Chapter Text
Evening had long since dwindled away, its dark clouds scurrying to reveal a bruised blue sky; the nosey servants had finally shut up and left too.
They had decided to remain in the main room, the lounge, after a quick peek at the bedrooms had left them frozen by the doorways. They had each been assigned one, all of which were connected by this opulent lounge. For his convenience, none were more than a few minutes walk from the prince’s own. So they now sat, or flopped in Killer’s case, on the various chairs and cushions, watching as the sun slowly rose. Quiet but not calm.
Had it been any other kingdom, the simplicity of these rooms would make them comfortable and quaint, however, coming from this wealthy and practical kingdom, the bedrooms felt as forgotten and barren as the gardens below. While the bedposts spoke of fine grain sanded down and smoothed with masterful hands, the shape of them was simple; the soft sheets and downy pillows that reminded you of the great valleys to the east were without love or style; Blindingly fake, clear jewels and pearls decorating the bedrooms? Few and far inbetween and used only for window styling.
The only room that was decorated and bedecked with silver and jewels was this lounge, a room meant only for show and visits from hungry royals; none of whom thought they would ever have to visit the whores’ plain rooms.
The lounge also held the only art and wealth they had been allowed to ‘appreciate’ in a long time. None of them wanted to say it out loud, the ache for the softer things could be abused at any time, but he could see how they had almost wept when they realized it was all for them. He hadn’t been able to feel the same; he knew that even the simplest tea set in the room was worth far more than all of them combined. He had instead snapped the tiny sugar spoon’s neck.
Nightmare shifted, stopping just shy of collapsing in a heap against him. His scarred leg was still laying atop the polished table, next to the ‘clothes’ that had been gifted to them from their previous owner. Nightmare had been given a splint and a straight shot of magic to ensure his wounds would be no issue for his next ‘use’. Killer would probably throw himself into the prince’s snarling hounds before he allowed that though; even now his lover glanced at them through slitted sockets, a strained smile on his face. It looked as though he wanted to say something -a jab or a crude joke he’d tucked away for a rainy day- but confronted with Horror’s empty roving eyelight, he said nothing. Anything to stop this waiting, he thought, anything.
“ Nightmaaare— ,” finally, a bit of bravery .
“- You stink.”
He snorted. Neither Nightmare nor Horror hesitated to turn their baleful eyelights on the Killer, but Dust remained lost.
“He doesn’t,” Horror insisted, breaking his silence with a growl.
Killer twisted to be belly up, his tongue hanging out in sharp glee. “Yes, he does.”
Horror tried to speak but Dust was quicker, “What? Can you feel it in your bones?” Whisper soft and raspy, his voice barely carried, but that didn't stop Killer’s burst of laughter. Nor Nightmare’s exasperated exhale -he hadn't even defended his own cleanliness!- or Horror’s softening eyelights; he smiled too, it had been a long time since his lover had last cracked a joke.
A hurried knock, tittering, and their happiness is over. A voice lashes out, their words quiet the others. It isn't long before there is another knock. And another. And another. A quick glance confirms it, no one wants the door to open.
It does so anyway.
A second has barely passed when the hare from the night before greets them. Their uniform is as stiff as their posture, their eyes are just as unfriendly. Behind them stands an army of servants with buckets of steaming water. He doesn’t even pay attention to their voice, just watching as the servants scurry around, absorbing anything they could that would be enough to get a noble’s praise for being such a good little gossiper. Slowly but surely Nightmare is pried from his side, Killer from his cushion, but not Dust.
The steam from the buckets clogs the air now, twisting his vision. Horror refuses to stand, his hands curling around Dust’s smaller frame. They, the hare, stand in front of him. He brushes off the two servants pawing at his dress, and goes to… talk to the confused monster. If Dust hadn’t been allowed out of any of their sights the night before, what was supposed to change now? He would’ve hanged the hare by now. Killer clearly has his own problems with this arrangement, arriving at the hare’s side at the same time. The hare is once again, not happy.
“As the head maid, it is within my duties to keep the prince’s favorites well kept,” The hare almost barks out at him. “None of us can do our jobs in these conditions, especially all of you”
He’s quicker than Killer, this time.
“We understand this, ma’am.” He nearly chokes on the title. “But I doubt the prince would enjoy hearing about how one of his favorites blew up a wing of his castle because of your inability to accommodate our basic needs.” It's a veritable word pot pie what he threw at her, speaking quickly as he felt Killer’s and Horror’s anger growing, but she understood well enough. He isn’t above making her life hell, even if the prince doesn’t fucking listen.
“ Basic needs or not, the tubs provided in these rooms are unable to hold two at the same time.” Their tone has softened, but resentment still tugs at him, ‘ Unable to hold two, especially with this giant’ she must think.
“A question, ma’am, who said we’d be bathing in the same tub?” Killer . “, ya’ don’t think we’re fucking tired of seeing naked bodies by now?-”
“-We’re just making Dust here isn’t alone in the room when you're bathing him.” He smoothly interrupts. He can almost hear the numerous insults Killer was turning over in his skull. The hare seems to hate this even more.
_
The bathroom is crowded, completely soaked, and deadly silent, but Dust is fine and his iron grip on his hands never shakes for more than a few seconds; it's all that matters. It will soon be his turn in the tub, scrubbed raw from every angle. The hare had the audacity to begin this argument, but they had gone off to be a dictator in another room as soon as they struck their compromise. Him, and only him, would be allowed to spectate Dust’s bath; Horror’s presence would apparently cause the mighty mountains of the west to crumble and crush all in their path. The less said about Killer’s… temperament, the better.
“Dream? Do you think…can we go dancing?’ Dust’s eyes fixate on him, he's not gone yet, just trying to focus. Dust’s breath hitches as he moves to cup his cheek. Rotten purple mixes with greasy bubbles as he moves in for a kiss. He can feel the stares but nothing stops him from ending the kiss short, slipping a hand away to brush away the Dust’s tears, and whispering-
“Who says we can’t? I just can’t believe my eyes, dear, you think they’ll even let us out of the ballroom after they see our moves?” Dust shrinks back with a smile, forgetting his scarf has long since been gone. Only the two of them notice. And only he notices the trembles running up his love’s spine. Dust lowers his head but is back with him again in a snap.
He says, very simply, “We’re not dead yet.” Relief, .
They had each been given a plain room deserving of their status, all connected by an opulent lounge. A prince had promised his protection under any circumstances. They were being fed. Not dead yet indeed.
“Not until they die screaming, at least.“ A strained grin prompts another kiss. He thinks of the prince, Killer’s cautiousness, and the hope he can see in each of them.
“They will never again have peace.” He promises.
There would be no stopping them now.