Chapter Text
Damnit, what the hell am I doing here? Nicholas D. Wolfwood, The Punisher, glared at the ground outside as it passed by under the large wheels of the carriage. No, that answer was clear to him: he was here to capture the prince, without leaving a trace he’d ever existed. But that wasn’t the problem—the problem was that they’d stuck him in a frilly noble’s outfit and taken his gun.
He knew they were going to; the doctor had briefed him on all the appropriate protocol and all that bullshit, but he’d hoped for some way to avoid this. And yet here he was, in a tiny carriage, armed with nothing but his own fists.
What a pain. Not that he doubted his abilities, he just wished he could be given a less annoying job, like snuffing out that one traitor who ran away and putting a hole in his head or massacring that town of non-believers. Those jobs were his kind of work, not an undercover mission to kidnap royalty. But it wasn’t like he could say no to Prince Nai or the doctor, or anyone else above him in rank, which was damn near everyone.
What a pain.
“We’ve arrived, sir.”
God, finally. Nicholas opened the door and stumbled out, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight that tried to pierce them. In front of him stretched the castle gardens, lush green bushes and trees exploding from the ground and reaching for the sky on either side of him, in front of him a cobblestone path lined with flowers of every color imaginable, and, further back, sparkling blue ponds with frogs hopping and dragonflies dancing around them. As he started down the park, the scent of perfectly mowed grass and spring nectar wafted toward him and he sped up.
Nicholas had never been one for beautiful sights, smells or sounds. He hadn’t had them growing up, so he didn’t need them, and, quite frankly, didn’t want them, so the way this place was forcing its beauty down his throat was disgusting.
After what felt like hours, he reached the front doors, if they could even be called that. Two golden rectangles stretching above you a good twenty feet decked out with blue and red gems couldn’t really qualify for the word “door,” at least, not in his opinion. The rectangles were open, letting in a light stream of party guests, all dressed in similar frilly dresses and uniforms to his.
Upon entering the cool palace, a blond servant appeared next to him, offering a hand. Nicholas stared at it until realizing the man wanted his jacket. Eager to take the blasted thing off, he slipped it over his shoulders and dumped it into the waiting arms. The servant hurried away, folding it neatly as he went. Why did he even have to wear it in the first place, then?
“Name?”
“Motherf—!” He jumped a good two feet, whipping around to glare at another, white haired, servant. The man raised his eyebrow a millionth of an inch and Nicholas felt his anger start to bubble up. But he suppressed it with a few deep breaths, even managing a forced smile. “Is there a problem?”
“I’m afraid I have to request your name,” the servant replied calmly. “We cannot let just anyone into the party.”
“Ah….Ahem.” He straightened, putting a fist to his chest in the style of the kingdom’s elite. “Nicholas D. Wolfwood. At your service?”
“Hmm.” He scanned him up and down, picking him apart with his skeptical gaze. Then he pulled a clipboard from God knows where and started checking it. It wasn’t like Nicholas was worried. Apart from his reason for being there, his story and connections were completely legit: he had come in representation of his prince’s kingdom, since it would be rude to decline an offer from the prince’s own brother. Little did the inviter know his choice would lead to the disappearance of their precious royalty.
After what felt like years, the servant finished his thorough check and nodded. “Very good. Enjoy yourself.”
“Yeah, sure,” Nicholas growled, turning angrily and starting into the palace. Hurried footsteps made him look back to see the servant rushing after him, still with the same calm expression plastered on his face.
“I shall lead you to the ballroom, if you so wish.”
“I don’t need…” He glanced into the hall in front of him, and, realizing he had no idea where it led, sighed reluctantly. “Fine. Make it quick.”
“Of course, sir.”
He followed the man down a few twisting hallways, joined by a few other guests, each with their own servant leading them. And, finally, they reached the ballroom: a huge room with windows stretching up the walls, letting in shimmering sunlight that fully lit the entire space. Two thirds of the floor were open for dancing and the last third was raised on steps, covered in red, velvet carpet. On that dais sat a single golden throne, and on that throne sat the prince, in all his princely glory.
Prince Vash. One of two sons of queen Rem, who had died a few years before. The only reason he wasn’t king already was the advisers had deemed him too “unprepared and immature” to take on that position. He didn’t seem like that tough a target, and seeing him in person only reinforced that idea. Blond spiky undercut hair with a golden crown haphazardly placed on top, a goofy smile and kind eyes all tied together with a laced royal coat and red cape made up his target, and a not very imposing figure. He was in the middle of greeting a line of new guests, laughing and chatting like an old friend instead of a host, or a prince.
Nicholas got into line, shifting from foot to foot in bored anticipation. After a few minutes, the guests in front of him left and he stepped forward into his target’s line of vision, bowing.
“Presenting Nicholas D. Wolfwood,” the man next to him announced after glancing down the list of names and faces he was holding. “From the kingdom of JuLie. Your brother’s kingdom.” He said the last part as if the prince might’ve forgotten, as well as in a way that seemed to scorn it.
“Oh.” Vash blinked at Nicholas for a few seconds. His eyes were big and innocent, shining a light blue-green as they observed him. Then they closed, shaking Nicholas out of the trance he’d somehow been sucked into, and the prince grinned cheerfully. “Cool. Nice to meetcha—I’m Vash.”
“Uh…” That wasn’t the reaction he’d expected, although he now understood why this guy wasn’t king. And after he’d gone so far to learn the royal protocol and all that shit. What a pain.
“My prince, we talked about this,” his advisor forced through a gritted smile. “You must refer to yourself as royalty, first and foremost, and you also should not say “cool” or “meetcha”. It is unbecoming.” He turned to Nicholas and bowed deeply. “I apologize for his majesty’s actions. They do in no way reflect this kingdom or castle’s etiquette. Please forgive us.”
“Sure.” He straightened, turning to walk away, finding no openings in the situation, but Vash raised a hand to stop him.
“Wait. Did my brother have anything…any message for me?”
Nicholas opened his mouth to reply truthfully, then paused. “He…did. But it’s not the kind of thing we should talk about in public.” If he could get the target alone, he could easily stage his death, and this was a good way to do that.
“Oh, really?” The prince lit up, getting to his feet, only to be pushed down again by his advisor.
“You’re not going anywhere. You may talk to this man when the party is over, observed by an official, but for now you are supposed to be overseeing the guests. There is a line waiting.” He addressed that part to Nicholas, who sighed, nodding to the prince.
“We’ll talk later.”
“Yeah, sure.”
He could feel that infectious grin bearing into him as he walked away, down the steps, through the crowd and all the way to the food tables, where it finally got off his back. A glance behind him showed the next guests were talking to the prince, drawing his attention away from him. But this was going well. All that was left was to come up with a plan to explain the prince’s sudden disappearance, and his job would be done. God, if only he had his gun, this would be so much easier.
What a pain. Why’d he have to be so cute, too? Gah, what!? He shook his head vigorously, trying to dislodge the thought. When that didn’t work, he grabbed a shrimp from a nearby tray and angrily bit off the head. He’d never had a thought like that before, and it kinda freaked him out. This wasn’t some stupid love story, this was real life. And yet, those big fucking innocent eyes wouldn’t get out of his head, staring him down from the inside. He closed his own eyes, running a hand down his face. This was the worst.
“E-Excuse me?” a meek voice sounded next to him and he looked down to see a small, short blue haired woman holding a camera, shadowed by a large man with a large mustache. Neither wore particularly fancy clothes, and the camera clued him to believe they were reporters of some kind.
“Uh huh?” He muttered, taking another bite of the shrimp. Maybe if he just ignored them, they’d leave him alone.
“You’re…ah, Sir Wolfwood, right?” she questioned, digging around in her pockets for something. “Can you give us a comment on the relationship between your kingdom and this one? Things have seemed stressed lately, and that just may be the cause.”
Sir Wolfwood? He chuckled, reaching for another shrimp. “Listen, little missy, I’m not royalty. You’d be better off interviewing someone else here if you want your big scoop.”
She puffed out a cheek in annoyance. “I’m asking about your prince’s relationship with our prince, not your opinions on who I should interview.”
“Listen, newbie,” her companion sighed through his mustache. “You can’t talk to anyone here like that. Almost every single person in this room painfully outranks you, even the servants.”
“I told you not to call me a newbie,” she snapped, giving him a quick glare before turning back to Nicholas. “And they outrank you too, you know.”
“That’s why I’m not bothering him,” he shot back and she groaned.
“I have a feeling he’s about to answer, so please be quiet.”
“Where’d that feeling come from?” Nicholas joked dryly, taking another bite. “I don’t feel like answering, so go find some other schmuck who’ll listen to your bull.”
“ Really ?” She nudged him with her camera hopefully. “I might have to write about how you won’t respond to my questioning, meaning things might not be going too well. That’d be awful, huh?”
“Oh?” Something told him this little shit might really do that, which would be a problem. But he didn’t want to give in and make up some lie about how he wasn’t here to kidnap the prince and everything was sunshine and rainbows. So all that was left was his scare tactic, which should be easy since he was a good five to nine inches taller than her. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I may not be royalty, but I still hold a lot of power in my kingdom. So if you don’t want to be unexpectedly assassinated…”
She squeaked, backing away slowly like he was some sort of wild animal. Her partner raised an eyebrow but said nothing, taking her shoulder and steering her away until they disappeared into the crowd. Nicholas watched them leave with an air of victory, a light smile playing on his lips. Thank God he wasn’t royalty; it sounded like it sucked ass. Being attacked by reporters nonstop for every little thing you did, being watched and judged by the public, having to speak properly and wear the right clothes—he’d only had to wear that frilled jacket for a few hours and it’d been hell. A suit and tie would be fine, thanks.