in your absence?”
“Your Uncle Diego is too young and foolish to mind my kingdom. He’s also too preoccupied with studying dragons and their magic to do much of anything else.”
“Then why not me? I’m the Crown Prince, after all.”
“You’re even younger than that idiot Diego! I won’t hear any more of this; I’ve made up my mind.”
“I fear you’re making a mistake, Father.”
“That’s enough, Giorno! Until I return, the acting monarch of this kingdom will be-”
Guido Mista, professional romantic and bachelor extraordinaire, was lonely.
He took another sip of his ale before gently resting the mug back on the table. The fact that he was at the pub tonight wasn’t because of his loneliness, per se. It was Friday night and he was here to celebrate the end of another work week with a drink and some snacks.
If he had someone special at home, he’d be celebrating there instead. That’s where the loneliness came in.
At least his friends were around to keep him company.
“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” Fugo asked testily.
Narancia looked up from his mug of ale with a little, “Huh?”
It had been about three months since Narancia, Mista’s oldest and best friend, had found love with His Highness. The day that Prince Fugo had come into the picture, Mista knew that his world would never be the same. Narancia had been completely smitten by him from the very first time they met.
Generally speaking, that’s just how life is; everything changes with time. Mista just didn’t realize how much things could change so quickly. For years it had just been him and Narancia taking on the world together. But now that Fugo was around, more often than not, it felt like Narancia and Fugo taking on the world while Mista watched.
“I was saying,” Fugo began again, “that if we plowed-”
“You’ve got my attention now,” Narancia interrupted with a wry grin.
Mista snorted, but Fugo rolled his eyes and continued, “If we plowed the shady spot next to the house, we could put the strawberry patch there.”
Narancia shook his head. “That won’t work. Strawberries need direct sunlight to grow.”
With a groan, Fugo started scribbling out the lines he’d just drawn on the crude map of Narancia’s property.
Mista wasn’t jealous of his friends. At least, not in the way one might expect. He wasn’t jealous at all of the way Narancia’s orange grove had become so successful or the joy Narancia had found in farming. He wasn’t even jealous that Fugo monopolized so much of his best friend’s time. Mista considered Fugo his friend, too!
The thing he was a little jealous of was that they had each other to confide in on a more intimate level. They both listened to Mista’s ramblings about this or that, but together they shared a bond that ran even deeper than that friendship. Mista could see it in the way they looked at each other and how their body language changed completely as soon as they were in the presence of the other.
Mista loved his friends dearly, he really did. Sometimes he just wished that he had someone special to share his life with the way they did.
“Babe, I’m gonna find a place to plant some strawberries for you,” Narancia said as he leaned over to bump shoulders with Fugo. “I know how bad you want ‘em.”
Fugo sighed in exasperation but he seemed to be satisfied with that answer.
Mista had made many attempts over the years to win the affections of another and he’d seized every opportunity he was presented to meet people, but it never worked out. Despite how much he enjoyed reading tales of true love, of falling head over heels for The One at first glance, he couldn’t quite seem to make that kind of connection in reality. But he wasn’t giving up just yet. It might take him a thousand years of searching, but he’d find his beloved somewhere.
Probably not in a seedy, dirty pub, but definitely somewhere.
About that time, the tiny bell over the pub’s door rang and Mista turned his head and watched a pair of figures enter. He held up his mug with a smile as soon as he saw who one of the people was. “Bucciarati!”
Bucciarati perked up at the sound of his name and began walking toward the table where Mista and his friends were seated.
“Bucciarati?” Fugo repeated. “What on earth is he doing here?”
It was a valid question, for sure. What business could a royal advisor possibly have in a dive like this? Bucciarati was, as always, dressed in fine white garments with a sword attached to his belt, making him stand out among the peasants that filled the pub. Stranger still was the hooded figure who was following Bucciarati. They were a bit shorter than him, and their navy blue cloak was fastened in place with a bright red brooch with black dots. It almost looked like… a ladybug. Whoever was under that hood also seemed far too polished for this type of place.
When they arrived at the table, Bucciarati pulled an empty chair out for the cloaked person to sit in before grabbing an unused chair from a nearby table and joining them as well. “Fugo,” he acknowledged with a nod. “I thought we might find you here.”
Fugo suddenly straightened up (royal habit, Mista guessed), but it was Narancia who spoke up. “Yo, Bucciarati! It’s been a while. Want an orange?” He gestured to the bowl of fruit that sat in the middle of the table. “It’s one of ours.”
“No, thank you,” Bucciarati answered, shaking his head. “I think I’ve had plenty of oranges lately.”
“How about an apple?” Narancia pulled a bright red one from the bowl and looked it over. “I didn’t grow it, but it looks pretty tasty.”
Bucciarati narrowed his eyes. “I’m afraid I’m not very fond of apples.”
With a shrug, Narancia took a bite.
“You were looking for me?” Fugo finally asked, getting back to the point.
“Yes. You had a visitor show up to the castle, so I offered to help him find you.”
Mista glanced at the hooded figure across the table inquisitively while the other two spoke. In the time since he took a seat, he’d folded his hands and placed them on the table, which gave Mista a glimpse of his slender fingers and the shiny golden signet ring that adorned his left pinky. Whoever this guy was, he was important.
“Go ahead, Your Highness,” Bucciarati said to the figure quietly. “We’re in safe company.”
The cloaked man slowly brought his hands to his hood and pulled it back, revealing a head of beautiful golden hair styled into three distinctive rosettes along his forehead and a long braid in the back. But perhaps even more stunning were his eyes. They were an unusual shade of blue—almost turquoise—with long, soft eyelashes framing them. Overall, his features were elegant but with a certain sternness to them. And, judging by the way his eyebrows were furrowed, he was on a mission.
“Giorno,” Fugo acknowledged, sounding almost surprised.
“Pannacotta.” Giorno paused, furrowing his brow even more before adding, “But apparently you go by Fugo now.”
Fugo nodded as Narancia tilted his head. “Giorno? Weren’t you the guy playing piano at Fugo’s ball?”
“Yes, that’s right,” he confirmed with a little nod.
“Hold on,” Mista interrupted and all eyes were suddenly on him. “You were at his ball?”
“Yes.”
Mista crossed his arms, feigning suspicion. “Then how come I never saw you? I was opening carriages that night, and I know I’d remember you.”
“Mista,” Fugo hissed under his breath.
However, Giorno’s face seemed to relax a bit. “I didn’t arrive by carriage that night. I was staying at the castle as a guest. Admittedly, my father sent me to attend the ball with the hopes that I might show off my musical talents and catch the prince’s eye. I was then supposed to invite him to attend my debut ball in the spring.” The corner of his mouth curled up into the slightest grin as his gaze settled on Narancia. “I see that my father was at least half correct about your preferences. Perhaps just not partial to blonds.”
Narancia beamed as Fugo glanced at Mista and added, “We’ve been friends for several years now. It’s hard to find friends your own age when you’re royal.”
That’s when it clicked. Bucciarati calling him “highness,” his nice clothes, fancy hairstyle.
“You’re a prince!?” Mista asked, eyes wide as saucers.
Giorno graced him with another tiny grin and gracefully placed his hand on his chest. “Giorno Giovanna, di Shiobana, in passato Haruno, Crown Prince of the Brando line.”
“What brings you here?” Fugo asked. “Looking for me of all people?”
With a deep breath, the smile on Giorno’s face vanished and his business expression returned. “I’m afraid I come bearing bad news. There’s trouble in my kingdom.”
This time, Fugo furrowed his brow. “What sort of trouble?”
“My father is away from the kingdom, but before he left, he appointed one of his court members to rule in his absence. Things have… only gone downhill since he took over.”
“Who is it?” Bucciarati chimed in.
“His name is Ice, Earl of Vanilla.” Giorno scoffed. “He’s not even a high-ranked member of the court. He’s just undyingly loyal to my father. He’s made the decision to raise taxes with the belief that my father will be pleased with him, but in reality he’s driving our people into poverty.”
Mista noticed Narancia become tense at that. Fugo’s parents might have been shitty people, but they were at least decent monarchs. He and Narancia had both been poor for most of their lives, but at least they weren’t suffering.
“And the knights haven’t refused to follow through with collection?” Fugo asked.
Giorno shook his head. “The Sheriff has been following Ice's orders without a second thought. The knights have no choice but to obey as well.”
“What about you?” Narancia piped up. “Can’t you be like, ‘I’m the prince, so listen to me.’”
“Unfortunately, Father formally named Ice the acting monarch during his absence. Technically speaking, he outranks me.”
Fugo raised an eyebrow. “So then, why are you here?”
Giorno propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin on top of his folded hands. “I’d like to stage a coup.”
Narancia spewed the sip of ale he’d just taken and Fugo absentmindedly patted his back. “A coup!? Of your own kingdom!?”
“That’s right.”
“Holy shit,” Mista mumbled without thinking.
“I was hoping I could ask you to appeal to your parents and lend some of your knights to assist me,” Giorno explained.
Fugo averted his eyes. “I’m afraid I have very little sway at the castle anymore.”
Once Narancia stopped coughing, he put on a wicked grin. “Dude, you’re a fucking badass. That’s hardcore!”
“What about your siblings?” Bucciarati asked. “Couldn’t you combine efforts and try reasoning with this Ice fellow?”
“Unfortunately, my brothers are all indifferent as to what’s going on. The only ones who seem to rebuke Ice’s orders are myself and the people.”
With a little sigh, Fugo glanced up at Giorno with an apologetic face. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe I can offer the help you were looking for. As I said, I don't have the ability to order the knights to assist you, and I don’t believe there’s anything we can do as individuals.”
“I understand,” Giorno said with a nod. He then rose to his feet and began to reach for the hood of his cloak. “I at least appreciate you commiserating with me.”
“I’ll help you.”
Once again, all eyes were on Mista after he blurted that declaration out.
“You?” Giorno asked, tilting his head ever so slightly and looking Mista up and down appraisingly.
Mista nodded. “Yeah. Me.”
“Mista, are you crazy!?” Fugo practically growled. “You and Giorno alone can’t overthrow an incompetent ruler. Especially if the knights are on the side of the crown! It’s a fool’s errand!”
Mista grinned but kept his eyes on Giorno as he stood. “No, but maybe I can help in some other way. At the very least, I can ride with you back to your kingdom. Princes shouldn’t travel alone.”
Giorno glanced at Fugo and then to Bucciarati before asking, “Do you endorse this man?”
Bucciarati nodded. “Mista is reliable and a hard worker. I’m sure he’ll be of some use to you.”
“You two are going to end up dead if you go against this man,” Fugo muttered, shaking his head. “Even if he’s only an acting king.”
But Mista paid no mind to his friend’s protests. With his eyes locked with Giorno’s he asked, “When do we leave?”