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Chapter Text

"About two hundred years ago, both kingdoms of Svealand and Norrland were united in one single realm. That was until a conflict arose between the King's children. Ebba and Erik were the same age, born from different mothers as the King used to have multiple wives, and both next in line for the throne. The King wanted them to rule together as a unit, but soon enough, they disagreed on various things. They tried to find a middle ground, but Ebba was firm in her traditional beliefs, claiming order and discipline were necessary for the kingdom, while Erik wanted to explore, to reconnect with the wonders of nature and to allow shifters to take part of society. 

If Erik was so passionate about shifters being accepted, it was mostly because he was one of them. It was a well-kept secret, and the King did everything in his power to protect both Erik and his mother from being found out. But eventually, Ebba revealed the truth to gain the support of the people. The kingdom was torn between Ebba's supporters, and Erik's. After long battles and negotiations, it was decided that the kingdom would be split at the Dalälven, the river crossing it. Erik inherited of the Norrlands, with the high mountains and harsh winters, while Ebba set rule in the Svealands and its luxurious valleys and forests. 

Erik started his own bloodline in the Norrlands, enforcing rules that were kinder to nature and a simpler life for himself and the people under his reign. Shifters got a safe space there, their abilities often used for menial work or army purpose, with the same respect and the same opportunities as any other human being. The kingdom thrived, its closeness to nature making it one of the most prosperous in the region, envied for its resources and peaceful living. 

Ebba enforced her own set of rules, stating that all shifters were to be banned from the country, despising any form of magic in favor of science and military. She founded a dynasty, based on harsh ruling and discipline. Her reputation soon drew in multiple treaties from foreign kingdoms, offering luxury importations and the guaranty of security to her people. Living in the Svealands was synonym with hard work to take part in a society that valued labour and social hierarchy, but also a gage of security and abundance.

During Erik and Ebba's reigns, rumored to both have ended on the same year, no conflict arose between the two kingdoms, their only interaction being migration flux from one to another. But as the years passed, the rivalry between the two kingdoms became problematic. The Norrlands lacked a lot of arable lands to feed its inhabitants, while the Svealands were in dire need of the precious gems stored in the mountains to afford their lavish lifestyle. It led to numerous wars and battles no one could win, the sheer army power of the Svears being rivaled only by the Northerners use of shifters on the battlefields. 

And then, the rival kingdoms were on the verge of war. To avoid a conflict that could easily destroy both of their kingdoms, Queen Kristina and Queen Linda agreed to meet on neutral grounds in the little bordering village of Bjärstad, situated on the river separating the two kingdoms. A week-long negotiation took place there, in the presence of both queens and their heirs. 

In the end, both women came to an agreement to which I will spare you the details of, sealing a non-agression pact with a symbolic royal wedding. Both spare heirs were to be wed by the summer solstice, lest the pact would be void. This wedding wasn't meant to carry on the legacies of both bloodlines, but to serve as a symbol of an historical union between rivaling kingdoms. A statement of peace, if you will."

"But, did it work in the end? Because history tells us-"

"Let me finish my story, little one. That was just the context you needed to understand what happened between Simon the Fierce and Wilhelm the Devoted. Their journey began shortly after that pact was signed…"

Chapter Text

Everything around him is soft. Soft, like feathers caressing his skin, like the tender words of a mother whispering to wake her child up from a nap, like the velvety texture of a blanket shared by the fireplace. Tucked in a cocoon of calm warmth, he's just at peace, with only the familiar breathing of his brother in the other bed to lull him to sleep. 

Really, everything's just perfect, and he couldn't picture himself elsewhere. It's all so, so soft, so warm, with the rich smell of the fire turning into embers in the fireplace. 

Warmer, as if the fire has been renewed. Maybe some servant fulfilling their duties to keep the princes warm. 

Hot, even, as if the fire decided to crawl out of its hearth to come lick at his toes. 

Suddenly, the world doesn't fell as soft. The world hurts, actually. 

It stings, it's not as good anymore. 

And his dreams turn into nightmares, as Erik's calm breath turns into screams. 

Screams of terror. 

"Wille! Wake up! Mother!" 

Whines of pain. His skin is aflame , until something, someone, holds him close, the fire eating at him deprived of air to feed on. 

"Shit, no! Get up, please get up!" 

Blue eyes , wide with horror, an emotion that shouldn't be in those. 

"Boys! Over here! You can't go there!" 

A booming voice, of someone who's usually quiet. 

His world, coming undone. 

"Out the window, come on!" 

An order, an order he can't follow. It's too high, it's too scary. But the fire's scary too. Everything is scary. A cough, his throat burns. It's blurry. 

Strong arms, lifting him up, and suddenly he falls. Falls to what he believes is his death. He doesn't even scream. It's too much. 

His eyes only open when he's sure he's not actually dead. Entangled in the vines he landed on, he grips on the familiar fabric of his father's tunic. His tears sting, but not as much as the charred skin on his stomach, his chest. It feels like it's peeling away, leaving him raw to the bite of the thick fumes coming from the burning mansion. 

Then he sees it. 

Two eyes. Bright, yellow. Perched on the roof, the creature feels twice as big as it really is. Its dark green scales shining under the light of the roaring fire. Its wings, spread out, menacing, as it releases a nightmarish roar from the depth of its enormous throat. Its teeth, long, sharp, laced with a fury that'll stay ingrained in his brain, maybe forever. 

A bell. 

Insistant chiming ringing in his ears. 

Wilhelm's eyes shot open, and the fire disappears. The beach mansion is no more. There's no arms holding him, only the cold, wet embrace of his damp linens. 

And as the room around him comes into his field of vision, Wilhelm realizes he's been dreaming, again. That fateful night… It keeps replaying in his mind, tainting his nights with pain and terror. With a sigh, he lets his head fall back on the pillow. He's covered in a layer of sweat and is painfully aware of the cold breeze of the morning eating at him even with the thick covers. 

He can hear the rustle outside his bedroom. The castle is already buzzing with activity, most of the servants awake hours before him, focused on their respective chores. This day is especially important, as his own servants need to finish the preparations for his trip. His one-way trip. 

As the reality settles in, Wilhelm winces and pulls the blanket up to his chin. Maybe if he closes his eyes again, he will skip this day? Maybe he's still in a dream? A long, stupid dream. 

Three knocks on the door. 

If he doesn't answer, he won't be bothered, right? 

The door opens nonetheless. "Prince Wilhelm? Are you awake?" 

Henry's voice is calm and steady. He's the only servant with the permission to come in even if Wilhelm doesn't let him. He usually takes his orders from higher-up, and then Wilhelm's wishes for privacy don't mean anything to him. Though, he rarely abuses this "privilege", kind enough to let Wilhelm have his alone time. That's mainly why Wilhelm insisted to keep him at his side. 

"I am. What are you doing here?" Wilhelm answers, not bothering to turn around to face Henry. 

He can hear his few footsteps as Henry gets closer to him. He most likely puts something on the table, Wilhelm guesses it's a tray. That makes him turn around and sit down in his bed. 

"Why are you serving me breakfast? That's Walter's job." 

Henry shrugs, his nose scrunching as he takes in Wilhelm's disheveled appearance. With his white tunic clinging to his chest and his hair everywhere, he looks far from princely. "He's been overlooking the maids packing your clothes. You know he studied the Norrlands' climate, he thinks he knows better." An eyeroll, but a smile. "He didn't see the sun rise, and panicked when he remembered your breakfast, but I had nothing better to do so I did it. Exciting story, right?"

"Right… And our horses?" Because why would Henry slack off when he has their horses to tend to? 

"Saddled and ready. Couldn't sleep last night so I kept myself busy." Henry replies, taking a look at the inside of the coffee pot before pouring some in a cup and dropping a spoonful of thick-looking honey in it. He then brings the cup to Wilhelm. "Nightmares again?" 

Wilhelm takes the cup and looks away. Henry has been at his service for quite some time now, promoted to be his squire four years ago already. He's a hardworker and knows his place, but them kind of growing together made him able to cross some limits behind closed doors, actually talking to Wilhelm instead of just listening and nodding to his every word.

Today, though, Wilhelm doesn't like the prying. So he blows on the fuming coffee, merely acknowledging the question. Henry doesn't press for answers though, and goes around the bed to open the curtains and the window, letting the crisp morning air in the stuffy room. "The Queen wants everything to be ready before the morning council. We're riding before lunch." 

"Are we?" Wilhelm's head snaps up, surprised at the urgency of it all. He expected to be able to share another meal with his family before leaving. And their behavior at supper didn't lead him to believe otherwise.

Henry shrugs again. "I don't know much more, sorry. You have time to eat and clean up a little."

"A little? Surely there's time for me to take a proper bath." He grimaces, already trying to sip on the too-hot coffee to save time. 

"Just suggesting you do it quickly, so you can have the chance to make the most of your time here. The Crown Prince is already up." 

Henry didn't outright tell Wilhelm to hurry the fuck up so he could talk to Erik before he leaves, because he's not allowed to. But he's mastered the art of hinting subtly, or not really, at the things he really wants to say. Wilhelm sighs, because he's right, but also because he's not so sure he wants to see Erik. 

He's still a little bitter about the whole agreement. And with reason. Because he's only a pawn in all this, merely some bargaining chip. And while he's used to his mother acting like her people, her family, are just means to an end, he's disappointed that Erik didn't protest on his behalf. 

Sure, he told Wilhelm that he did, in fact, ask for another solution, for someone else to be wed off, or for another way to seal the deal. The Norrlands' heir tried to bargain too, obviously displeased with that alliance. But neither queens bent down, Kristina insisting that for a strong alliance to be forged, the symbol must be equally as strong, and Queen Linda saying that she wouldn't bargain any of her children for someone of lesser importance for the other family. 

It was a matter of time really until both royal families were to be united in some way. The two kingdoms were powerful, in their own ways, but other potential alliances could be threats for the both of them. With the Svealands and the Norrlands allied in both armies and trades, no one would dare lift a finger against either of them. 

"Then why don't you marry Erik off to the heir? Why the spares have to endure it? That was never our purpose!" Wilhelm had asked when presented with the news of his wedding to the Northerner spare royal.

"Because no one is ready to fully unite our kingdoms yet." Kristina answered curtly, almost annoyed at Wilhelm for not understanding the fine line between alliance and union. "Queen Linda and her people aren't in favor of our family ruling their lands, and likewise. Your marriage will serve as a bond, Erik's marriage would mean one of the families would bow to the other, and that's not yet happening." 

Of course Kristina wouldn't bow to another royal family. Even in the midst of the war that plagued the first year of her reign, as the strong armies of the Trondelag marched on her capital, she never bowed to their king. The war ended with her spies blowing up various key locations in the Trons' capital, left almost defenseless with their forces focused on the invasion and forced their retreat and a peace treaty. Her bold move gave her her official title and the respect of the people she single-handedly defended with such a strategy. 

This time, she didn't use fire and explosives, preferring to sacrifice her youngest son's virtue and dignity in favor of a good old arranged marriage. Wilhelm wasn't stupid, he knew he wouldn't have chosen his partner anyway, but he hadn't expected it to happen the year of his twentieth birthday. 

Now here he is, eating his last breakfast in the castle, ready to be shipped off to the Norrlands and marry the Eriksson's spare princess. He never even met her officially, their families never really communicating, continuing the long-lived tradition of their kingdoms' rivalry. They wouldn't risk their children being friendly with each other. 

When he's done with his food, he picks up the clothes Walter left for him earlier this morning. It consists in his usual winter attire, only he'd normally go for something lighter at this time of the year. The Norrlands had a harsher climate, snow clinging to the land until late April at least. 

He buttons up the thick tunic and chooses to leave the fur cloak aside, deciding he'll wear it on the road later. When he steps out of his room, he barely notices the servant slipping in behind him, cleaning up his breakfast and the whole room really. Servants in the castle are swift and discreet, making themselves forgotten most of the time, as if the castle was cleaning itself. 

In front of Erik's office room, a simple guard stands, opening the door and announcing Wilhelm when Erik's voice responds to his knocks. Erik sits on a bright blue couch, a cup of tea forgotten on the side table as his eyes scan some letter. He looks up at Wilhelm and a tight smile makes its way on his face. 

"Wille, come sit. I'm surprised you're not bothering Walter with the preparations." 

Wilhelm rolls his eyes and goes to all but slump on the couch next to Erik. His mother would scold him for sitting like that, but she's not there. 

"You know damn well I don't want to go." He groans, and tries to look at the letter Erik swiftly hides from him by folding it and tucking it away. 

"Cheer up, marrying a pretty guy isn't the end of the world, little brother. And if he's unsufferable, take a mistress or two." He reaches to ruffle Wilhelm's hair, but Wilhelm dodges and gives him a confused look. 

"What do you mean 'pretty guy'? Sara's a girl." 

It's Erik's turn to look confused. "Well yeah-" He interrupts himself, staring at Wilhelm, until he tries - and fails - to hide a smile behind a cough. "Did I say 'guy'? Slip up, sorry. But I see you're not against taking mistresses!" 

The last statement hits too hard for Wilhelm to dwell on Erik's suspicious slip up, his face twists into an offended grimace. "I won't! That's disrespectful, I'm not like that."

Erik laughs a little. "Well, that wouldn't be a first. It happens often with arranged marriages. No one would bat an eye if you chose to have some side chick, or dude, whatever you fancy." He waves a little with his hand, emphasizing on it not being a big deal. 

Wilhelm stares at Erik for a while, and when he opens his mouth, he's interrupted by the guard knocking on the door again, announcing Lady Felice when Erik acknowledges it. 

Said Lady Felice comes in, already clad in a green gown that complements her skintone very nicely. She must've guessed Wilhelm would be with Erik in his last moments at the castle, and tried her luck. Her smile is wide when she approaches the two princes. 

"Hey boys, how's our lucky bride doing?" She jokes, taking a seat in one of Erik's plush armchairs. 

Felice has been Wilhelm and Erik's friend since forever, growing up with them. Until this whole pact with the Norrlands was made, it was rumored that Felice would be Wilhelm's partner. Something that the both of them were okay with, as they'd rather be forced to marry a friend than a stranger.

"The lucky bride here still broods about being forced into an engagement with a cute princess ." Erik laughs, wiggling his eyebrows at Felice. And for some reason, he adds a wink to the mix. 

Felice looks between the two brothers, and her smile widens before she nods. "Yeah, woe is you, Sara seems so bad to be around. Truly a shame."

"Why are you turning against me, you were supporting me yesterday!" Wilhelm whines, throwing a cushion at a giggly Felice. 

"Oh yeah because it was really entertaining to listen to you complain about your life with your future wife !" She throws the cushion back and Erik laughs even harder. There's a private joke Wilhelm can't seem to catch, and he pouts, hugging the cushion against his chest. "You're both bullies." 

"Oh come on!" Erik says between pants, laughing too hard to be able to sound serious. "Better to laugh than to cry, don't you think?" He tries to snake an arm around Wilhelm's shoulders, but he pushes him away. 

Felice lets out a sigh. "Wille, we know it's hard for you. It's hard for us too, to see you go. We'll miss you. But we'll visit! And you'll be able to visit too! And I'll send you letters, and Walter knows the recipe for your favorite pastries, I'm sure the cooks there will be able to make them for you!" 

"You'll meet new people there too. I'm sure they'll treat you well! And you'll see new lands, maybe you'll write some more interesting stuff too!" Erik chimes in, trying to add to Felice's list of reassurances. 

"Stuff that only you two find interesting in the first place." Wilhelm mumbles, letting himself fall against Erik's side. His older brother rubs his back softly, like he knows Wilhelm likes. "I feel like a kid for not wanting to go." He adds, his voice muffled by the cushion. 

Felice shakes her head and goes to sit down on his other side, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "You're not a kid for being upset by all this. It's normal, and it'll be hard at first. But things will click into place and you'll find your purpose there. I'm sure of it." Her smile is more assured than Wilhelm is, and her words are soothing, as always. He only wishes he could be like her, so sure of the future being bright in the end. He doesn't know how to stop overthinking things. 

"Maybe you're right. But am I allowed to complain about there being cold as fuck or?" 

They debate for almost an hour about the Northerners' way of life. They're rumored to be a little more on the simple side of life, and Wilhelm basically expected to sleep on a haystack at some point, but Erik had to correct him, scolding him for not paying attention during their lessons on their neighboring countries' customs. Wilhelm argued that he didn't think he'd need this knowledge, but now, he regrets it a bit: not knowing what to expect from his new life in the Norrlands is a bit daunting. 

They're interrupted by one of the Queen's intendants, asking them to get ready for departure, as the whole convoy is ready to go. Wilhelm's mood turns instantly sour, and he follows the intendant to the courtyard, Erik and Felice following closely behind, silence settling between the three of them. 

In the courtyard, Wilhelm's escort is ready, his personal security guards mounted on their horses, his own horse mounted by a guard Wilhelm can't recognize with their helmet on. He had argued that he could ride his way up North, but he's been advised against it, as it's easier to protect him while he's in a carriage. 

King Ludvig is there, talking with Wilhelm and Erik's cousin, August, and Malin, who's responsible for Wilhelm's escort. When they notice Wilhelm, they stop their conversation.

"Hey, cousin, ready to go? I bet this will be an exciting trip!" August exclaims, a wide smile on his stupid-looking face. 

"Then why don't you do in my stead, uh?" Wilhelm groans, bowing to his father as a curt goodbye while the man gives him his last advices on manners and keeping his head high all the time. Malin gestures for the soldiers to look away as Wilhelm hugs his brother and Felice goodbye, giving them a modicum of privacy. 

He hops in the carriage, wishing for it to be broken or something, anything that could delay the inevitable, but it isn't, and they start moving as soon as Malin gives the order outside. He's alone in there, and allowed to brood in peace. Walter is sitting at the front with the driver, and Henry rides behind. 

Walter thought about Wilhelm's comfort by filling the carriage with blankets, cushions and also some containers with his favorite candied fruits and some of the books he likes so much. His mother always thought books were important, but disliked Wilhelm's love for tales and adventures. He's a boy of arts and literature, and that always bothered her, saying he'd be wiser to train more, to be more serious in his role as a prince, rather than indulge in such frivolities. 

But now he's glad he never really abandoned his inclination towards those books, as he's in dire need of distraction. This trip is a long one, and he's about to be locked up in a carriage for more than eight hours a day for the next ten ones. 

Why did the Northerners have to set up their capital so far away…

Wilhelm knew that travelling for ten days would be daunting. But what he hadn't realized was exactly how long it felt. All days looked the same, staring at the land slowly changing from the carriage's window, reading or trying to sleep the day away. Not even the short times during which Walter or Henry went into the carriage to keep him company were enough to distract him. The boys had only so much to say, their faces becoming grimer as the days went on. 

Of course, he wasn't selfish enough to not notice how the trip was tiring to everyone involved, and he actually was lucky his only worry was his boredom. Riding for hours was uncomfortable, painful even, and he was so glad he was forced in the carriage in the end. 

Nights were uneventful as well. Some of his guards always rode ahead to prepare his arrival to whatever inn they were staying in for the night, so whenever he got there, he was welcomed with warm food and water to clean himself up. Once he was generous enough to let Henry use the bath prepared for him, as his squire fell into a puddle of mud while leading the horses to the inn's stable. 

As soon as they crossed the Norrlands' border, their little convoy was joined with two guards from the Northerner army, guiding them along the tortuous roads. Those soldiers were friendly enough, but never addressed anyone other than Wilhelm and Malin, as per ordered. Wilhelm let Malin handle them after he got informed of their purpose, and went back to his brooding. 

Because as the time passed, he grew more and more somber. He tried to get positive, using Felice and Erik's words of reassurance, but in the end, worry gnawed at him still, and he got lost into his dark thoughts. What if he fucked this up? What if Sara hated him in the end? What if he never got accustomed to the northern way of life? What if the Queen decided he didn't try hard enough and broke the pact? 

Realistically, this last scenario wouldn't happen, as he doubted Queen Linda gave a rat's ass about him trying to fit in. He was there as a symbol, a hostage, even. Dwelling on it, it surprised him that his mother would allow it. Why wasn't Sara the one doing the whole trip to the Svealands? Wouldn't be more logical for her to marry him under the Svears' law? He felt stupid he hadn't asked about this before. 

As they got closer to the northern capital, the lands were looking completely different to what Wilhelm was used to. Green fields and large towns were replaced with dark pine forests and scattered villages in a mountainous landscape. He couldn't see the sea anymore, not smell the familiar tinge of iodine. Instead, they were getting closer and closer to the looming silhouettes of high mountains. 

And one evening, finally, they reached the capital. The city was huge, sitting at the foot of an imposing and quite peculiar looking mountain. It wasn't as big as what Wilhelm was used too in the Svealands, but it denoted from the villages he saw on the road. It was also surprisingly lively, with people everywhere in the paved streets, either already drunk or getting back home after a long day. The houses were small but all made with stone, and some black metal Wihlelm didn't recognize. But what surprised him the most was the fact that he couldn't see a castle anywhere. 

Was the royal family living in a regular house like commoners? Surely not, as he'd heard quite the tales about the Erikssons' magnificent castle and its high towers. But he didn't see any towers there. 

The answer to his question came when they reached the town hall, where a short, affable-looking man greeted them, introducing himself as the burgonmaster of the capital. He was very energetic, and offered for them to spend the night either at the town hall or at the fanciest inn the city had to offer. 

When Wilhelm inquired as to why they weren't going straight to the castle, the man laughed, saying that riding in the mountain during the night was not something he'd recommend, especially with tired horses that were most likely unexperienced with mountain roads. 

Wilhelm looked up again at the mountain, and thanks to the moonlight casting its glow on the summit, he understood why its shape was peculiar: the castle was there, seemingly built in a way that made it look like it was a part of the mountain, fused together in a menacing reminder that their rulers were looking over them all. Its walls were made of old stone, and renforced with that black metal he could see on the houses, and its roofs were covered with black tiles, shining under the moonlight. Surprisingly, no sign of moss or undesirable plants that could fragilize the structure, as if it was well-taken care of. 

They settled in the townhouse for the night, Wilhelm inheriting the fanciest guest room while Malin stood guard in front of his door, not trusting any of the burgonmaster's men to protect her prince. Curled up under the thick covers, Wilhelm couldn't help but think about that castle, and how life would feel living inside of it. Would he feel trapped, like that princess in her tower? Would he feel scared of the heights? Would it feel lonely, staring at the lively town below? 

His thoughts kept him awake for most of the night, and when the sun rose, Wilhelm only managed to drift a little. 

He sits up before he really hears Walter knocking at his door. His valet helps him get ready, the clothes he picked being on the fancier side today: he's meeting the Queen after all. His tunic is the kind that laces in the back, and he has to wait for Walter to finish lacing it to be finally able to move and join the burgonmaster and his escort for breakfast. 

"Ah, Prince Wilhelm!" The burgonmaster exclaims, standing up and giving a low bow, something that looks a little less pompuous to what Wilhelm is used to. He gives a curt nod as a greeting, and sits down to enjoy the food he's served with. 

There's dark-looking bread, with what resembles butter and some kind of oats. Some dried fruits are offered as well, with a basket full of really small oranges and nuts. Looking at the other guests, Wilhelm guesses he's supposed to pick from the various plates to mix it all up in the oatmeal. He's more used to pastries and eggs for breakfast, but he supposes it's a custom here. 

"I apologize for the scarce breakfast." A woman Wilhelm guesses is the burgonmaster's wife pipes up. "It's the end of the winter season and we're saving up for the spring festivities. But if there's anything you'd like, please, ask." 

Her tone is kind, with a smile that makes Wilhelm mirror it with a polite nod. "I'm not picky, really. Thank you for welcoming us in your home. May I ask what are these? They look small for oranges." He asks, pointing to the basket. 

"Oh, those are tangerines! I recall they're not popular in the Svealands, but they're a good winter fruit, and since they're Prince Simon's favorites, they're kind of trendy to have on your table." She chuckles, handing him a tangerine after picking up at the skin to incite him to peel it. 

He thanks her, and goes on to peel the tangerine until Walter snatches it from his hand and does it for him. Right, manners, you're still a prince, Wille. 

He enjoys the fruit anyway, munching on the sweet pieces he pops in his mouth while listening to Malin explaining the details of the day ahead. They're set to go right after breakfast, when Henry and the other guards are done with the horses' feeding and brushing. Then they'll have a four hour ride to the castle, as she wants to be kinder on the horses so they could be rested enough for the trip back to the Svealands. Wilhelm winces when he hears about that part: he won't be a part of it. 

The ride to the castle actually feels worse than the whole trip. The road is paved and not that uncomfortable, but the angle makes it harder on the horses, and Wilhelm soon tries to not look outside, as they keep getting higher and higher. He counts the minutes until the castle's doors will close behind him. 

When they finally reach the top, Wilhelm half-expects the floor to be tilted, as the road is. But the courtyard looks pretty normal, kind of similar to his family's castle, except it's a little bit smaller and a gravel path to the right seems to lead to the rest of the castle's outer parts. 

The carriage is parked in front of the stairs, and when Wilhelm looks out, he's met with a fiery stare. 

There's a young woman, waiting in front of the large open wooden door. She's wearing a red dress made of some kind of velvet, with a fur lining on the top of the coat draping her shoulders. Her hands, clad with beige gloves, are joined in front of her, resting on her waist. Her brown hair is tied up in a complicated-looking braid, and adorned with a golden tiara, sparkling in the rare rays of sunshine. Her expression is neutral, as she looks down at the carriage, right at Wilhelm. 

He wasn't expecting Sara Eriksson to be the one to greet him first as he arrived. 

"Welcome, Prince Wilhelm." She says as he finally marches towards the stairs, only stopping in front of the first step. As customary, he bows to her. She continues speaking before he even has the chance to greet her properly. 

"We hope your trip was safe and pleasant." Her voice sounds kind of robotic, as if she rehearsed her text multiple times in her head and is trying to remember the next sentence as she speaks. "The Queen will welcome you in the throne room, where you'll be introduced properly to your fiancé. Meanwhile, we invite your escort to settle in and our men will guide them to their quarters, and tend to your belongings. Do you have any request before we go?" 

Wilhelm is a bit overwhelmed by the flow of informations coming out of Princess Sara's mouth. He half-expected the Queen to give a little time to rest, but his night in the capital might have been just that. But why is she the one greeting him at the door? Why would he be introduced to his fiancée a second time when she came to him herself? 

Maybe it was a weird northern custom he didn't know about. After all, he wasn't the best at listening to those lessons back home. Finally, he bows again. "Thank you, for your warm welcome, Princess Sara. I don't have anything to request, and I'll be honoured to meet the Queen." His voice isn't as steady as he'd want it to be, but he hopes the princess will blame it on the trip. 

She frowns a bit, but doesn't react much as she invites him to follow her inside. As she said, some servants come to guide his escort to their respective posts, and only Malin follows behind him, as she needs to bid her respects to the Queen and gives her the message she's been carrying, coming from Queen Kristina herself. 

Wilhelm takes a chance to peek around the castle, staying a few steps behind the princess. He wasn't expecting the interior to be so heavily decorated, with numerous paintings and plush carpets. Of course, there's some golden linings, statues and armors adorning the place, but most of it has a warm feeling, as if they tried to chase the cold with decor, family portraits and heavy curtains everywhere. 

Two guards are standing before another large door, and only move to open it when Princess Sara gives them the order. As soon as he steps inside, Wilhelm is left speechless. 

The throne room is not only huge, it is also magnificent. Its walls are covered with glass mirrors reflecting the lights of the large dark chandeliers hanging from the high rounded ceiling. Statues of various fantastic creatures are placed neatly between each glass panel, each stone creature holding up a clear crystal lantern, adding to the light in the room. The whole place looks as bright as a summer day, despite the use of that black metal Wilhelm doesn't know the name of. What's even more strange, is that the room only have windows on one wall, behind the imposing throne Wilhelm hasn't set eyes on yet. The colorful stained glass of the windows cast various shapes and colors on the platform the throne is up on, and perfectly lights up the intricate crystal details of the throne itself, as well as those, simpler, of the two seats on each side. 

In awe, Wilhelm forgets for a moment why he's here, and his manners. Malin lets out a slight cough, next to him, and he's suddenly reminded that he's standing before the Queen of the Norrlands, and that instead of properly greeting her, he's staring at her decor. 

She doesn't seem to take offense, though, and her face lights up with a warm smile. Wilhelm never saw her, and he's a bit surprised to see how different from his own mother Queen Linda is. Her face radiates warmth and kindness, and even with her regal attire, there's something about her posture that makes her look almost approachable. As approachable as someone can look like with a heavy crown on their head. Her crown is a work of art, as is the room around them. Made of the same gold as Sara's own, it's adorned with black jewels that reflect light, shining as bright as diamonds. She stands up, and opens her arms in a welcoming gesture. 

"Welcome, Prince Wilhelm, to our kingdom. May you find yourself at home within our walls. Has the trip been pleasant? I know you mustn't be accustomed to our climate yet, but no fear, spring is at our door." She allows herself to laugh a little at that last statement, and Wilhelm takes her slight nod as an invitation to speak up. 

He starts by bowing deeply, as he's been instructed to. At that, he hears a small scoff, but he doesn't bother looking for the source of it, straightening up to thank the Queen for having him. "I must say I am quite impressed with your home, Your Majesty. I only hope I can fulfill my duty to our kingdoms here." He glances at the princess, who sits straight, looking ahead like she doesn't want to take part of that conversation anymore. 

"Oh, I'm sure you will-" 

"You do not have permission to speak yet, Simon." 

Wilhelm's eyes dart to the Queen's left. He had noticed the other figure sitting at her side, but had not given him a proper look. Slumping on his chair, Crown Prince Simon doesn't seem to have the regal posture of the women in his family. His hair is styled in the same fashion, intricate braids intertwining with the thin golden circlet peeking out on his forehead. Surprinsigly, the design seems less sophisticated than both Sara's and Linda's, with a singular dark purple stone ardoning it. His clothes are made of the same velvety material as Sara's dress, only his are dark green. What strikes Wilhelm about him, though, is his eyes. They're fixed on Wilhelm, a fiery glare piercing through him like he's a threat he needs to eradicate as soon as possible. 

Simon doesn't even apologize to his mother for speaking unprompted, but he closes his mouth nonetheless. Queen Linda speaks again, the warm tone returning to her voice. 

"Would you excuse Prince Simon's behavior, he didn't mean to offend." Judging by Crown Prince Simon's stare, he definitely meant to offend. Still, Wilhelm nods politely. 

"I imagine you must be pretty tired from your journey, but tradition calls for a proper introduction between the two spouses. Then you'll be led to your rooms and you'll be able to rest. We'll discuss the schedule and details later." Queen Linda explains, and Wilhelm suddenly feels indeed very tired and only dreams about the warmth of a bed. 

"As I step into your lands, I shall abide to your traditions." Wilhelm concedes, nodding once before holding his head high, trying to avoid looking in Prince Simon's direction, as he can still feel his heavy gaze on him. 

"Wonderful. I assume you have the rings? As per discussed with your mother, we agreed on keeping your tradition as well." Queen Linda says, sitting back down on her throne. 

The rings, right. The only thing Wilhelm had a say in. He had requested his grandparents' set of rings, as he had fond memories of his grandmother reading the epic tales of his grandfather's conquests and adventures, comfortably tucked in by the fireplace when he was a kid still. The silver rings, simple yet with delicate designs, seemed perfect for his engagement. And his mother gave her blessing, seeming, for once, quite happy with Wilhelm's choice. 

Though he doesn't see why they'd need engagement rings for such a small amount of time until the wedding, he still followed the instructions, and carried the box containing the two rings in the inside pocket of his vest. He takes out the box and holds it up as an answer to the Queen's question. She smiles again, and claps one single time. 

The door to her right opens and lets a tall woman come in, wearing a simple black dress, but an peculiar-looking headdress, made of wood and various natural elements such as flowers and moss. She looks quite old too, and when she stands before Wilhelm, he notices how long and sharp her nails are, as she holds out a hand. 

Confused, he looks up at the Queen, who gives a reassuring nod, inviting him to just go with the flow. The woman doesn't say anything, waiting for Wilhelm to give her his hand. He does as expected, and she takes his hand between both of hers. 

"As soon as you entered our lands with the intention of joining souls with one of us, you became a subject of the Crown of Erik the First, defender of all beings from down the sea to high up the sky. Thus, it's expected of you to kneel before your future partner, as a sign of respect towards them and our ways. As such, it is not an act of submission, and I ask the Prince to not take offense." 

The woman must've been informed that in the Svealands, no one kneels before someone of lower or equal rank. Still, Wilhelm needs to go with the Northerner traditions, so he agrees to whatever the woman said with a timid nod, feeling his hand already clampy under her warm ones. 

When she has his approbation, the woman leads him, not towards Princess Sara, but to Prince Simon. 

Confused, Wilhelm doesn't dare to ask questions, as the woman seems keen on explaining what she's doing anyway. Maybe he has to bow to the Crown Prince before? That'd make sense. 

In front of Simon, it's hard to avoid his stare. Still, Wilhelm focuses on the hand the woman clutches. She doesn't let him step on the platform though. She gestures at the space between Wilhelm and Simon. 

"Whenever you're ready, Prince of the South, we'll begin when your knee touches the floor in front of your promised one." 

Your promised one?  

Confusion must be painted all over Wilhelm's face, because when he finally looks up at Prince Simon, his closed up expression left space for a questioning one. 

"Is there a problem, Prince Wilhelm?" Queen Linda pipes up, having noticed his trouble too. 

"I-" 

"He thinks Simon is the crown prince." Sara finally speaks. Arms crossed in front of her, she looks thoroughly unimpressed, and Wilhelm can feel his cheeks burn with embarrassment. 

His head snaps back to Simon when he hears him bark a loud laugh. 

"Oh boy, are you disappointed?" A wide smirk spreads on his lips, and Wilhelm decides he doesn't like him, right here, right now. 

"Simon! Manners!" The Queen warns, but Simon doesn't shut up this time. 

"No but he doesn't even know our hierarchy, talk about disrespectful!" 

"And you don't even listen to your own mother." Wilhelm lets out. He immediately closes his mouth, afraid of overstepping the Queen with this statement, but Simon's voice is already annoying as hell.

"You shut the f-" Simon tries, but he's interrupted by the Queen loudly clearing her throat. 

"Shall we continue before you make even more a fool of yourself in front of our guest, Simon?" 

Simon bites his lower lip, clearly displeased with the situation, but he nods, sitting straighter on his chair and tucking a stray curl back into place. Wilhelm glances at Linda, who regained her composure and is watching her son with severity. Sara, next to her, doesn't even try to hide an amused smile. She somehow procured a cup, and sips on the contents to hide said smile when the Queen gives her a quick glance. 

The woman squeezes Wilhelm's hand lightly, reminding him of his task. He nods again, and he bites back the flow of questions threatening to come out of his mouth. He was so certain that the Norrlands followed the same rules regarding the succession order that it didn't even occur to him that he was sent to marry Simon , and not Sara. 

Still, he had a duty, and he would dwell on that turn of events later. He did as he was told and kneeled in front of Simon on the platform, supporting his weight on the right knee on the floor, the left one propped up, his head low in a show of respect. He let the woman guide his head until his forehead was touching Simon's own knee, then he stayed in place. 

"Then, Prince Simon will place his hand on your head and guide you up, giving you his protection and blessing." The woman explained again, for Wilhelm's benefit but also to tell Simon it's his turn to act accordingly. 

Simon's hand feels light on the back of his head. As if the prince was afraid to touch him more than necessary, he only presses slightly before letting his fingers go down to Wilhelm's cheek until they reached for his chin, tilting his head up slowly, as if he were holding a being made of glass. Wilhelm looks up at him, but doesn't have time to properly look , as Simon shakes his head slightly, making a show of slowly closing his eyes shut to show him what he's supposed to do. Thankful for these silent instructions, Wilhelm obeys, closing his eyes as he lets Simon's hand guide him a little more upright.

Then he feels something warm, pressing on his forehead. His breath hitches when he realizes those are Simon's lips , pressing a soft but firm kiss on his skin. So that's the blessing… 

"Now, Prince Wilhelm will gift his traditional token of affection, as the Svears need for a material proof of engagement to one another." This time, the instructions seem directed at Simon. Still, Wilhelm takes it as the signal to open the box. 

The two rings match in their design, but as one was initially made for a woman, his grandmother, it's thinner and more feminine-looking. When he thought Sara was his bride, it made sense to gift her his grandmother's ring, but now, it feels stupid and even insulting to give that ring to Simon. So Wilhelm takes the other one, on the larger side, and holds it up. 

Simon takes the hint, and holds his hand up, ready for Wilhelm to slide the ring on his finger. It's slightly big for him, as Simon is on the leaner side, but it doesn't slip off either. Maybe some jeweler in the capital could tighten it a bit, but for now, it'll do. He gives Simon the other one, waiting for him to put his grandmother's ring on his own finger as well. 

As soon as Simon does it, the woman in charge of the ceremony puts her hands on both their heads and gently guides them toward one another, only stopping when their forehead touch. 

"Under the eyes of the thousands of souls of those who lived before you, I declare you, Prince Wilhelm of House Bernadotte, and you, Prince Simon of Erik's blood, rightfully engaged. May you prove yourselves worthy of this union in the Three Trials, and your love bloom by the time summer hits the land." 

Chapter Text

Once their "introduction" properly done, the woman walked out of the throne room, leaving Wilhelm and Simon standing awkwardly side by side. Wilhelm feels the need to fidget with his ring, but he knows better than to let his anxiety show. 

"Now, Simon, you can show Prince Wilhelm where he's staying. And you, Prince Wilhelm, don't hesitate to request any of the staff around if there's anything you need. We hope you can soon feel at home with us." 

Queen Linda's words are kind, but firm, meaning their conversation is over. Simon bows his head slightly, while Wilhelm bows deeper, and follows the prince as he walks to the large door they initially came from. Malin stays behind, as she needs to discuss things with the Queen, so Wilhelm finds himself alone with Simon. 

The other prince walks in silence, his posture stiff and his pace fast. There's a ton of questions jostling in his head, but Simon's demeanor discourages him from asking him for answers. Still, he's confused. 

Not about the succession, as it has been made clear that Wilhelm made a fool of himself out there. Surely, the Norrlands adopted a primogeniture law for their crown. That made more sense than his own kingdom's need to push girls aside, but Wilhelm didn't even think about the fact that other kingdoms may do things differently. 

Speaking of different things, he has so many questions about the sort of rite they went through. What did it mean, exactly? When should they expect to get married? What did that woman mean by "trials" and "prove yourselves worthy of one another"? And why was she talking about the summer, as spring hasn't even started? 

Simon walks up a few flights of stairs, and finally stops after speed walking through a long corridor. The heavy wooden door isn't guarded, as it doesn't feel necessary, this deep in the castle. He pushes it open, and stands aside, holding it for Wilhelm to come in after him. 

"Here you go. These are our quarters." Simon states, and it's the first thing that leaves his mouth since his snarky comment at the Introduction. 

"Our?" Wilhelm parrots, before taking in the large room in front of him. 

The room isn't as bright as the throne room, its light comes from the large windows piercing the southern wall. The afternoon sun casts a soft orange light that makes the whole interior seem cozier. The middle of the room is occupied by a large circular bed, neatly made with a lot of fur blankets and fluffy pillows. The placement of the bed is peculiar, but so is the rest of the room. There's a lot of sitting furnitures, but also a large desk and a large bookcase that's almost empty, safe from a few worn out books. The desk has been filled with art supplies that no one seemed to have touched before. There's also a closed black door next to the desk. 

On the opposite wall, there's another door, mirroring that one. But instead of a desk and a bookcase, there's a small piano, and a lot of loose papers tacked on the wall. A small stand holds a string instrument Wilhelm isn't sure he has seen before. It looks like a violin, but larger. 

"Yes, our. I assume you don't even know you're supposed to live with me before the wedding." Simon spits out, stopping Wilhelm in his observation of the room. 

"Are we?" Wilhelm's head snaps back to him, just in time for Wilhelm to see him roll his eyes. 

"I can't believe you didn't care enough to at least read about our ways." Simon mutters, and Wilhelm isn't sure if he's supposed to hear that. 

Simon closes the door behind them, and goes for one of the long curtains framing the windows, pushing it a little further away in a feeble attempt to let more sunshine in. "This used to be my quarters, alone, but we refurnished it for… Our cohabitation. Not that you care about how they moved my whole life around to accommodate your ass." 

Wilhelm immediately frowns. Yes, he's been quite insensitive by not getting informed about the northern customs, but that doesn't give Simon the right to talk him down like that. "Oh sorry you had to reorganize your bedroom, it sounds daunting, let me try to feel sorry for you when I'm done missing the family and friends I had to leave behind." 

That seems to shut Simon up quite effectively, as the other prince turns around, visibly taken aback by how Wilhelm just bit back. His otherwise plump lips now form a fine line as he grimaces. Seems like they're even, now. 

"Anyways. Your private room's that way." He gestures to the door on the right, next to the bookcase. "It used to be my childhood playroom." He adds, answering one of Wilhelm's questions about the layout of Simon's living quarters. 

Back in the Svealands, Wilhelm's room was way smaller than Simon's. For starters, he only had one room, not three. But most of the west part of the castle was his, and Erik's, the rooms didn't connect to one another quite like this. Curious about how they tried to accommodate him, Wilhelm goes up to look at the inside. 

Built with the same kind of wooden decor, heavy curtains and fluffy carpets, his bedroom is smaller, and almost bare. There's some empty frames on the walls, seemingly holding places for Wilhelm's choice in decor. The only furniture consists in a large wardrobe that will easily store all the clothes he has taken with him and some more, a simple yet comfortable-looking bed, topped with the same fur blankets and cushions, and a small dressing table with a large mirror and its small stool. Under the bed, his trunks are already placed, and he supposed what's inside has been put away. Everything in this room seems made for him to spend a minimal amount of time in, just sleeping and getting ready to leave. 

Wilhelm looks back at Simon, who's sitting on the windowsill, fidgeting with the ring that's a bit too loose on his finger. This attitude reassures Wilhelm, as he's been told numerous times that princes don't fidget. But this one does, so why Wilhelm couldn't? 

"It's… cozy. But… Can I ask you questions? Without you getting offended that I even ask them?" Wilhelm tries, because as tempting as it is to be rude to Simon, he also wants some actual answers. That, and he's supposed to marry this guy, for fuck's sake! 

Simon stares for a little while, until he sighs loudly. "I guess that since I already know you didn't do your research, there's no need for me to point it out all the time. Still, consider me annoyed by that simple fact."

Wilhelm nods, willing to give Simon that. "I understand, and I apologize if I seem rude because of my ignorance. I will-"

"Stop being so formal with me. I know we're both princes and whatnot, but I hate the way you try to dance around the bush. You've made a mistake, you said sorry, no need to embellish that with fake politeness." 

Simon's tone is sharp, but also a bit tired. Wilhelm can see, in the way that he tries to hide a tremble of his lips, that he's hiding something deeper behind his annoyance. 

"Sorry, I'll try to ease on the formalities. But again, I must point out that you're home, and I'm not. It's not that easy to let go of it." Wilhelm concedes, stepping a little towards Simon and stopping to lean against the other window. Simon looks him up and down, seemingly deciding that Wilhelm has a point, because he nods.

"Got it. So, fire up the questions, let's see exactly how ignorant you are!" He smiles then, and Wilhelm likes to think that he's genuine. 

"What's the meaning of all this?" He asks, gesturing to the room as a whole before clarifying. "Like, why are our rooms so bare and this one so full? And why is there a bed in the middle?" 

Simon's smile doesn't fade, and he slightly turns around on his spot on the windowsill to face the room properly. "It's a classical couple's room here. It's made to emulate the feeling of a home, with all the distractions both parties like in the same place, so they're encouraged to share a space. The annex rooms are there for privacy, should any of the two need it. They're made to be decorated to one's tastes, but it's expected that the main room gets the more attention. As for the bed…" 

Simon looks at Wilhelm when he reaches that part of his explanation, an over-exaggerated grimace on his face. "It's there exactly for the purpose you think of. Couples tend to share some activities, after all." 

Wilhelm can feel the warmth spreading from his cheeks right to his ears and neck, and it must show, because Simon giggles, hiding his own embarrassment behind his hand. "Yeah that's a bit on-the-nose."

"A bit? Did you see the size of it? Hell you could fit an army in there!" Wilhelm squeaks, trying to steer away from his reaction to implied intimacy with Simon with some humor.

"Well if the shoe fits…" Simon's smirk spreads wide on his lips, and Wilhelm regrets even opening his mouth. "Next question?" He prompts, before Wilhelm considers jumping out of the window. 

"Mh. Why aren't we getting married right away? I thought it was the whole purpose of me coming there on such short notice."

Simon frowns, trying hard to not spit another snarky comment, before answering. "Well, because it's not how it works here. I know you guys can plan a wedding in a tenday's time, but we can't. Our traditions forbid it, because you don't merge your soul to a stranger. So we require the fiancés to live with each other for at least three months, in either of their homes. Arranged marriages are a bit out of fashion, but for us royals, it's the way to go. We usually do a whole year, but since the pact is to be sealed by the summer's solstice, three months it is." 

Wilhelm nods, listening to Simon. He wonders what he was really doing when his preceptor told him all of this. The answer is easy: he was probably either daydreaming or writing poetry in his notebook that never held any notes on his private lectures. 

"Okay, you know what, that sounds actually reasonable." Wilhelm concedes, earning another genuine smile from Simon. 

"I know. You guys are just barbarians when it comes to romance and marriage." He states, arms crossed on his chest in a perfect mimic of Sara's earlier posture.

"Ouch, but fair. We're better at everything else I guess." 

Simon makes a face and opens his mouth to retort something, but Wilhelm cuts him short by firing another question at him. "What are those 'trial' things about? And the 'prove yourselves worthy' part? Is it just some spiritual stuff?" 

At that, Simon scrunches his nose. He seems to think about his answer before he speaks again. "Well, it is linked to spirituality in a way, but it's more down-to-earth than that." He looks at Wilhelm. "For us, marriage is more than an arrangement, it's the merging of souls, coming together for a lifetime. So, in order to marry someone, you have to prove yourself worthy of them. Of their attention, time and love. So we 'test' the qualities that matter to us. Typically, people would consider the whole 'living together' thing as a first trial, gauging how well the future couple accommodate to one another. Then there's small gatherings and things organized to do the other ones. But as royals, we have to follow the protocol to a T." 

Simon seems a little uneasy as he explains the tradition to Wilhelm. And Wilhelm guesses it's because those trials look like a relic of an ancient rite their kingdoms used to partake in before the separation. Makes them seem a little outdated, but Wilhelm finds it interesting, and encourages Simon to tell him more. "And what is the royal protocol then?"

"We're gonna test the qualities Erik the First deemed important. First, strength. It's an important feat for us, as a land that's constantly threatened. Then, it's trust, as you can't have anything without trust. And finally, endurance, as living in our lands has always been hard." He lists, counting on his fingers. 

"And how do you test all of that?" Wilhelm frowns, because if the first one calls for an obvious duel, the other two seem way too abstract to be tested out. Unless they planned to make him run laps until exhaustion to test his endurance or something. 

"I'll be honest with you: I have no clue. I never took part in those rites, as the weddings I was invited to happened before I was old enough to witness the trials. And they won't tell us beforehand, so we can't prepare for it either." He shrugs, as if he hasn't just thrown Wilhelm into yet another spiral of worry.

Because if there's something Wilhelm hates, it's tests. He's always been anxious whenever he had to prove himself in any way, shape, or form. He's been ridiculed more than once for a slip-up during royal events, entirely caused by his anxiety taking over him. And now, he's just been informed that he has to show qualities he's sure he hasn't in order to be declared worthy of the stranger sitting next to him. He feels his chest tighten at the mere thought of failing. 

"And what… What if I- what if we fail those trials? Our marriage isn't one of love and whatever, it's a pact between two nations, it's a symbol, we-"

"If we fail, we don't get married, simple as that." Simon states, shrugging. Clearly, he's not as bothered as Wilhelm is by this information. 

"But what about the pact?! It's important, moreso than your stupid beliefs-" Wilhelm starts, his voice higher and louder than before, actually on the verge of yelling at Simon and his detached attitude. The point of all this is to unite their kingdoms, to solve the problems that keep emerging and present a stronger front to the other nations, why can't Simon see that? 

He obviously can't, because once again, he interrupts Wilhelm, jumping from his spot on the windowsill to turn around and face him, his head held high and venom in his voice. "My beliefs aren't yours to judge, Prince Wilhelm. And no pact, no political arrangement will make my family forego its traditions and sell me off to a stranger I can't rely on!"

Wilhelm breathes in for one, and exhales for two, before trying to ease Simon's wrath. "Sorry, I snapped, I'm just- it's just… Well my family did exactly that! They don't care if I'm not worth your time or whatever, they just want it to seal the pact. What will happen to our people if we can't do that simple thing?" 

"I fucking know what's at stake, that's why I actually made an effort!" It's Simon's turn to snap, effectively yelling at Wilhelm now. "You came in here with no fucking clue how our world works, thinking you just needed to give me a fancy ass shit ring and- hell, not even give me a ring, but my fucking sister !" His arms flail at his side as he groans loudly, his hands balling into fists. "You can't barge in here and demand things to be done on your terms, I know that's how your kind do it, but that won't work!"

Wilhelm just stares as Simon rants, stunned by how much anger is contained in such a small frame. He doesn't dare to stop him, and so he continues. "We won't fail those fucking trials because we can't, Wilhelm! We can't afford to fail, because there's people's lifes at stake! We have to make this work, and you, your fucking attitude-" He lets out a frustrated sigh, his shoulders sagging, and then he looks back at Wilhelm. "You need to put in the effort as well, we're in the same boat, and you failing means we're all in trouble." 

Oh great, now he wants to disappear. 

After dropping that bomb on Wilhelm, Simon excused himself and left the room to get some fresh air. Wilhelm supposed then he wasn't the only one stressed out by the whole affair. Stressed out? Terrified would fit better. Still, he hasn't dared getting out of the room, as he doesn't know the castle's layout, and doesn't want to get lost. 

Sitting in their room also feels weird. Contemplating the way the room's been arranged to "facilitate cohabitation" between them feels utterly wrong, and Wilhelm is drawn to the privacy of his room. But he's somehow glued on his spot, not knowing if it's actually allowed, if he can lock himself in there and hide under the soft-looking blankets. 

He's been staring at the slightly open door for too long, and he hears a soft, but firm knock on the main door. Startled, he also recognizes the distinct use of the "secret" knock he told Walter and Henry, years ago now, to use when they're the ones asking to come in, so that Wilhelm could filter out other servants and people he didn't want to deal with. 

"Come in?" He tries, his voice merely a squeal, before he clears his throat and calls up again, this time louder. 

As expected, Walter opens the door, holding a tray with a teapot and a plate full of pastries. Despite his tired eyes, Walter smiles up and bows his head down, as protocol calls for. "Your Highness, it's past midday and the kitchen has been done with dinner for hours now, but I took it upon myself to bring you something to sate your appetite. Sadly, it seems like they don't have coffee anywhere, so tea it is." 

Wilhem almost forgot that eating was something he would be supposed to do here. Attending breakfasts, dinners and suppers with the royal family would surely be a daunting task, and he's suddenly thankful for Walter's thoughtfulness, as he wouldn't have dared to ask for food by himself, not in his state. He gives him a curt nod and takes this as an opportunity to make use of that private room of his. He goes in, leaving the door wide open for Walter to follow. 

Walter sets the tray on the dressing table, busying himself with serving Wilhelm a fuming cup of black tea. Wilhelm gives the room another look before sitting down on the edge of the bed, finding it very comfortable. "So, are we settled in?" He asks as Walter finishes with his serving. 

"Yes, Your Highness. Your security has settled in their quarters for the night, and they're ready to leave at dawn, per Malin's recommendations. She asked me to give you her well wishes, in case the prince didn't want to appear at supper. Henry's tending to your horse in the stables, with Prince Simon's squire showing him around." A malicious smile stretches his lips, one he only allows himself to show when they're away from peeping eyes. "I think he's really afraid of her." 

Wilhelm snorts, the image of Henry being bullied never failing to be funny. "Poor him. Well if the squire is as short-tempered as her master…" He begins, then bites his lip, because he knows Walter can't agree with him. "Ehm. Have you been able to recover all of my belongings?" 

"Yes, Your Highness, your clothes are already put away in the wardrobe over there, I tried to organize them as close as in the palace, but the design is a bit different, so let me know if there's changes to be made. I didn't put your books away though, because there's no bookcase in your room so…" Obviously, Walter had been confused with the layout of their quarters as well. 

"The prince's bookcase is outside." Another voice chimes in, making both Walter and Wilhelm startle. 

Leaning against the doorframe, careful to not step inside Wilhelm's room, is a man. Smaller than Wilhelm, but of large build, he bows in the Northern fashion when he catches Wilhelm's eyes. "Greetings, Prince Wilhelm. My name's Ayub, and I am Prince Simon's personal intendant. We're bound to run into one another." 

"Oh. Ehm. Okay. Well then… Ayub? Ayub. Here's Walter, my valet." Wilhelm gestures to Walter, as he's not to speak first when his master is around. 

Walter smiles widely, and holds out a hand for Ayub to shake. Ayub does take it and gives Walter a warm smile as well. "Nice to meet you! And as I was saying, your master's bookcase is outside, so if he wants to put them in there-" 

"Thanks, I'll do it then!" Walter interrupts, springing into action and going for the trunk that hasn't been neatly placed under the bed. 

Ayub frowns at that, confusion painting his features. But he recovers quickly and shakes his head, now addressing Wilhelm. "I was sent by the prince to inform the… other prince? Sorry sir, I'm not sure of the honorifics-" 

"It's 'Your Highness' for us, Ayub!" Walter interrupts again, and excuses himself as he carries a huge pile of books in the other room. 

"Ah- thanks!" Ayub tells Walter before turning back to Wilhelm. "Okay then, let me start again. I was sent by the prince to tell his Highness that supper will be served at six, staff will be sent to lead you out to the dining room if Simon hasn't come back from his ride." 

Wilhelm quirks an eyebrow up at the way Ayub casually talks about his master, referring to him by his given name only. He doesn't comment on it though, rather inquiring about Simon's whereabouts. "His ride?"

"Yes, Your Highness. He's often gone for hours when his mind is clouded. Don't worry about him, he has his… security." Ayub smiles, and promptly switches subjects. "He also told me to inform you that your earlier conversation wasn't over, but that it can wait for after supper." 

Wilhelm winces, and nods, signifying Ayub that his deed is done. He expects the guy to bow again and leave, but he doesn't. He stays there, eyeing Wilhelm with a curious look, as if he was expecting him to say or do something. His attitude, on top of the whole day already wearing him out, and Walter's incessant back and forth with the books, is starting to piss him off. 

"Will that be all?" He asks, his tone sharp, maybe a little ruder than necessary, but he doesn't care much. Ayub raises his eyebrows, and nods. "Yes, I'm leaving now, send your valet if you need anything, I'll be around to help since he doesn't know the castle well yet." Ayub's tone surprisingly matches Wilhelm's, losing that warmth and assurance he carried just minutes before. He turns around and leaves before Wilhelm can understand how in hell he was supposed to handle a servant that obviously doesn't know his place. 

He can hear the door closing softly after Ayub, and then silence, broken only by Walter arranging books in the bookcase. Wilhelm lets out a light sigh, and gets up to sit on the stool near the dressing table. It's clearly not as comfortable as the bed, but he still has some decorum and can't fathom eating on a bed. Also, he doesn't want to use one of the plush-looking recliners in the shared room on the other side of the wall. 

So he remains in utter silence, picking at the few pastries on his plate, wincing at the bitter taste of the tea. He avoids looking at his reflexion in the mirror in front of him, knowing too well that he must look terrible. Somehow, he's impressed with himself, seeing as he managed to avoid a full-on panic attack. The absurdity of the situation, him making a fool of himself and Simon's harsh words promising impending doom shall he fail those stupid tests should've been enough to make him shut down completely, seeing as he had panicked for way less before. 

Maybe it's a sign he's matured, grown out of his teenage anxiety? He hardly doubts it, as he had one just twenty days ago, upon learning he was sent away to marry a stranger. It had been a hard one too, he'd been crying for hours, fighting both nausea and shortness of breath until Erik was finally released from the council meeting to look out for his little brother. He didn't eat for a few days and slept most of the day away to try and keep the nagging voices in his head at bay. He barely had time to recover from it before he had to pack and be on his way. 

His anxiety has always been a problem. The royal healer blamed it on a weakness of the heart, and when word spread that the youngest prince wasn't all that healthy, the way people behaved around him changed. He used to inspire sympathy, people generally fond of his quiet demeanor, mistaking it for politeness and humilty. And then, they just pitied him, looked down on him for not being a strong figurehead they could rely on, should Erik not be able to fulfill his role. 

He's brought back to reality when he hears Walter clear his throat. 

"I'm done with your books, Your Highness. Same as the clothes, if you need them rearranged, I'll do as instructed." He explains, his polite smile not really reaching his eyes. Wilhelm only nods, putting down his half-empty cup on the tray. 

"Is Your Highness in need of anything else?" Walter asks, and only then Wilhelm notices the dark circles beneath his eyes. The trip must've been quite tiring for him too. He's tempted to have him stay around in case that other weird valet comes back, but he's not that selfish. 

"That'll be all, Walter. I think I'll simply rest until supper. You're dismissed until then." He says, standing up from his stool, gesturing to Walter that he can get rid of the tray on his way out. Walter bows, thanks him and takes it away, making sure to close the door as he leaves. 

This time, the silence is deafening. Wilhelm doesn't bother with trying to get out of his day clothes and lays down over the fur blankets on his bed. He wraps himself in the blanket and buries his face in the pillows, wanting this day to end already. 

Wilhelm's awaken a few hours later by some ruckus outside his door. Laying still, he dares to hope that everyone will forget about his existence and let him fall back asleep. But he has no such luck, as someone knocks on the door. It's not Walter. 

He huffs, and sits down on the bed. One look at the mirror makes him want to pretend he's not there and not answer the door. But he's been raised better than that. "Come in." 

The door opens on a girl, a maid, judging by her attire. She does a small curtsy, nowhere as proper as it should be, and speaks in a quiet but polite tone. "Your Highness, supper will be served in thirty minutes, the Queen expects you there."

Wilhelm nods, rubbing the sleep off of his eyes. "Alright, I'll get ready." 

The maid smiles, gesturing to the wardrobe. "His Highness should maybe get changed, sleeping in day clothes tends to leave them wrinkly." 

Startled, Wilhelm looks down on his tunic, and sure enough, the fabric's all bunched up and messy-looking. Not fit for a prince, not fit to eat with the Queen and her children. Wincing, he has to agree with the maid. 

"I'll be right outside to guide you to the hall when you're done, Prince Wilhelm, just call if you're in need of anything." She bows again and goes for the doorknob to close the door, but Wilhelm stops her. 

"Wait!" She looks up at him. He feels his cheeks burning, why isn't she offering it herself? Does he need to call Walter? Maybe that's not part of her job. "Ehm… Maybe you should.. Call my valet?" 

Her brows furrow in confusion. "I'd love to, but going to fetch him and back would make you significantly late to supper. Couldn't I fulfill whatever request you have? It's my job to serve, si- Your Highness." 

Wilhelm's conflicted. He doesn't want to ask her, but he has to, because no way in hell can he do it on his own. "I… Well. I need help with my clothing. It's." He stands up and turns around to show her, feeling his ears warm with his embarrassment. "Tied up in the back." 

"Oh!" She can't help but exclaim, before regaining composure. "My apologies, Your Highness, I'm not very familiar with Svear clothing. I can do that, if His Highness is comfortable enough." She goes on, and Wilhelm guesses it's not often that a noble from the Norrlands needs help getting dressed. Back in the Svealands, the more help you need with getting ready for the day, the more high-ranked you are. His own mother never washes her hair by herself, for example. 

He tells as much to the maid, whose name he learns is Randvi. She shows what he thinks is genuine interest for his little rant about svear nobility while she helps him out of his tunic and into another one, made in the same fashion, with laces in the back. All his fanciest clothes are made like that, the ones he uses for his daily life being on the simpler side, and those he can tie himself. 

Randvi asks polite questions, never stepping a toe on the limit between what's appropriate and what's invasive. She even offers to do his hair, as it got tousled by his nap, and she brushes it back, holding it place with some of the wax he's brought from home, marvelling at how natural it looks in contrast to the more gel-like texture of the products they have around.

When he's more presentable, Randvi leads him through the corridors of the castle, to the dining hall. The room, while still pretty large, is way less impressive than the throne room. He suspects that the throne room is made exactly for that purpose: impress the guests. It worked on Wilhelm anyway. 

There's less decor there, but they kept the dark metal theme going with the chandeliers and wall panels. The table is large, too large for five people to sit around without it being awkward. It has been only set on the right end of it, bringing the guests a little closer together, while leaving enough room between one another. The Queen hasn't arrived yet, but Princess Sara is already sitting on the chair to the left of the large one that will for sure be the Queen's. Malin is standing behind the chair next to Sara, leaving Wilhelm to sit on the second chair to the right of the Queen, as Simon will most likely sit next to his mother. 

Malin bows slightly as she sees him, Sara only acknowledging him with a nod, then a look to the chair Wilhelm supposed was his. Oh, so he guessed right. He goes to pull it out and sit, but then a servant by the door announces the Queen, so he straightens up instantly, turning around to see Linda come in, still wearing the dress he saw her in earlier, but having dropped the crown for comfort. He gives Sara a look, and notices she, too, has left her crown behind. 

Linda gives them a smile and a nod before sitting down, allowing the three of them to sit as well. Eyeing the vacant chair next to him, Wilhelm's unspoken question must be clear enough, because Linda inquires to someone who looks like her personal maid about her son's whereabouts. 

"He's been spotted on-" The maid cuts herself off, eyeing Malin and Wilhelm warily, then finishes her sentence in her Queen's ear. Linda's smile widens. "Alright, we'll start without him, he doesn't like salad anyway."

The maid turns around and leaves, as a couple of servants come in to serve the supper's first dish. Wilhelm looks down at his plate, not quite surprised at the winter-themed salad he's been served. It looks familiar, and that simple thing reassures him. 

"So, Prince Wilhelm, did you manage to settle in?" The Queen asks then, picking at her food, so Malin and Wilhelm both take this as a permission to touch theirs. Sara, on the other hand, has already started to shove pieces of nuts and cold gourd in her mouth. 

"I did, thank you, Your Majesty. I must say those fur blankets are almost too comfortable." He tries with a tight smile, not sure if the Queen is up for pleasantries.

She is, as she laughs a little behind her hand. "Oh, I know! They're a blessing and a curse both." 

"What did you do to make Simon angry?" Sara pipes up, earning a shush and a glare from her mother. She shrugs in response. "Sorry, too nosy." 

"It's alright, no harm done." Wilhelm clears the air, suddenly feeling his throat dry. "I said insensitive things without really meaning them. I'll apologize when he comes back." 

"That can happen. Simon needs to let go, too. I'm sure you'll make it work." Linda closes the topic, filling her glass with a clear wine. Wilhelm eyes the servants waiting around, a bit appalled that none of them moved a finger to serve their queen. 

"Yeah, have fun with that." Sara giggles around a mouthful of salad. 

As if on cue, the door opens on a servant annoucing Prince Simon's arrival. Wilhelm turns around to look at him, unsure if he has to stand up like Malin did, as their statuses are the same. But Simon is quick to sit down next to him, nodding to Malin to sit back down. 

Unlike Wilhelm, who made sure he looked presentable for the supper, Simon's attire is… unkempt. He sports the same outfit as earlier, but it's obvious he threw his clothes back on in a hurry, and his hair is flying everywhere. With his braids coming undone and the crown left behind, Wilhelm sees how curly it actually is, and he won't deny the look suits Simon well. Still, it's not very proper, and he's more and more confused by the lack of decorum in this castle. 

"Excuse me for my tardiness," Simon begins, going for the wine jug to fix himself a glass. Again, no servant rushes to serve him. "I lost track of time, you know how it is." He smiles up at his mother who gives him a warm look before clearing her throat. 

"You're excused, for today." She eyes the plates of her guests and daughter before waving for the next course, not gracing Simon with the possibility of having some salad too. 

"So, Prince Wilhelm, what was the trip like? I've never done the whole trip between the capitals, but I like to travel, so I'm curious." Sara pipes up again, thanking the servant putting a new plate of some fuming mix of potatoes and meat in front of her. 

Wilhelm doesn't risk a glance at Simon, taking the chance to steer the conversation away from their previous argument. "I'm going to be honest, it was mostly long. I never travelled so far, and the excitement dies down after a few days of doing nothing." 

Sara raises an eyebrow at Wilhelm's answer, then eyes Malin. Wilhelm takes it as a cue to explain himself further. "I wasn't allowed to ride my horse, for security matters. So sitting in the carriage for ten days was pretty dull after a while." 

At that, Sara smiles a little. "Ah, yes. I see what you mean. I can't sit still for hours like that. A bummer for royal functions, right mamma?" She giggles behind her hand, and the Queen rolls her eyes fondly, nodding at her daughter's quip. 

Wilhelm is taken aback. Never in a million years has he ever dared to call his mother "mamma" in the presence of strangers. He wouldn't even dare to think about it. Yet, Sara has done it, and Queen Linda didn't seem phased one bit, meaning it wasn't something out of the ordinary. 

Simon, next to him, seems to have picked up on his astonishment, because he leans in a bit and asks: "Is something the matter? You seem weirded out."

Wilhelm shakes himself out of it and paints a smile on his face, shaking his head. "Oh, no, no! Don't worry. I just…" His mind racks for a proper answer that doesn't point out Princess Sara's lack of etiquette. "I'm just surprised I can relate. Functions were a bit hard on me as well." 

"Were?" Sara asks after swallowing her mouthful of potatoes. "Did you manage to find a way to make them more bearable?" She manages to ask before ducking her head under Linda's stare. 

"Pull through and pray I won't break a glass or two?" He tries, his tone as light as he can make it to hide his own embarrassment. He knows it's public knowledge that he's not the most present during royal events. His mother often pushes him to stay as much as possible, but he always finds an excuse, or an escape that's often named Felice. 

Sara nods, shrugging her shoulders. "Well, when I'm queen, I'll order the servants to only give you wooden ones, so you'll be fine!" And well, since both Linda and Simon snort at that, Wilhelm allows himself to chuckle a little and babble some sort of thank you. 

"Oh, I didn't know you knew those words." Simon then whispers, making sure no one but Wilhelm hears him, before he loudly asks about the dessert, as if he didn't say anything. 

But Wilhelm frowns anyway. What was that about? He eyes Simon with a confused stare, and the other makes a point to not look at him for the rest of the supper, engaging in conversation as if Wilhelm wasn't there. 

The supper ends earlier than Wilhelm expected it to. He assumes they didn't treat that as an official royal function, since he's now supposed to live here as a "part" of this family. If it had been held in his home, this supper would've lasted at least an hour more. 

He bids both Princess Sara and the Queen goodbye, before he follows Simon in the corridor. Simon barely acknowledges him, but still waits around for him. Wilhelm's about to ask him what his problem is this time, when he's interrupted by a small cough behind him. 

Malin's there, standing tall and stiff as always. "May I request a bit of your time, Your Highness? It won't be long." She eyes Simon, asking him for permission as well. Which he gives by muttering he'll be in their room. 

Wilhelm follows Malin in the courtyard, trying to map out the way to get back to his room in the meantime. He doesn't want to rely on servants too much to find his way around. Once they've reached the stables and what looks like the temporary living quarters of his escort, right above it, Malin holds the stables' door to him. 

Frowning, Wilhelm gets in, only to be met with Henry, sitting on a barrier and chatting away with one of the guards Wilhelm doesn't remember the name of. Said guard stands up straight when he notices Malin, and bows to him before slipping away. 

"Your Highness!" Henry steps down from the barrier. "Malin." He nods to the guard, and she takes it as a cue to finally explain to Wilhelm why he's here. 

"I trusted Henry here with the necessary instructions regarding your security, my Prince." She gestures to Henry, who nods eagerly. "He's been given my fastest crows to tend to, and you can request them should the need arise. The Queen has her personal fast couriers, but I'd rather you use our crows." 

Wilhelm slowly understands Malin's intents. She doesn't trust the Erikssons, of course, she doesn't serve them but his family. So she couldn't leave without making sure her protégé was in good hands. He nods to her explanations. "Alright, I'll do that if anything happens."

She nods and puts her hand on his shoulder, a familiarity she rarely allows herself to fall into, but she's been around enough to see him learn how to walk, so he doesn't mind. "Be wary. Not everything is at it seems here." She eyes one of the horses' stall, and Wilhelm follows her gaze. The horse inside looks perfectly fine to Wilhelm, and, according to the wooden sign under the barrier, its name is Oski, and it's Simon's. Still, Wilhelm doesn't understand why Malin would be wary of Simon's horse. 

"I'll be careful. Thank you, Malin." 

She eyes him and bows her head. "Then I'll be on my way. I'll let Henry walk you back, since his quarters are in the castle too. Farewell, Prince Wilhelm. It was an honour to serve you." She does a stiff salute as it is improper for her to do a cursty and leaves after acknowledging Henry with a nod. 

Wilhelm raises an eyebrow at Henry. "Do you know what she meant by that? The whole 'not everything is at it seems'?" He tries, maybe Henry will be less vague about Malin's warning. 

But he simply shrugs as he takes his satchel back from the floor. "No, I'm sorry. She seems to think there's ears everywhere. She simply told me to watch out for you if you decide to ride especially, because that's when attempts are often done."

Slowly nodding, Wilhelm eyes the horse again. "And this horse?" He asks, maybe that detail will remind Henry of something. 

Henry raises an eyebrow. "What about it?" He peers inside the box, extending a hand to stroke the horse's nose. "He's been calm all afternoon!" 

Wilhelm frowns. "All afternoon? He wasn't taken on a ride?" 

Henry shakes his head. "No. I was there all the time and no one came to fetch a horse." He holds the stables' door open for Wilhelm. "Why are you asking?" 

Wilhelm then wonders if Simon's supposed ride is what made Malin suspect something was off. Maybe he didn't take his horse? What if he was too tired because Simon rode a lot those past few days? Maybe Simon took a carriage? That didn't seem like him though, Wilhelm rather pictured him galloping through the forest with a well-trained mount. 

He doesn't dwell on it too much anyway, and gestures to Henry to walk him back to the castle. The journey has been tiring, and having to keep up appearances for the whole day has drained him. Not to mention having to endure Prince Simon's temper. He dreads having to face him in their quarters, and silently hopes he locked himself in his private room during his little meeting with Malin. 

"This castle is incredible." Henry whispers, as they walk through the corridors. Wilhelm can only agree, the whole structure seems ancient and modern at the same time, and he's really curious about the history behind the apparent fondness for the creatures displayed in various artworks. He suspects it's due to their historical links to the arts of human metamorphosis. Shifters . 

When they reach Wilhelm's - and Simon's - quarters, Wilhelm actually notices how the door is engraved with various vines and intricate arabesques. He doesn't doubt it'll take him a long time to notice all the hidden details in this castle's decor. 

"Is there anything I can do, Your Highness?" Henry asks then, as a polite way to ask if he's being finally dismissed so he can get some well-deserved sleep. Wilhelm only spares him a glance before he shakes his head. 

"I'll be alright, you're dismissed, Henry." 

Henry thanks him, wishes him a good night and bows before heading downstairs, to the living quarters he's been assigned to. Wilhelm's curious for a fleeting moment about the living condition of his two loyal servants, wondering if they were even afforded privacy. But that thought doesn't linger as he steps into his new room. 

To his dismay, Simon's there, sitting in one of the very comfortable-looking armchairs, his face turned up to look out of the window, to the night sky. He takes a few seconds to tear his eyes from the outside world to land them on Wilhelm, who closes the door behind him. "I didn't know if I was supposed to knock, I rarely shared-"

"I don't care. Come in as you wish, it's your space too now. If I wanted peace, I would be in my room." Simon snarls, and he pulls the woolen blanket over his lap. It's only then that Wilhelm notices Simon has changed clothes, or at least he dropped the velvet doublet. He's now clad with a flowy-looking white shirt, loosely laced in the front and its sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His boots have been thrown somewhere, because Wilhelm notices a bare foot peeking out of the blanket, hovering over the floor. 

"I-... Alright. Were you…" He remembers Ayub's comment about their conversation from earlier not being over, and shifts a little on his feet, hoping Simon would take it from here. 

But he doesn't, and his eyes are fixed on Wilhelm, tearing through him. Wilhelm feels smaller and smaller under that man's stare, and can't help but blurts out: "Look, I'm sorry about what I said earlier. I didn't mean it when I said your beliefs were stupid, I just…" 

Panicked? Wanted to scream out in frustration? Wanted to kick everything and fling himself out of the window? Nothing seemed like a proper explanation. 

Simon stares, still, and then he sighs. "You came in thinking you were just going to sign some papers and be done with it, right?" Wilhelm can only nod. Yes, isn't that what arranged marriages are, after all? 

"Honestly, I see how that could be a good option too. Then we wouldn't have to pretend to like each other enough to convince others." Simon looks away, his lips a fine line. "Did you…" 

He never finishes his sentence. Wilhelm gives him time to do it by taking his boots off and sitting down on the other armchair. They're closer now, only about a meter away, and Wilhelm can see worry and sadness dance in Simon's eyes. "Did I…?" 

Simon shakes his head. "Doesn't matter." He looks up at him. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for making it seem like I had it harder than you, when you had to fucking leave your home for this." 

Wilhelm's eyebrow rises up in surprise. He wasn't expecting Simon to actually apologize for that. Maybe he should give him some credit, after all. "Well, you're forgiven. I guess we started on the wrong foot." 

"Or the wrong knee." Simon smirks, snorting at his own joke, and Wilhelm graces him with a smile. That was a nice one. "Touché."

"Maybe after a good night's sleep, you'll actually be a nice person to be around." Simon concedes while standing up, throwing the blanket back on the armchair. 

"Hey, that was one argument-"

"I'm not talking about the argument." Simon cuts, his stare hardening a bit. Wilhelm frowns, confused, once again. Then, Simon's little comment during supper resurfaces. "Is that about what you said at supper? What was that about?" 

Simon looks him up and down, his arms crossed. "I'll blame it on the lack of sleep. If you don't do it again, then I'll own my mistake." He turns around, walking to his door. "I'm not sleeping here tonight, I need alone time. Rest, Prince Wilhelm, I want you in good shape tomorrow." 

And without gracing him with further explanation, or even another glance, Simon shuts the door behind him, leaving Wilhelm alone in their shared room. 

Simon's words kept him up for a good half of the night. The other prince had clearly been bothered by something Wilhelm said or did. But him not telling Wilhelm what was the problem rubbed him the wrong way: wasn't he the one complaining about Wilhelm not making any effort? How could he exactly make an effort if he didn't know what was wrong in the first place? 

He couldn't shake the feeling that Simon did that solely to test him. Maybe he didn't have anything against him, besides the whole marriage and Wilhelm's lack of interest in his culture. Maybe he was just keeping him on edge so Wilhelm would be on his best behavior around him. That didn't sit right with Wilhelm either. That sounded almost manipulative. 

So he tossed and turned until he simply passed out from exhaustion, buried in his very, very soft bed. He would've slept for longer if it wasn't for Simon making noise before the sunlight hit the windows. Wilhelm tried to turn around and bury himself further under the covers to go back to sleep, but he found himself unable to drift again. Still, he didn't get up until he heard Walter - or Henry - knocking on his door. 

"Good morning, Your Highness. It's already nine, do you wish to have breakfast or will you skip today?" 

Walter is aware Wilhelm's appetite tends to be reduced to nothing when he's anxious, so he always offers the option to simply serve him something to drink. Wilhelm straightens up in his bed, and of course he refuses breakfast, but requests some tea, with more sugar than the day before. Walter gives a slight nod. 

"Also, you'll need to fetch another lace for my doublet, I had to cut it to get it off yesterday." Wilhelm adds as he stands up. 

Walter gives him a confused look. "You-... Why did you cut it-" He stumbles on his words, as if the answer wasn't obvious. 

"Well you weren't there to help me with it, how was I supposed to do it?" He shrugs, a lace isn't a big deal to find, he doesn't see why Walter would question it. And he was slightly annoyed he had to do that at all. 

Walter seems to realize he's slightly out of line and bows in an attempt to apologize. "Apologies, Your Highness. I wrongly assumed you would've asked Prince Simon for this, I heard it was more his role now-"

"Ask me what?" Simon pipes up behind Walter who, like Wilhelm, hadn't heard him come back in the room. He nearly jumps out of his skin in surprise, clutching his heart a little too dramatically. Simon chuckles. "Oops, sorry Walter!" 

"No harm done, Your Highness." Walter breathes out, stepping aside so Simon can fully enter Wilhelm's room. Which he does, even if Wilhelm hasn't asked him to. He gives him a glance before shaking his head to Walter. 

"Don't call me that, please. Simon's just fine." Wilhelm all but gapes. Why would Simon, spare prince of a whole kingdom, allow a servant he only met the day before to call him by his given name? That's so unheard of, at least in the Svealands. 

And to illustrate Wilhelm's thoughts, Walter shakes his hands in front of him, half-bowing to Simon. "Oh, no! Respectfully, Your Highness, I wouldn't dare to use your given name. It's so out of place!" 

Simon all but snorts. "It is not, here. Since you're at my fiancé's service, we're bound to see each other a lot, and honorifics on a daily is not something I enjoy." Walter looks positively catastrophed, eyeing Wilhelm for some kind of support, for him to tell Simon to drop it, maybe? But Wilhelm is too puzzled to react. 

"I can't do that! I'm not your equal, sir- I mean, Your Highness, I'm but a mere-" 

Simon holds his hand up. "I know how it works in the Svealands, but you're in another place, now, with other rules. Still, I won't force you to do something you're uncomfortable with. Consider that you have my permission to call me by my given name, and do what you want with it. Now, what is it that your master should've asked of me?"

Walter seems to need a minute to regain composure, as if he's just been ran over by a herd of horses. Wilhelm wants to speak up then and make everyone go away for him to properly get dressed as he's still in his night tunic while they're discussing honorifics, but Walter, always the professional, is quick to answer Simon's question despite his panic. "We were talking about his clothes, Your- ehm."

Simon frowns. Like Wilhelm, he opens his mouth to speak, most likely to ask Walter to elaborate, but Wilhelm's valet is that competent, because he answers before Simon can actually form words. "You may not be accustomed to Svear clothing, but most of the Royal Family's clothes can't be tied up - or untied, for that matter - by the one wearing them. I usually do it for Prince Wilhelm, since I'm his valet, but I wrongly assumed that honor would be yours by now."

The frown on Simon's face deepens, and he gives Wilhelm an unsettled side glance before focusing back on Walter. "That… That sounds peculiar. I wouldn't be a fan of not being able to dress myself." He shakes his hand dismissively. "Your assumption was correct, though, it is a bit frowned upon to touch another person's fiancé here. Let me discharge you of that task from now on. I'm sure Prince Wilhelm will either select proper clothes or swallow his pride to ask his future spouse." 

And the fucker smirks. He's smirking, as he looks at Wilhelm with mirth in his eyes. Wilhelm scoffs. "I'd rather not, I'm fine with-"

"As I step into your lands, I shall abide to your traditions." Simon chirps, his grin widening. "I wonder who said that oh so inspirational sentence…"

Wilhelm did, and Wilhelm closes his mouth, feeling his cheeks burn under the sheer humiliation. Simon takes it as his cue to end the clothing conversation here. "Very well, it's decided Walter. I assume you have your orders now?" Walter nods. "Go off, I need to file the prince in with our schedule. Thank you for explaining."

Walter gives him a puzzled look, before eyeing Wilhelm, seeking his permission to go. Which he gives with a slight nod. That's enough for Walter to go out, but for some reason, it makes Simon frown again. He shakes his head slightly before Wilhelm can ask more. "What time do you usually wake up at, back home?" 

Wilhelm clears his throat before answering, making sure his voice is steadier. "A little after the sun rises. I heard you were up earlier than that." 

Simon shrugs. "I'm an early riser, always has been. The early morning is soothing. I assume you didn't have breakfast yet?" He adds, looking him up and down. Wilhelm suddenly feels very naked under his light tunic. Still, he stands still, his back straight. "No, Walter is bringing back some tea, that'll be enough."

"You know you're not just a guest, you can request a proper breakfast, and have it in the kitchens with the rest of us." Simon pauses, biting his lower lip. "It wasn't a jab, by the way." 

He doesn't know why, but Wilhelm's a bit grateful for that clarification, because it did sound like one. "I'm aware, I'll adjust, but I can't stomach anything right now." And since he doesn't want Simon to know he's anxious and then unable to eat, he adds: "That happens often, I eat better at dinner." 

Simon seems content with that explanation, because he simply hums. "Alright then. Do you feel rested enough?" Wilhelm nods, so Simon continues. "Good. There's a hunt scheduled for this morning, and we'll have some time to rest after dinner. You're not expected to follow me if you feel like staying inside for today, however." 

Wilhelm mulls it over. He's not the best hunter, preferring fishing or picking, but his mother always told him it was more proper for a prince to be a good sport and participate in leirsurely hunts. So he agrees to follow Simon along. And Simon smiles, a genuine one that eases Wilhelm's worries about the man's opinion of him. "Perfect! Call me if you need help lacing up your boots, Your Highness." 

He snorts before leaving the room, and Wilhelm is reminded that he, in fact, doesn't care about Simon's opinion. 

Thankfully, his hunting clothes are the kind he can put on by himself. He wouldn't have dared looking Simon in the eye and ask him to tie up his top like he would with Walter. Also, he's still a bit confused as to why Simon took this charge out of Walter's hands. Surely it wasn't solely to humiliate him, right? He asks him as much as they walk together to the stables to retrieve their mounts for the hunt. 

"Well I wasn't lying when I said it's not really proper for someone else to touch my fiancé. And that's something less for him to do, so I don't mind." Simon shrugs as if he didn't just tell Wilhelm he willingly took a servant's job to ease their life a little. Who would do that?

He can't ask follow-up questions because they reach the stables and Wilhelm doesn't really want to admit he needs someone to help him get dressed. He quickly figured it's not something to be proud of around here. In the stables, they meet with Henry and Simon's squire, a woman with jet black hair and piercing eyes who introduces herself as Rosh. She doesn't even bother to bow to her prince, and graces Wilhelm with a nod as she greets them. Wilhelm scans Simon's face, but seeing as the other one is all smiles and inquiries about the weather forecast, he guesses it's a normal behavior to expect from her. 

Henry looks less confused than Wilhelm, even if he gives both princes their expected bows. He explains to Wilhelm that their horses are recovering from the long trip and that the stable hand agreed to lend them easy mounts for the hunt. He takes him to a brown horse in an open box, already saddled and ready to be taken on a ride. "His name is Felle, Rosh told me it was one of the princess' favorites, for he's really obedient and affectionate." 

"But he can be a little shit if you spur him too much. He doesn't really need it anyway." Rosh completes, handing Wilhelm a little bag with some treats for the horse. "We're going to fetch the bows. The chief hunter thinks you'd be better off with a shortbow, will that be alright?" She asks, and Wilhelm notices she doesn't address Simon, who's already off to take Oski out of the stable. 

Wilhelm agrees to take the shortbow, which is a relief because he really is better with that. Rosh nods and leaves to fetch the weapons, Henry trailing behind her. Wilhelm follows Simon's footsteps, taking Felle with him. As predicted by Henry, the horse easily moves along with him, seeming eager to get out of that box. 

"Rosh's a bit blunt, but she's the best squire I could've had." Simon files Wilhelm in, checking the bags tied to his saddle. "Protocol isn't her forte, though. Maybe I should've told you." 

As if on cue, Rosh comes back, Henry still behind her like a little duckling following his mother, and hands Simon his bow along with a quiver full of arrows. Henry has Wilhelm's and he settles the quiver around his master's shoulders. Rosh and Simon both raise an eyebrow at that, and Wilhelm doesn't understand the problem. Maybe it's the fact that, once again, someone does something for him that he could've done himself. 

Simon shoulders his weapon and quiver, leaving Rosh and Henry to fetch their own gear before they all go up to the small gathering of men that will be their hunting party. One who looks like he could be 40 or 60 at the same time speaks up, and Wilhelm guesses he's the chief hunter Rosh referred to earlier. He doesn't bother introducing himself to Wilhelm, and the prince tries hard to not take offense: those people seem to not hold much care about hierarchy and he must not read too much into it. Back in the Svealands, if a commoner working in the castle were to act this way around him, it would clearly be a personal message. 

So Wilhelm rather focuses on the instructions. He's not used to ride in the mountains, so he really needs the extra help. He doesn't want to make a fool of himself in front of all these people, too. For the hunt to be more efficient, it's decided that the party will split once they reach the good spots found by the hounds. Two teams of three will search an area each, while the three others will stay behind to provide more arrows and first aid should the need arises. 

Wilhelm understands it isn't even the same type of royal hunt he was used to. Back home, they would chase the prey for hours on end, exhausting it and giving it the final blow with a melee weapon. It was more for the pleasure of the nobles, to distract them. Here, they aimed for efficiency, wanting to bring back as much quarry as possible. Wilhelm doesn't mind: he likes the bow better than the sword. 

The huntsman advises the princes should not be in the same group, as to not risk their safety. He eyes Wilhelm as he says that, and Wilhelm understands the man is, in fact, not worried for Simon's safety at all. Wilhelm's then enboldened to show these people that no, he isn't a fragile doll to be worried about. He doesn't protest though, when he's paired up with Henry and a guy called Ficke. Meanwhile, Simon will be accompanied by Rosh and, surprisingly, Ayub. The chief hunter will stay back, overlooking the whole thing, with his two apprentices Wilhelm already forgot the names of. 

Ficke chats him up as they ride into the forest. After a quick introduction where Wilhelm learned he was a distant cousin to the royal family, he explained that he was actually quite experienced with hunting in these terrains, and that it was kind of unfair to the three of them to pair two newbies with him, against the dream team that are Prince Simon and his friends. 

"His friends?" Wilhelm inquires, not too loudly, as Simon and said "friends" are riding not far behind. 

Ficke nods. "Well, yes! They're childhood friends. Ayub's mother was Simon's nurse back then, so they grew up together." He snorts. "Their position is all made up so Simon can justify bringing them along on royal trips. Isn't it the same for you two?" He inquires, gesturing between Wilhelm and Henry. 

They both look at each other with bemused looks. Henry's the first to recover though. "I wouldn't dare pretend the prince looks at me as a friend, I'm merely a squire. My family has served the royals for generations, it's only normal I do so as well." He gives Wilhelm a look, silently asking if he answered in the proper way. 

Wilhelm nods, and adds. "Henry was my father's page and learned to hunt and battle with me. He earned his role." That may have come out as a jab towards Rosh and Ayub though, because Rosh, obviously having heard that, passes right in front of them and stops them from advancing further. Wilhelm regrets speaking the moment he catches her gaze. 

"Your Highness!" She calls out with a smile that isn't reassuring at all. "Pardon my boldness, but I wonder if you would be interested in participating in our little game." 

"A game?" Wilhelm raises an eyebrow, and looks back at Simon and Ayub, still behind them. Ayub looks amused, but Simon pointedly avoids looking at him. "What kind of game?" Wilhelm asks. 

"Nothing short of an friendly competition. Let's see which team gets the more meat in this hunt?" Her tone is challenging, and Wilhelm understands. She heard him talking them down, insinuating they didn't deserve their roles, unlike Henry, and she wants to humiliate him now. Fair, he bites. "Sounds entertaining." 

"Not fair Rosh! They're inexperienced!" Ficke protests, and Wilhelm can hear Henry huffs, offended to be called a novice. But Ficke's right, Wilhelm and Henry don't know the mountain like the others do. That gives their team a disadvantage. 

"Don't call me stupid, Ficke, I know that! That's why I suggest we give you an hour more. We'll stay back, and join in later. How does that sound?" 

Ficke ponders for a moment, eyeing both Wilhelm and Henry. But Wilhelm is the one who calls the shots. So he agrees, thinking an hour is a bit of an insult, but willing to admit that he, indeed, needs it. "What time should we head back?" 

The huntsman, who heard their little conversation as they stopped the whole group with this, explains he would blow the horn when it'll be time to head back to the castle. So they don't have to worry about that. Perfect. He turns around, ready to start going down the path again. 

Then, Simon finally opens his mouth. "Prince Wilhelm, let's make this more… interesting." 

Wilhelm's head snaps back to Simon, who doesn't smile. No, instead, he stares at him with a piercing gaze. "What do you suggest?" Wilhelm asks, and Simon's lips stretch into a smile. "Losing team will take care of the other team's horses, armours and weapons when we come back. Regardless of their ranks." 

He doesn't know why, but that, too, sounds like a challenge. Wilhelm feels everyone's eyes boring into him, so he quickly agrees. "Sounds good. Shall we?" 

Simon's eyes shine with mirth, and he gestures to set everyone back into motion. The party has to go for a little longer before they reach their designated hunting area. The huntsman gives them some more instructions, and hands each of them a blowing horn in case they got lost. "If you're not sure which way will get you back to the castle, aim to the top of the mountain, that'll get you closer for sure." 

With that, they're set to go. Simon and his team stay back as promised, demounting to lounge around for an hour before they can hunt too.

The forest is quite different from what Wilhelm's used to. This forest is all dark, pine trees, with steep paths and some snow still clinging to rocks. He tries to listen in, as he's used to strain his ear to locate the heavy steps of the hounds going before them, but soon enough, he finds the noise their horses make while trying to stay on path too distracting. 

"Wouldn't it be more efficient to continue on foot?" He suggest to Ficke who's looking up, trying to gauge the birds around them. The guy shrugs. "We can, it's just a hassle to come back to them with the game but it'll be easier to access smaller preys. We can go down for a little more too, there's a plateau not far from here, if we can access it before the other team…" 

Wilhelm nods, trusting Ficke with his knowledge of the area. But still, he doesn't like not being able to actually do something. "Which direction it is?" Ficke points south, saying they'll have to ride for a good twenty minutes to get there. "Okay, go ahead, I'll dismount here." 

"What? But we can't leave you alone, you'll get lost!" Ficke protests, and Wilhelm doesn't listen, getting off of his horse. 

"I'll be fine. Henry can't lose me." He gives Henry a pointed look, and Henry quickly nods. "I can't. And the prince is usually pretty good in a forest, he just needs silence." Still, Henry frowns slightly, obviously remembering Malin's warnings. "Are you sure you don't want us to follow from afar though?" 

Wilhelm remembers that too well. Malin seemed to think something was out to get him. Or someone. But he doesn't think Simon's family would risk their peace treaty by harming him so evidently, so he shakes his head. "I'll be fine, I'll blow the horn if there's any real danger."

Ficke's eyes flicker between Henry and Wilhelm. He seems to get that they won't listen to him, and he sighs loudly. "Alright. Let's give it an hour, if we can't find each other again by then, I'll blow the horn for you." 

Wilhelm is more than okay with that. He checks he has everything with him: his weapon, his arrows, the horn he was given and his medallion in case he got lost. When he's sure he's all good, he waves to the others to go and starts walking down the forest, away from the path. 

He doesn't stop walking until he's finally surrounded with silence. The sounds of their horses and gear clattering is no more, and he can now focus on the forest and its little sounds. There's a bird somewhere over him. A tiny rustle of some leaves. Then he hears it. Chewing. Loud chewing on something hard. 

Three cautious steps to his right, and there's a flash of white fur. His foot hovers over the floor, trying to step closer as discreetly as possible. He nocks an arrow in. Breathes in, out, in. Holds. Fire. 

The hare slightly moved to the left, but he doesn't miss. The arrow hits it, and it slumps down on the ground.

Wilhelm lets a victorious smile stretch his lips. He enjoys these kinds of hunts better than the par force ones. It's instant reward, after all. Little Wilhelm used to have so much more empathy for these little prey animals, whining and crying when he had to do his first kill. But he's gotten better at the whole "it's only laws of nature" mindset. 

What he enjoys the most while hunting still isn't the killing part. It's the loneliness of it. He always loves being able to be on his own, chasing little animals that don't care about his rank and will flee all the same. Being alone is also relaxing. No one to pester him about his posture, about the stains on his clothes, or the way his hair is everywhere. 

It isn't proper for a prince to climb a tree to find a good vantage point and shoot some birds, but Wilhelm can, and does it when no one's looking. It doesn't take long for his belt to feel heavy with the weight of the small animals he managed to hit. 

He allows himself for some down time near a small stream of water, cleaning his hands and hunting knife from the blood. Glancing at the treetops, Wilhelm wonders if the hour is almost over. He guesses that the sheer number of catches he did tells him enough about the time that passed. So he starts to walk back to the path, a little higher from where he is. 

Then he hears it. Distinct steps to his left. Four legs, a branch that cracks under its weight. Wilhelm slowly steps behind a tree, and looks out. 

There's a deer here. It's not exactly the big kind, but still too big for him to carry it back on his own. Still. It's tempting. He's sure to win that stupid competition if he brings back a whole deer. How would he, though? With his horse so far… Maybe he could wait next to it for Henry to locate him? But that'll make him lose so much time.

While he's hesitating, he notices someone that clearly isn't pondering the question. Simon, half-hidden behind a rock, is ready to fire, his bow drawn, arrow nocked in. Wilhelm can't let him have it. Simon aims. Wilhelm fires his arrow.

He watches with batted breath, as his arrow plants itself right in the deer's eye, while Simon's goes into its flank. The deer collapses, and silence falls again in the forest.

Wilhelm looks away from the deer, his eyes falling on Simon. He's already staring at him, disbelief painted on his face. Neither moves, and Wilhelm can properly look at him. Simon's lustrous curls are wild, some sticks and leaves stuck in it, and his clothes are dirty, the pieces of his light leather armor a bit askew. He looks as if he's been crawling on the dirt. Wilhelm musn't look much more put together, feeling the dampness of his catches' blood seep through his pant leg and the roughness of his dirtied hands. 

Simon is the first to move, walking towards the deer. Wilhelm does as well, and they stand together in front of their prey. Simon touches its throat uselessly: it's obvious it's dead already. And Wilhelm dealt the killing blow, his arrow perfectly sunk into its head while Simon's would've made him unable to move, at best. 

"Nice shot, prince." Simon stands up, finally opening his mouth. "I didn't even smell you." His eyes dart to the quarry he still carries on his belt, and his nose scrunches. "Oh. Guess that's why."

Wilhelm frowns. "Are you seriously pretending you can smell human beings ?" 

Simon shrugs. "Always had a good nose, and you Svears use too much perfume. Any idea on how we can carry this?" He asks, gesturing to the deer. Only then Wilhelm notices Simon's horse is nowhere to be seen. The other prince must prefer hunting on foot too. 

"I thought you had a horse, or an idea. You didn't seem to hesitate, so." Wilhelm shrugs, and it's Simon's turn to frown. "You mean you shot after me?" 

Wilhelm can't help but smirk as pride fills his chest. Yes, he did. If there was anything he was good at, it was shooting. Especially when no one could see him. Simon rolls his eyes. "Alright alright, don't brag. I guess I can wait for Rosh to come back." 

"And claim the deer as your own?" Wilhelm raises an eyebrow. 

Huffing, Simon crosses his arms over his chest. "I found it." 

"But I killed it."

Simon groans, and sits down next to the deer. "No matter, Rosh's gonna find us and my team will bring it back. Thanks for the help, I guess!" He sticks out his tongue, and Wilhelm's smirk grows. "Don't be so sure about this." 

"Why?" Simon leans on his arms behind him, and Wilhelm decides to sit down too, his legs crossed and facing Simon. "Because Henry can find me faster." He says, taking his medallion out. He picks at the pendant three times, feeling it warming in his hand. From an outside perspective, he looks like he's fidgeting. But only he, Henry and Erik know that he's actually activating the compass that currently sits in Henry's pocket. 

"I doubt it." Simon snorts. "Very well, let's see who comes here first, and that way we'll decide who takes the deer!" Wilhelm agrees and holds his hand out, sealing the deal. Simon's hand is warm and clammy inside his, but the contact isn't unpleasant. 

Waiting for either their teams to show up could be boring, or awkward. But Wilhelm actually takes this opportunity to question Simon. "Will you finally tell me what I did wrong yesterday?" 

Simon shakes his head. "No. Because if I told you, you'll change that behavior to please me, and that's not how I want you to realize it's something despicable." 

"Despicable? What a strong word. Now I'm worried I accidentally offended your whole bloodline." 

He rolls his eyes again and Wilhelm wonders if one day he'll stop. "Might as well. You offended my friend." 

Wilhelm frowns. "What I said earlier about Henry earning his place? I didn't mean it like that, actually. I merely wanted to praise Henry's skills and-" 

"Oh I know. Rosh knows too, but she saw an opportunity and took it." Simon lets out a yawn before continuing. "Besides, that happened today, not yesterday. No, you offended Ayub." 

More and more confused, Wilhelm doesn't get how he could've offended the guy. If anything, he was the one being slightly out of line. "I don't see how… He told me your message, and gave Walter instructions…" 

"And what did you tell him?" 

"Nothing much, actually. He seemed to wait for something so I asked if he had any more business here and he spoke curtly before leaving." Wilhelm tries to recollect the conversation from the day before, and he feels Simon's stare on him. 

"Yeah, he was waiting for something. Maybe ponder on that, prince." Simon stretches his arms a little, and with the tone he used, Wilhelm knows this conversation is over. At least until he finds out what Ayub was waiting for. 

"How come you recruited your friends as your aides?" Wilhelm asks then, genuinely curious. 

Simon hums slightly. "Well, I wanted to keep them close and help them. But they wouldn't ever accept my help directly. Ayub needs the money for his sisters' education, and Rosh wants to be a knight. So I recruited them, Ayub because I trust no one more than him, and Rosh because she's the best fighter I know. I can count on them, and that's the only way I can show my appreciation without them turning it down." 

And if that piece of information seems like something casual to Simon, Wilhelm is genuinely impressed. The other prince doesn't look like it, but he's kind enough to care about his friends' needs and their wishes to earn their place in the world. Thinking back about what Simon told him about the efforts he made… Maybe Wilhelm didn't give him enough credit. 

"That's surprisingly kind of you. I wasn't expecting that." Wilhelm says, truthfully, and Simon snorts. "Wow, talk about a backhanded compliment!" He straightens up, squinting his eyes as he looks back at him. "And tell me, why did you choose Henry as your squire? Surely you had a say in it-"

"Prince Wilhelm!"

Always on cue, Henry. Wilhelm can't help but smile widely as the sounds of the hooves and Henry's voice come closer. Simon looks bewildered as he looks behind Wilhelm, where Henry and Ficke finally appear from behind trees, still on their horses, with Wilhelm's horse trailing behind. 

Wilhelm stands up, dusting his butt off a little, his smile is still wide when he looks down at Simon. "That's one of the reasons." And does he dare… He dares to wink at him, before grabbing his horse's reins. 

Chapter Text

The deer was enough to win that little competition. Basking in their victory, Ficke and Henry didn't hesitate to boast around the whole way back. Wilhelm kept a more reserved front, only smiling at their antics. Surprisingly, Simon recounted the way Wilhelm took the deer down, adding that he was genuinely impressed at his skills with a bow. Rosh looked at him the whole time, something shifting a bit in her eyes. Wilhelm couldn't tell if he somehow gained her respect, but she gave him a deeper nod when he excused himself after they reached the stables. 

"Nope, don't!" Simon calls out, wrenching the reins from Henry's grasp as he went up to take Wilhelm's horse. Bewildered, Henry lets go of the reins quickly, as if the leather burned him. "Is something the matter, Your Highness?" 

"Simon." He corrects, and Henry suppresses a grimace. "You won the game, Henry, no horse chores for you tonight, remember?" 

Henry looks appalled, his eyes darting from Wilhelm to Simon, as if he expected one of them to laugh and make him go back to work. "I… I wasn't exp-" 

"Simon is a man of his words." Rosh says, leaning against the wooden wall. "We did agree on the losing team tending to the winners' horses, so we'll do just that." 

"You can't be serious, a prince wouldn-"

"Oh believe me, if it was the other way around, I personally would've stuck around to watch your prince do his part." Rosh smirks, her eyes shining with mirth as her words are punctuated with Ayub's and Simon's snorts. 

"Which I would've, but sadly you won't be rewarded with such a show today, apologies for that." Wilhelm dares to say in a light tone that apparently amuses her, judging by the playful eye roll she gives, a smile still dancing on her lips. 

Simon starts walking Wilhelm's horse up to the stable, before something crosses his mind. There's yet another smirk on his face when he turns to Henry again. "You know what, I was so impressed by your ability to find your way into the forest that I'm offering you access to our bathroom." 

Henry's face pales, and he searches for Wilhelm's eyes frantically. But Wilhelm is too focused on Simon. Simon, who just beckoned a servant to use his own personal bathroom - their own personal bathroom, even. 

"I. I can't, Your High- P-prince Simon!" Henry quickly corrects himself before Simon can open his mouth. "It's not my place, and Prince Wilhelm certainly needs-"

"To get clean for dinner, yes? Maybe with you there he won't drown in the bath. Take the opportunity, Henry!" Simon waves him off, and leaves with the horse, leaving two bewildered Svears behind him. 

They won that competition, but now it sure feels like Simon got his petty revenge for that deer. 

Henry apparently already knows where the bathroom is. He doesn't hesitate when guiding Wilhelm through the corridors of the huge castle. Wilhelm is surprised they don't take the stairs that'd lead up to the level where his room is: he assumed their bathroom was near it, for practical reasons. His own bathroom, back home, was attached to his bedroom. Wilhelm and his love for privacy enjoyed that layout, but it seems like Northerners liked to walk a mile to get cleaned up. 

Stopping in front of a large wooden door at the end of the corridor, Henry hesitates a bit, before pushing it open for Wilhelm. On the other side of the door, there's mostly steam. But once it dissipates a bit, Wilhelm understands why that bathroom isn't next to his room in one of the towers (he can't yet pinpoint which one). And he also understands why Simon joked about him drowning in the bath. 

Because not only is the room huge, but the bath itself is too. The middle of the room is occupied by a large basin dug into the floor. Wilhelm can't see the bottom of it from where he stands. There are two smaller basins near the southern wall, and one looks really hot, judging by the amount of steam coming out of it. The rest of the available space is occupied by two benches and two loungers with a small table between them. Towels are folded in neat stacks on a shelf, and Wilhelm recognizes his own bathrobe hanging on a rack next to a dark purple one that must belong to Simon. There's merely a small folding screen for privacy near the racks, but Wilhelm figures they didn't intend for them to tiptoe around each other's nakedness anyway. 

"You're supposed to leave your shoes there." Henry explains, pointing to a small bench next to where Wilhelm is standing, under which he's meant to store his shoes. "And wash your feet before stepping in." He then points to a small bucket next to the bench. 

Wilhelm nods. "This is quite impressive, for a private bathroom." He notes, and Henry hums. "It is, looks more like the servants' communal bath, but smaller. I guess it's meant for fewer people so it makes sense." 

Wilhelm is suddenly curious about Henry's living conditions, so he asks about it while untying his shoes. "It must be quite crowded." 

Henry folds his arms in front of him. "Not that much. We have allocated time slots. If you miss yours, you gotta either change with someone else or forgo the bath for a simple wash." He doesn't move from his spot, making no move to take his shoes off. Wilhelm gives a little nudge with his chin. 

"Simon gave you the permission, you can wash here." He puts his shoes aside. He rarely bathed with Henry, only a couple of times when they were on visits to other towns where his privacy was harder to get. Maids were supposed to be the ones bathing them, but Wilhelm always requested his closest servants whenever possible. He then allowed them to have a proper bath in his own facilities while he did his hair or dried up. So it isn't like Henry never saw him naked and vice-versa. 

"Feels a bit weird, that's supposed to be your whole couple-thing." Henry grimaces, and Wilhelm rolls his eyes. "Well, rest assured, we didn't baptize it." 

"Yet-" Henry purses his lips, alarmed that he might've overstepped a bit with that one. Wilhelm only snorts. It was a common occurrence that rarely bothered him. "That won't happen anytime soon." He plunges his foot in the bucket and winces at the cold feeling of the water. Still, he does as he's been told, while Henry finally decides to untie his own shoes, not daring to sit next to Wilhelm on the bench though. 

"May I ask why? Prince Simon is… quite nice to look at, if you allow me to say." He tries, and Wilhelm shrugs. He can't argue with that: Simon is a fine looking man. "He is, but I doubt I'm to his liking. Whether it's looks, or personality." 

Wilhelm stands up and goes to hide behind the screen to undress. He can still hear Henry clearly. "Why would you say that? He's a bit wei- ehm. Unusual, for a prince. But he isn't blind either!" Wilhelm chuckles at Henry's vain attempt at hiding his true opinion on Simon. "Feel free to speak, I won't mind." When he said that, he usually unleashed the kraken of gossips, Henry's tongue was easy to roll around, calling everyone out. "Why do you think he's weird?"

"Oh, I- I mean. I don't wish to insult-"

"Henry."

"Sorry. I'm just not used to the lack of… manners? Like they don't seem to care much for hierarchy here and it makes me feel like an idiot. Like Rosh seemed genuinely weirded out that my job as squire wasn't only helping out with horses, armor, and weapons." 

"I think they do things differently here." Wilhelm muses as he puts his folded clothes on a nearby bench. "The way they talk and behave… It's really off-putting. My mother would call them barbaric, even." 

"Oh I can hear her even." Henry calls out from the other side of the screen, and Wilhelm bites his lips to keep another chuckle in: it's not really proper to laugh at the Queen's expense, even for him. "She would have a field day." He simply answered, tying up a towel around his waist to step into the bath.

This whole conversation has brought him back to the one he had with Simon just a couple hours ago. "Although, maybe you could help me with something, since we're on the subject of manners." Wilhelm starts before dipping his toes in the water: it is deliciously warm. 

"Oh, Your Highness, you're supposed to wash up before!" Henry warns him. Frowning, Wilhelm turns around. Henry is already naked, sitting on a bench and rubbing his arm with a wet towel. "Isn't that the purpose of a bath?" 

"Well, yes. But they don't change the waters each time you bathe here. So you need to clean up before." Henry shrugs, and Wilhelm only nods, because that makes sense. The basins are huge, and it'll be stupid to waste so much water every time someone needed a bath. So he goes up to sit down on the other bench, next to Henry, both of them facing the rest of the room. 

"So, what did you want help with?" Henry finishes on his arms and starts rubbing his legs, which Wilhelm notices are quite littered with blue-ish bruises already turning purple at the edges. Henry's journey must not have been as uneventful as Wilhelm's. 

"I spoke to Simon, earlier. He's been making some upsetting comments about my behavior, hinting that I somehow offended his friend, Ayub." 

"Why would he be offended by you?" Henry frowns, only now looking at him. 

Wilhelm shrugs, finishing his half-assed body scrub. "Simon didn't say. He's under the impression that I will magically understand what he expects of me." He stands up, folds his towel on the drying rack and finally goes to the bath, sitting on the edge. Even there, he doesn't see the bottom of the basin. He sees there's a ledge inside the basin though, where he's supposed to sit. So that's where he lowers himself on. Henry's voice comes from behind. 

"Maybe he's too used to his own ways of living. Like Walter told me about the whole clothing thing yesterday, when the other maids told him he's not supposed to dress you. They sounded like it was an obvious thing, and were positively shocked to hear Svear nobles have their servants dress and bathe them." 

Chuckling at that, Wilhelm lets himself sink down to the shoulders, marvelling at how the ledge is at perfect height for him to be almost fully immersed without having to sit too tall to keep his head out of the water. Henry is slightly smaller than him, and he sits about a meter away from him, keeping a reasonable distance between them. "You're right, maybe the roles would be reversed if he were the one to move."

"Just imagine his face if Walter tried to rub his ankles after a ride." Henry snorted, and Wilhelm joined in his laughter, hiding behind his hand. The scene was very funny in his head, and he found himself willing to pay to see that in real life. 

"So maybe this thing with Ayub is a simple misunderstanding." Wilhelm muses, letting his head rest against the edge of the basin. Still, it bothers him that Simon didn't want to help shed light on the issue. 

"Certainly. Are you sure you didn't say or do something out of the ordinary? Not saying it is your fault or-" 

"Boot-licking, Henry." Wilhelm warns, and Henry purses his lips. They're alone, he doesn't have to bend backwards to make sure he doesn't offend Wilhelm. "And no, Simon only said Ayub was 'waiting for something' at the end of our interaction, and never told me what." 

Henry's silence makes him look at him. He's frowning, obviously in deep thoughts. As if he was trying really hard to give Wilhelm an answer. But in the end, nothing came. He shook his head. "Can't tell, sorry." 

Wilhelm then drops the subject. He doesn't want to talk anymore, even. He closes his eyes and simply enjoys the warm water and the quiet. Henry doesn't speak either, he knows when his master is resting, and when not to disturb him. Wilhelm can hear the water ripple each time one of them moves, but outside of that, the room is silent. 

He could almost forget where he is. He almost forgets about all the revelations he heard from Simon the day before. About the trials, and the very possible chance that Wilhelm could fail and fuck everything up for the both of them… And for their people. He can vividly picture his mother's disappointed expression and it almost takes him out of his relaxation. 

Almost, because it's three knocks on the door that finally startle him. 

Henry gets up, wraps himself in his towel and goes to the door. Wilhelm doesn't look, keeping his back to the door, not wanting to get out of the water. He then hears Simon's voice, asking about their bath and if they plan to be done soon or if Wilhelm agrees for him to come in. 

Wilhelm doesn't want to leave the bath anytime soon, but he also doesn't want Simon to see him in such a state of undress. He knows he will have to, at some point, but for now, he doesn't feel ready to see Simon's reaction to his scarred body. Instinctively, he crosses his arms around his stomach, as if Simon could see his midriff from where he stands, speaking to Henry. 

To give Henry the answer Simon's waiting for, he simply gestures that he'll be out in a minute. So Henry says exactly that to Simon. He hears Simon hum in understanding and he thanks Henry before he steps away. When the door closes, Wilhelm lets out a sigh, and gets out of the bath. 

"I find it incredible, though." Henry muses as he dries himself up after handing Wilhelm a fresh towel. 

"What is incredible?" 

"The way Prince Simon can be so polite with us one minute, and demand that we drop the protocols the next one. It's almost like he wants us to pretend we're on the same level or something." Henry shrugs, his lips in a confused pout, as if the mere idea of a prince lowering himself to a servant's level was really unbecoming. 

And it was, but maybe this was also a key in understanding him better. 

Turns out Simon did get the memo about Wilhelm not wanting to share his bath time with him, because he didn't ask again in the following days. He offered him to go before and take his time, and Wilhelm had been worried about wasting Simon's time, making him wait for his turn to use the bathroom. Simon had simply shrugged when Wilhelm shared his concern. 

"I know how to keep myself busy." He'd said, and Wilhelm seized the opportunity to show him he was willing to make an effort to make this marriage trials work. He asked Simon to show him what he was doing to "keep himself busy". 

Simon, pleasantly surprised by that hand Wilhelm held out, was happy to oblige. He invited Wilhelm to follow him on his usual schedule. Wilhelm had expected some royal duties and a lot of leisurely activities, like he was doing back home, but Simon surprised him again. 

The spare prince was actually really involved in the castle's life. He took part in the knights' training, helped oversee the guard's activities, took care of horses along with Sara - who Wilhelm learned was really passionate about said horses - and went on several rides either for his own pleasure, but also to run some errands between the castle and the capital. 

Following him into the city, Wilhelm was surprised to see Simon went with the minimal amount of security. Rosh was by his side, always, and he'd maybe bring a guard or two, but it was far from the whole fanfare Wilhelm had to deal with when he wandered out in his hometown. 

People seemed used to their prince roaming the streets too. He went to give messages, greet important people, and deliver some food to schools and orphanages like a mere courier, but he did all that with a smile and his people greeted him like he was an old friend visiting them. 

The people's reaction confused Wilhelm the most. At first, he thought Simon was doing all that for show. Like he wanted to impress Wilhelm with his engagement towards his people. Wilhelm didn't like when people pretended to be better than they were, and he was ready to call Simon out on his bullshit when they were alone. But the way people smiled and greeted Simon without showing any ounce of surprise at their prince doing menial work… Maybe Simon really did all that on a regular basis. 

So instead of pointing fingers, he had resolved to ask Princess Sara about this. In an attempt to "get to know her future brother-in-law better", she'd invited him to a ride in the wheat fields at the foot of the mountains. Wilhelm was pretty sure Queen Linda had put her up to this, because Sara didn't utter a single word before they reached the fields, and then merely offered some small talk. 

"You know, you don't have to be nice to me. I know I'm just a stranger intruding in your home." Wilhelm tries as the silence that settled between them starts to feel a little too heavy. 

Sara snorts, giving him a side glance. "I know, but I'm glad you're here, truly." 

"Are you?" Because it didn't sound like it. 

She nods, her eyes leaving Wilhelm's face. "Yes. Because you being here means Simon gets to stay."

And who's Wilhelm to go against such logic? "If you put it that way…"

"I heard he took you on his little escapades."

"He did. I take it it's a common occurrence?" He asks, glad Sara went exactly into the territory he wanted her to go to. 

Again with the side glance. "Well, yes. Did you think he was doing it for show?"

Busted. For the second time, too. Wilhelm's starting to wonder if Sara's a mind reader of some sort. "It's not very common for a prince to do all that, is all."

"Maybe for you. Here we consider that royals are, in some way, at the service of the people. Simon, more than anyone, hates to know people struggle while he has a warm bed that could fit a family." She smiles, fondly. In that moment, she reminds him of Erik, who somehow always found Wilhelm's antics to be endearing. 

"Isn't that a bit dangerous? I mean, with only Rosh and a couple of guards to protect him…" 

"He's well-liked, at least in the capital, where people see first hand that he's not some lazy bum waiting for taxes to feed him." She gives him a pointed look. "He only took guards to protect you , also. He's very capable of fending for himself, should the need arise." 

Piqued by the comment, Wilhelm almost retorts that he's also capable of defending himself, but ultimately pushes his ego aside. "Is he afraid people would latch onto his fiancé, even when they like him so much?"

"They like him, not you." Sara states, and Wilhelm doesn't know if he likes her bluntness or not. "This alliance sparks controversy, you know. Your kingdom, your family… They're not very popular around here."

And that's fair, the other way around was also true. "And what do you think of it? Erik told me you argued, at that negotiation." 

"Of course I argued." She stops her horse to look at him properly. "No offense, Prince Wilhelm, but I don't know you, and I'm not one to pawn off my family. I know our positions don't allow for great love stories, but my brother is a romantic. If he doesn't get to choose his partner, I will always fight for him to be paired with someone deserving of him." 

And oh, that makes a lot of sense, and sounds a lot like something Erik would say. His chest tightens at the memory of his brother's protective nature, something he won't be able to witness for a long time, at least until they find a reason for either of them to visit the other. Still, he tries a smile. "You sound a lot like my older brother."

Sara's smile mirrors his. "I know. Talking to him is what made me sign the agreement in the end. I figured that if a man like him was so hell-bent on protecting you, it could only mean that you were a good enough person." 

"And was your intuition right?" Wilhelm can't help but ask, suddenly finding Sara's opinion on him to be of the utmost importance. 

She shrugs. "I don't know. You had a rocky start. But Simon can be a pain in the ass when he wants to be." She strokes the mane of her horse, then shoots him a sly smile. "Race me to the trees?" 

And Sara doesn't wait for his answer to launch her horse at full speed towards said trees. Wilhelm scrambles to follow, spurring his mare to follow suit. 

He hasn't raced in a long time. Between the preparations for the trip, the trip itself, and the past week of following Simon around, he had found very little time. Trailing behind Sara, he notices she doesn't ride like a proper lady would, and is actually so comfortable with her horse that she seems to make one with it, her laughter serving as an incentive for the horse to go faster and faster. And that laugh is contagious. Wilhelm finds himself grinning from ear to ear, trying his best to find an opening to go past her. 

But her unfair start gives her an undeniable advantage, and Wilhelm can't seem to catch up to her. "Come on, faster!" He shouts to his horse, and the beast answers his prayers, closing in on Sara. 

Until Wilhelm sees it in the corner of his eyes. A black form in the sky, barely emerging from behind the mountains. Startled, he turns around, only to see a flock of ravens leisurely flying in circles. 

He frowns. He can swear he's seen something else, something bigger. But that doesn't make sense, does it? Wilhelm shakes his head, trying to focus back on his horse.

This distraction is what causes him to lose the race, only reaching the trees seconds after Sara does. She whoops, arms held up in victory. 

"Better luck next time, prince!" She laughs, and Wilhelm scrunches his nose, a smile making its way back on his face. "Okay okay, next time! But a fair start, then." 

Sara nods, her giggles dying a little. "Yeah, sure, if you earn it." 

"And what should I do to earn it?"

"Earn Simon's trust." 

Earning Simon's trust is no easy feat, Wilhelm already knew that. But Wilhelm also doesn't want to fail. If this marriage can't be a simple affair of signing papers, then he has to prove to him he's actually making an effort. So, he does. 

When Simon informs him they're going to help the gardeners, Wilhelm fakes enthusiasm. Until he doesn't fake it anymore, finding the task to be quite enjoyable. Back home, no one would've expected a prince to dirty his hands in the mud like they're doing. Here, the gardeners are happy to teach him, and their compliments on how well he listens and does what they tell him seem almost genuine. 

Seeing Simon struggle with delicate flowers he's not careful enough with is also kind of funny. He has to pick a whole bunch of them from a flowerbed they're working on, and the instructions are clear: don't crush the petals, but also don't use sharp tools to cut the stems. Simon doesn't use enough force to pluck them off of the earth, crushing them in the meantime. Wilhelm comes to the rescue after a while, before Simon can waste another handful of those anemones. 

"I swear I'm better at planting trees!" He pouts, and Wilhelm can only chuckle a bit. 

"Why are we picking them, again?" 

"Our witches and healers need some. They're good for medicine, or something like that." Simon waves his hands, showing he doesn't exactly remember what they're actually good for.

Wilhelm has read about those flowers, though. "Liverworts? Good for the liver, and kidneys, I think."

Simon perks up at that, his eyebrow raised in surprise. Wilhelm shoots him a questioning look. 

"I'm surprised you'd know about that." 

Wilhelm simply shrugs. "I do read a lot. Got a few months where I was obsessed with flowers and plants. I even had an herbarium at some point. Didn't last long though." He doesn't mention he dropped this subject when his mother scolded him about it not being a hobby fit for a prince. 

Simon smiles, dropping a handful of the precious flowers in the basket. "Maybe you should've picked a book or two about the Norrlands, uh?" 

Rolling his eyes at the taunt, Wilhelm doesn't take offense. The more time they spend together, the less bite there is Simon's little digs about Wilhelm's lack of knowledge on Northern culture. He carefully picks the last flower and deposits it in the basket. 

"Maybe you can recommend me some?" He offers, mimicking Simon's light tone. Another attempt at showing his efforts. 

Simon's sunny smile tells him his words were the right ones. 

They finish their flower duty and end their little gardening session with watering some of the castle's private crops. On their way back, Simon tells him about how they try to grow most of the castle's food there, and not take from the capital's supply of food. He admits there's a lot they can't produce, the space they have being limited and them being unable to care for cattle, but he says he enjoys knowing they try, at least, to take as little as possible from the people.

Wilhelm has half a mind to tell him off: Simon being royalty will always mean he's going to take from someone else, whether he likes it or not. Wilhelm's very aware of their privilege, and he wonders if Simon is too, and if his little attempts at charity are his way to ease his own conscience. In the ocean of the world's injustice, they're but mere drops, and Wilhelm has that on the tip of his tongue. But maybe Simon knows that, maybe he's very aware that he's just a pawn in the game, unable to do anything besides going up one square at a time. 

So instead of opening his big mouth, Wilhelm keeps it shut, simply humming in agreement when Simon suggests they try growing blueberries because Wilhelm said he liked them when he tried them for dessert the week before. And the fact that Simon both remembers his liking for the fruit and also wants to provide him with more of it doesn't mean anything, right? 

When they reach the castle, Simon offers Wilhelm to take a bath first. He doesn't hint at the possibility of them sharing it, and pretends he'll use that time to find some books for Wilhelm to learn more about Northern culture. Wilhelm won't say it, but he's thankful for that, and turns to walk towards the bathroom when Simon shoots him a question.

"Wilhelm? Do you have a favorite flower?"

Surprised, Wilhelm has to pause to think about it. He does have a favorite. He remembers the blue flowers that bloomed in the early spring in the castle's gardens, despite his mother asking every year for them to be confined to designated spaces. When the flowerbeds around the fountains took on those beautiful blues, Wilhelm knew warm days were coming, and those days were often synonymous with games, fun, and some form of childish happiness he now longs for. 

So the answer comes quickly. 

"Forget-me-nots." 

Simon hums, his eyes darting to the side as if he's trying to visualise the flower in his head. 

"Do you? Have a favorite?" Wilhelm asks in return, and Simon shrugs. 

"I need to find one." 

Simon does well on his promise to find some books about his culture. He provides Wilhelm with two of them: one written by a foreigner that he somehow got his hands on, and another, more pragmatic, that he himself used when he was little and learning about the ways of being a Northerner prince. Wilhelm didn't waste any time and dived into both, using his leisure time to leaf through the pages while lounging on one of the armchairs in their shared room. 

His readings taught him a little more about the spiritual aspect of the traditions Simon explained on that first night. Simon doesn't define himself as a very spiritual person, but there's a whole chapter about how respectful of the laws of nature and its spirits Northerners are. Wilhelm sees it in the way Sara tends to horses and other animals around the castle, in the way Simon seems to know every rock and tree surrounding the premises, and in the way Linda herself enjoys her strolls through the forest, not caring about her clothes getting dirty. 

He learns about the witches and the healers, working hand in hand to appease the Northerners' pain and illnesses. He learns about their rituals and how they use some sort of primal magic to protect their kind. He also encounters Madison, a witch of the forest who came to the castle to help with preparing for the first trial. When questioned about her magic, she launches into a two-hour long lecture and Wilhelm's head hurts after. 

He also observes how they all interact with each other. He has to agree with Henry on Simon's politeness: he's very courteous with everyone, servants included. He's all pleases and thank yous, and asks for things, instead of ordering them around. Wilhelm, curious to test it out, starts copying this behavior, with the Northern servants first, who all act pleased but not surprised with his change in tone. When he tries it on Henry, he finds it very amusing. His squire's eyes go as wide as saucers when he hears the first "please" coming out of Wilhelm's mouth. Walter's reaction is funny enough to send Wilhelm into a very undignified laughing fit: he simply choked on his own spit and dropped the tea tray he was carrying upon hearing a "thank you". 

Simon seems to be the most pleased with Wilhelm's change in attitude. His smirk often turns soft, and Wilhelm catches his gaze on him pretty often, and it's not as hard as it was the first time they spoke to each other. His quips are more friendly, and their banter more playful. Wilhelm can almost feel them becoming some sort of friends. 

That's what he writes in his letters to both Erik and Felice. Erik gets a long rant about how Wilhelm actually enjoys the forest and the mountains, finding it almost magical. There's definitely some magic in the air around here, and he carefully tries to put words onto this feeling. Felice, on the other hand, gets more insight into Wilhelm's true opinion on Simon: the man is fierce, a bit annoying, but he's interesting and slowly opening to Wilhelm in ways he's not used to. 

Because Wilhelm's not used to people actually listening to him. Apart from Felice and Erik, he had no one to really talk to. Walter and Henry are paid to pretend to like him, so their conversations never felt as genuine to Wilhelm. And while Simon's goal is to have them get along enough to pass the trials, Wilhelm can't help but feel like the other prince is really trying to get to know him. 

Wilhelm keeps a safe distance though, never letting Simon approach his deep self that he hides in his notebooks. He shares his love for literature and fine arts, launching into long rants about how he admires some of the arts displayed in the castle. Simon listens, even if he's not as interested in these subjects, and even surprises Wilhelm with a visit to a painter in the city, or offers to try and read stories together. He's invested in Wilhelm's interests, and so Wilhelm feels compelled to do the same in return. 

But Simon seems to be keeping a distance too. Wilhelm hears him play some of the instruments in their shared room, and Simon never exactly tells him what inspired the pieces, but he's happy to share his knowledge of music and its technicalities. And after a whole month of living in the Northern castle, Wilhelm finds himself spending his evenings nested in an armchair, a book balanced on his knees while he listens to Simon's soft melodies. He sometimes interrupts him to read a particularly good sentence, and Simon reacts accordingly. It's peaceful, it's pleasant, and Wilhelm almost feels at home. 

One evening, during supper, Wilhelm is interrupted in his animated conversation with Sara - the princess goes on and on about auroras and how you can predict the future by looking at them properly. 

"So, Prince Wilhelm, Simon, are you both ready for Saturday?" 

The Queen's question silences everyone, Simon pausing in the middle of shoving too many potatoes in his mouth. Wilhelm eyes him before he nods as an answer. For the past weeks, they have been separated for a couple of hours a day to train for the first trial, which would measure their strength. This is the only trial they can actually prepare for, as physical strength is something that is honed, not innate. 

Wilhelm had been trained all his life to wield swords, bows and daggers, so he's no stranger to armed fights. For this trial, he requested to fight mainly with a short sword. While he's more skilled with a bow, he was warned that the fight may not be ranged, and that he'll need a close range weapon. He expects Simon to wield one too, as swords are common, and he's secretly curious to see his combat skills at play. 

Simon finishes swallowing his mouthful of potatoes. "Am too, do we get to know more about it or…?"

Linda shakes her head, a playful smile on her lips. "Oh darling, you know the answer. Though I must advise you both to remember the rules of a proper duel. We will have guests attending." 

She says that as a matter of fact, and Wilhelm feels the warmth drain from his face. He looks at Simon for some sort of support, but his face is closed up, and he seems to have lost his appetite. "Guests? Aren't wedding trials a… private affair?" Wilhelm tries, his voice shaking as he tries to remember if he read that wrong somehow. 

"Not royal ones, no. We still don't allow children, but nobles and dignitaries are always invited." Linda explains in a soft voice. "Do not worry though, the other trials will happen behind closed doors, guests will only be attending the banquets." 

Do not worry. Right. He just have to prove his strength to Simon, his family, and apparently a whole bunch of people coming to see the princes play their part in the fucking circus that is their royal life. Great. Wilhelm puts his fork down on his plate, as food has lost its appeal by now. 

"Don't worry, Wilhelm." Sara whispers next to him, a conspirational look on her face. "I have a feeling you will like having guests around." 

Wilhelm doesn't know how that could ever be true. 

"I yield!" 

Wilhelm can't help but lets out a loud, satisfied groan as he lowers his sword. He hears the whistle blow, signalling the end of their battle, and the polite claps and cheers from the audience. His opponent bows to him and offers his sword for Wilhelm to plant it in the wooden board counting his points. 

When they told him he had to prove his strength, he hadn't expected a full-on tournament. But now that he's done with his first challenge, he kind of understands why they chose to do it that way. For one, it does allow him to showcase his battle skills, more than once. And for two, it makes for a good show, hence the audience. 

He chose to not pay them much attention, focusing on the task at hand. He has to fight four opponents, and win as many duels as he can, while Simon does the same in the other pit. Both pits are visible for the audience, separated only by a heavy curtain that keeps them from seeing what happens to the other. 

The crowd must've been instructed to not spoil the outcomes of either battle, because their reactions don't actually reveal who won on either side of the curtain. All Wilhelm knows is that Simon's ended before his, with some cheers coming from the audience and the other whistle blowing when he was still trying to find an opening on his opponent. 

Said opponent was good. He fought with a long sword that could've been a problem for Wilhelm's shorter weapon. But Wilhelm was a cunning fighter. He liked to tire his opponents out, acting like a little pest, taunting them left and right until they lacked the stamina to continue. 

That's what Wilhelm did with that guy, and while it proved efficient, it left him a little breathless. He only has a handful of minutes to prepare for his next opponent, and he downs the whole water bottle Walter hands him. Normally, Henry would be in charge of tending to him during a tournament, but for some reason, he wasn't allowed to, and is nowhere to be found. That bothers Wilhelm a bit, but he has to play by the rules, after all. 

"The next contestant is Marcus, Your Highness." 

"And who's that?" Wilhelm inquires, because Walter said his name as if Wilhelm was supposed to know him. 

"A knight, his family owns the biggest armory in the capital." Walter explains, while massaging Wilhelm's right shoulder. "He's very tall and buff, I don't think you can use your usual techniques with him." 

Walter, always so efficient, had been looking around for the best fighters the Northerners could supply them with. He warned Wilhelm about the first guy being the type to end a battle quickly, and now, he's telling him about the powerhouse that is Marcus Sköld. 

"He wields all sorts of weapons, I can't tell you what he'll be going for today… Maybe a war axe, since he's been seen training with those quite often."

"Great, easy to counter with a sword." Wilhelm sighs, looking at his little blade that's oh so practical but way less threatening than a big axe. 

"You can still pick another. Or a shield." Walter suggests, having looked at the rules before they explained them to Wilhelm. 

Wilhelm shakes his head. "A shield will slow me down. I need to be fast, with a big guy. Take him down." He looks at his weapons, neatly arranged against the barrier he's leaning on. Long sword, short sword, bows, daggers… All these look dainty and perfect for the noble man he is… But useless to face a well-wielded war axe. 

In the end, Wilhelm opts for security, and when the whistle blows, he steps on the pit, bow in hand, his quiver on his hip. 

On the other side of the pit, Marcus, tall, broad-shouldered and very intimidating Marcus, stands tall, his axe swinging in his hand as if the thing weighed nothing. But Wilhelm knows these things are heavy, heavy and menacing. He really doesn't want that blade to come anywhere near him. 

Is that even safe to have their prince's fiancé risk being cut open by that hellish thing? 

Apparently they don't care, because Wilhelm hears whistles, cheers, and some clapping as Marcus raises his weapon high, his lips contorted in a sly smirk. 

"Do you really think you can take me down with those little mosquito bites, Svear?"

To hell with manners. 

Wilhelm only shrugs, and for good measure, nocks an arrow, ready to fire it. Marcus only raises an eyebrow at that, his smirk not wavering. It does fall when he takes a step forward and Wille's arrow scratches his cheek, eliciting a shocked gasp in the audience. 

"Oops, missed." Wilhelm smiles. He didn't miss. He deliberately chose to just graze him. 

"You little bitch." Marcus snarls, raising his shield up, because of course, he chose to take a shield. 

Wilhelm can only arm his bow again before Marcus lunges at him, shield raised high to protect his vitals. Of course, Wilhelm can't reach him like that, but that also means Marcus is blinded by his own shield. That doesn't seem to bother him though, because he keeps running to him, and Wilhelm realizes he's just charging to block him between himself and the barricade. 

Thinking quick, Wilhelm throws himself at the ground, rolling away from Marcus's shield that threatens to knock him down. He doesn't wait for him to understand his moves and gets on his knees to shoot an arrow directly in the back of Marcus' thigh. 

The pained growl he lets out informs Wilhelm that his leather armor wasn't enough to stop the sting of the arrow. They weren't allowed chainmails, probably to avoid long, draining battles, and Wilhelm is thankful for that, because aiming from this close is a bit harder, thank gods he doesn't have to be mindful of the weak spots. 

Marcus turns around as Wilhelm manages to stand up fully. His face is painted with fury, and Wilhelm instinctively steps back. He sees the way the axe tilts in Marcus' hand and realizes he's too close to him, that with the length of his arm and the range of the weapon, he risks getting badly hurt. 

So he shoots an arrow in his direction, not caring about aim, just as a distraction, and runs from him. The more distance he can put between them, the safer he will be. 

But Marcus seems to have guessed his intentions, because Wilhelm can only do two steps before something heavy hits his back and he's knocked to the ground by Marcus' shield, thrown at full force at him. 

He can barely put his hands in front of him to cushion the fall and avoid hitting his head on the dirt. Still, he can't do much more before he feels his ankles being grabbed and, like a ragdoll, he's dragged back, towards a very angry Marcus with a very dangerous weapon spinning over his head. 

Wilhelm turns around at the last second, sees the blade coming down on him and his reaction is to block it with his bow. The blade strikes against the metal of the riser in a deafening clank, leaving it only centimeters away from Wilhelm's face. The bow bends, the wooden limbs not made to sustain such a blow, but the riser holds under the pressure Marcus applies. 

However, Wilhelm can feel his arms shake, he's not going to last long. Marcus knows it, and his smile widens. "Yield, Svear. It's not worth it." He spits, and Wilhelm drops any idea of yielding to him, ever. 

No, instead, he pushes upright, snapping his bow in two and letting the blade sink to the floor where his head was a fraction of a second before. He lunges at Marcus' legs, sliding between them and turning around to try and slit open both of his heels with the sharp tip of an arrow he took out of his mostly full quiver. 

Letting out a wail of pain, Marcus can't stand anymore, not properly at least, and Wilhelm almost yells in relief when he sees that he managed to slice into his right heel's tendon. 

He doesn't wait for him to recover, though, and grabs him by the hair, lodging the head of his arrow right against his throat in what he hopes is the final threat. 

"Yield!" He orders in his ear, knowing full well that he won't manage to win this battle if he gives him any way to counterattack. 

"Never!" Marcus roars as his large hands catch Wilhelm's wrists in an attempt to pull him back. 

And he will pull him back, because Wilhelm is not as strong. So Wilhelm resorts to a technique he learnt from August. It's sneaky, it's not something Wilhelm likes to do, and that's how most of their sparing matches ended, with Wilhelm on the receiving end of it. 

He nicks Marcus with the arrowhead, just enough to hurt him, not enough to make him bleed to death, to make his grip loosen as he thinks Wilhelm is seriously slicing his throat. And when he does, Wilhelm changes his grip on his neck, holding him in a secure chokehold. 

He doesn't even care about yielding anymore. Marcus won't stop anyway, and Wilhelm wants it to be over. He wants to fucking win against this asshole, so he tightens his grip, closing his eyes, focusing on the strength he applies there until finally, finally, Marcus goes limp in his arms. 

Wilhelm was sure he got a concussion after that battle with Marcus. His head spun a lot and he felt dizzy as hell. But instead of postponing the next duel, they had Madison, the witch, give him some sort of weird grey beverage that was supposed to help him get up on his feet. It did the trick, and Wilhelm was ready to fight again about half an hour later. In the meantime, he heard Simon was finished on his side of the curtain too. 

He'd asked for Henry, as the squire was, along with Walter, his sole anchor to reality in this new place, with its new traditions and ways. But Henry was nowhere to be found, and Wilhelm suspected Walter knew exactly where he was but wasn't allowed to say anything to him. 

He understands why as soon as he gets a glimpse of his third opponent. 

Sitting on the bench on the opposite side of the barricade, Rosh is carefully listening to another man Wilhelm doesn't know. For a second, he expects the other man to be the one he has to fight, but he quickly notices that said guy isn't wearing any armor… While Rosh is. 

It's confirmed when she locks eyes with him, a sly smirk forming on her lips. She's his third battle, and Wilhelm understands that Henry must be on the other side of the curtain, ready to face Simon. 

Oh that will make for a good show. Northerners do have a knack for spectacle, Wilhelm must admit as much. But for some reason, the perspective of sparring with Rosh isn't as scary as it should be. No, after Marcus and his obvious disdain for Wilhelm, Rosh's challenging look, tinted with amusement, makes Wilhelm eager to fight. 

Wilhelm isn't usually someone that likes fighting. Back home, duels are a pretty pompous affair. It's almost like a dance, with strict rules to keep the combat fair and pleasant to look at. Wilhelm doesn't like to pretend. Northerner duels, on the contrary, are rough and messy. It's spit, sweat, dirt and even blood. It's the taste of metal in his mouth, the clashing of blades in his ears and the ragged breaths, trying to keep up with one another. Wilhelm likes this better. 

So he enjoys his duel against Rosh. She's skilled with the short sword she picked, obviously matching his own preferred weapon. She picks up on his hit-and-run strategy quite fast, not giving him the satisfaction of falling for it. She's fast, smart, and his blood drips on the dirt more than once before he can find an opening that startles her. 

Said opening has her sword fly out of her hands, spinning and landing on the other side of the pit, way too far for her to reach. She doesn't have any other weapon, as she, too, decided against a shield. Disarming her like that should suffice to end the duel: she can't outsmart a blade without risking getting hurt too much. Rosh knows this, and raises her hand to surrender. 

But Wilhelm is enjoying himself too much. He throws his sword away, signalling he wants to continue with bare hands. This must not be something they see often, because some people in the audience let out loud gasps. Wilhelm may have thrown off his duel with that, and Rosh looks equally surprised and pleased with that outcome.

"Oh so you want a proper beating, princeling?" She asks, raising her fists. 

Wilhelm chuckles and mimics her position. "Who's beating who, right now?" 

That wasn't his brightest choice. Rosh is way better with her fists, it seems, because Wilhelm is quickly overpowered by her strong, well-placed strikes. She doesn't hesitate to use her legs, too, and Wilhelm finds himself on the ground again, her fist colliding with his face before he can catch his breath after his fall. 

He tastes blood, and manages to kick her in the chin before she knocks him out with a single headbutt. Goodbye third victory. 

He was brought back up with some stinky herbs put under his nose and another large serving of Madison's potion, after the crowd stopped cheering for Rosh. He wasn't even annoyed at her victory: it was his fault for wanting to bring this to hand-to-hand combat when he clearly wasn't as skilled. 

Still, he was pretty sure that him getting knocked out would disqualify him for the last duel, but the older witch that took care of the Introduction seemed to think he would be okay for the last, "most important" round. 

Wilhelm didn't have any idea as to why this round was the most important, but he, again, agreed to play by the rules. Walter had cleaned his face off of the blood and dirt, but didn't supply him with any information about his last opponent before Wilhelm had to step on the pit. 

Looking at the corner where the other three were waiting before, Wilhelm raises an eyebrow: there's no one there. 

He turns around to the audience, noticing the wooden bleachers are fuller than ever. Surely, it's already time for the duel to begin, right? 

"And now, for the final round… With equal scores of two out of three, the princes will measure their strength and skills… to each other's." 

Each other? Wilhelm frowns. First, because Simon has lost one battle, too, and second, because what that witch means by…

The curtain cuts Wilhelm in his thoughts, as it is suddenly lifted up, revealing the other side of the arena. And sure enough, Simon is standing there, looking as surprised as Wilhelm is. But the whistle blows, and they don't have much time to recover from that hell of a stunt.

Simon is the first to come to his senses, raising his fists in front of his face. He looks as beat up as Wilhelm is, all dirty, bloody, and his curly hair a mess on his head. Like Wilhelm, he wears a thin leather armor. Wilhelm's is a pretty generic brown, with intricate patterns embossed on it, while Simon's is all black, very form fitting, and Wilhelm would really, really appreciate the sight if he wasn't about to fight him. 

The second thing he notices is the lack of a weapon. Frowing, he draws his sword from its sheath, wondering if Simon's is on his back, like he's seen some fighters do. But no, Simon doesn't produce any sword, dagger, not even a simple knife. 

Is that even allowed?

Simon doesn't seem to mind, because he doesn't wait for Wilhelm to ask him about it before approaching, keeping a safe distance to test out Wilhelm's resolve. 

"Aren't you supposed to have a weapon for a duel, Simon?" He asks, raising his sword up in a defensive stance. If Simon has anything under his sleeve, Wilhelm would rather know before engaging. 

Simon grins behind his fists. "Oh but I have one, prince! Come at me, let's see how good you are at fencing." 

And oh well, if he wants to play that bad, who's Wilhelm to refuse him? 

He shrugs, giving Simon a last chance to take cover before he tries for a simple, pointed attack, the tip of his blade almost grazing Simon's hip as the other moves swiftly to avoid it. Doing that, Wilhelm got closer to him, and Simon takes the opportunity to hit his cheek with something sharp, making Wilhelm recoil back when he feels the sting. 

Holding his blade high, he touches his cheek with his free hand, and sees blood. Simon did scratch him, but how? And the answer comes when Simon, a mischievous smile on his face, gestures for him to come closer with his gloved hand. 

His gloves are not simple gloves. They're made of some of the same black metal Wilhelm has seen in the castle before. The black metal forms sharp, dangerous claws that Simon apparently wields like they're inherent parts of his body. That's Simon's weapon, and Wilhelm would be incredibly turned on if he wasn't about to get stabbed with one of these claws. 

"Come on, Wilhelm, I know you're better than this!" Simon taunts, and Wilhelm lets out some breathy chuckle. Oh this is so interesting . 

He lunges forward again, in a mock of the move he tried before, only this time he uses the flat part of his blade to hit Simon's flank hard enough to make him stumble to the side. In a sort of semi-pirouette, Wilhelm passes right behind Simon and kicks him hard on his back with his heel to make him fall. 

That does the trick, and Simon barely has the time to turn around and block Wilhelm's sword with his claws before the blade falls on him. 

It's a battle of wills, as Wilhelm pushes the blade down while Simon holds it firmly up, his claws scratching at the steel. They lock eyes, and Wilhelm feels the adrenaline rush through his veins. Simon's dark eyes are focused on him, his tongue darting out to lick at his upper lip in a way that makes Wilhelm wonder if it's out of concentration, or if it's a show of lust. 

Because he does feel very attracted to Simon right now. And even sustaining a hard kick on the stomach doesn't shake the thought out of his head. If anything, the way Simon moves and effectively parries almost all of his strikes makes him more and more aroused. 

That doesn't do good for his concentration, as he finds it hard to focus on taking down the man while wanting him to basically step on him. But he doesn't back down, making him fall again when he kicks his legs after another of Simon's attempts to stab him. 

This time, Simon catches his blade with one hand, twisting Wilhelm's arm when he tries to wrench it out of his grip. Wilhelm retorts by kicking him in the face with his foot, and Simon spits blood. Wilhelm almost thinks he's done for when Simon looks back up at him, his eyes shining with something akin to fury, and then, he hears it. 

The crinkling of metal. Simon's claws are digging into his blade like it wasn't made of the strongest steel, making an awful scratching sound, making Wilhelm's eyes widen in surprise, because who's strong enough to do that ? 

That second of inattention is his demise, as Simon pushes his leg, making Wilhelm lose his balance and join him on the dirt-covered ground. They wrestle it out, but eventually, Simon manages to throw Wilhelm's sword away.

He pins him down, clawed hand on his neck, and Wilhelm lets out an undignified whimper because it should not feel as good. 

"Do you yield, pretty boy?" Simon taunts, and Wilhelm wants to say yes to whatever he asks. 

Instead, his bruised ego answers: "Not yet, no!" 

And he hooks his legs around Simon's waist, pulling him closer. He swears he hears Simon gasps, but he doesn't dwell on it and makes him roll over to pin him down under him. He wastes no time and punches him in the face again, twice, before Simon lets out a loud growl and spits his own blood right in Wilhelm's eyes. 

He wants to shake his head to get rid of the spit blurring his vision, but suddenly Simon holds him by the hair, his strong grip hurting his scalp. It's a low blow, and Wilhelm whines as his head is jerked back. 

"Fuck you're good." He hears Simon curse before he holds his neck again, squeezing this time, in an attempt to choke him. 

And he does choke him, Wilhelm's grip is not strong enough to get rid of Simon's hands on him, and he can only splutter and cough, his nails digging helplessly in the leather of Simon's arm bracers. 

When his vision blurs, he can't hold it anymore and taps three times on the ground, signalling his surrender to the other. The whistle blows, and Simon's grip loosens. 

Wilhelm lets himself slump down as soon as he's not held up anymore, and Simon catches him before he falls to the ground, his arms holding him securely against his torso. He can't catch what Simon says under the roars of the audience, but he snorts anyway, because hell, that was a fight. 

Chapter Text

Celebrations after their fight are loud. Wilhelm's ears are still ringing from both the fights and the sheer noise of the crowd when he sets foot in the tent, where Madison grabs him by the arm and leads him to a bed, away from Simon. Simon, who didn't let go of him for one second and all but carried him to the tent so the witch could tend to his injuries. 

"Sit over there, Simon, I'll take care of you when this one stops seeing stars." 

Wilhelm doesn't even blink at the way she orders her prince around like it's a normal thing to do. He's getting used to their strange relationship with titles and protocols. He barely registers Simon shuffling on the other side of the tent, Madison obscuring his view of the other prince as she gets a proper look at his head.

"You didn't do much damage, that's a first." She comments as she applies some kind of balm to his various cuts. Wilhelm doesn't know the composition of that salve, but it's damn effective as the burning sting of his injuries fades instantly. 

"He cornered me." He offers, and Simon chuckles. 

Madison makes him lift his chin up to get a closer look at his neck. "He usually goes for blood, seems like you got the special treatment."

Her cold fingers press against the delicate skin there, and Wilhelm hisses. It hurts like a bitch. "Hey, I'm not supposed to disfigure my fiancé!" Simon argues, and it's his turn to chuckle. 

"Oh, a scar or two wouldn't have ruined him, quite the contrary!" Madison comments after applying some cold concoction to Wilhelm's neck. "This will help with the bruising, you should put some more on before sleeping, though." She puts a little jar in his palm, and he nods slightly.

"Thank you. I will." 

She smiles widely and turns to Simon. "You didn't hesitate to ruin his pretty face, prince!" She giggles and grips Simon's nose to crack it right back in place, earning a loud yelp from him.

"Outch, Maddie!!" He whines. "That hurts! Why don't I get the nice treatment?!" 

"Because you're a little shit and you can handle it!" Wilhelm can't help but gasp at the way she addresses Simon. 

That makes Simon smile widely. "Don't worry, she's allowed to talk like this, she's been patching me up since… Since forever!" 

And well, if he accepts it. He loses his smile the moment she starts applying salve on his bruises. "Hey, that doesn't mean you gotta be harsh, Maddie!" 

Wilhelm looks at them interact until she deems Simon's good to go. When she's done, his nose is back to its original form, and his cheek is way less purple. She's not gentle, but she knows what she's doing. 

"You guys need to get cleaned up, the banquet starts soon." She informs them as she packs up her tools. 

Simon nods and holds out a hand to Wilhelm, who gladly takes it, relishing in that new development in their relationship. 

It's the first time he's able to hold Simon's hand, and he finds it a very interesting experience. First, Simon's skin is still warm and clammy from their efforts in the fighting pit. There's a fine layer of dust on Wilhelm's hands, despite him rubbing them off on his clothing, but Simon's hands were trapped in gloves, keeping them clean, even if a bit sweaty. That aside, Wilhelm runs his thumb on Simon's knuckles, marvelling at the softness under his finger, the way his skin feels slightly calloused, but also so, so delicate. 

Simon seems none the wiser about Wilhelm's little study of his hand, and he drags him to the carriage that'll take them back to the castle. Even if his manners are sometimes lacking - by Wilhelm's standards - he's still gentleman enough to help Wilhelm inside the carriage first. Which Wilhelm is glad for: his legs still feel a little weak. 

"I didn't know you could fight like that!" Simon praises as soon as the carriage starts moving, and Wilhelm chuckles.

"Same goes to you!" Then, as an afterthought: "Well, I should've guessed you would be an absolute menace." 

Simon's eyebrow quirks up, an amused smile on his lips. "Oh? Do I have a menacing aura or something?"

"Absolutely not. More on the bratty side." Wilhelm mirrors Simon's smile as his mouth morphs into a grimace, feigning offense. 

"Oh wow, now that wasn't really nice."

"Take it as a compliment, that's how I meant it." 

Wilhelm pushes his hair back, out of his face. A loose strand doesn't want to stay put, and Simon reaches to tuck it behind his ear. At that simple gesture, Wilhelm blushes furiously. "You…" He clears his throat. "How come you fight with claws? That is not a very common weapon…" 

Simon's expression shifts to something Wilhelm can't really read. His eyes, focused on him, are clearly studying his features. If Wilhelm were to guess, he'd think Simon was pondering whether he should tell the truth or not. But the shift is so quick that Wilhelm barely has the time to question it.

"I am a menace." He smirks. "I always was better in hand-to-hand combat. I feel like swords and axes are hindering my movements. Granted, they offer a better range, but the control I have on my hands is far better. I kind of admire people who can wield large weapons as if they weighed nothing, though." 

Saying that, he lets his eyes roam down Wilhelm's figure, but Wilhelm's mind supplies him with a completely different explanation to that innuendo. "Oh, so Marcus must look incredible to you, then…"

Simon's laugh fills the carriage. It's a small little thing, a chuckle, his shoulders shaking with it, his teeth, white and pointy, on full display, his eyes crinkling slightly, shining with mirth. "He wishes! He had been courting me for years. I wasn't so sure he was, though, so one day I loudly swore to Ficke that men with greataxes were my ultimate weakness. He dropped the longsword the day after!"

And well, if that made Simon laugh, it also reassures Wilhelm: Marcus will always be the big dumbass who fell for a silly joke. Not that Wilhelm feared Simon would be more interested in other men… After all, that's his business, not Wilhelm's. 

Still, there's a strange feeling of possessiveness linked to being engaged to someone.

The carriage stops in front of the castle, and Simon jumps out of the carriage before Wilhelm can muster the strength to get up from his seat. Gladly accepting Simon's hand to get down, he also doesn't mind holding it all the way to their bathroom. 

And that's only once Simon stops in front of the wooden door that he realizes they're expected to get cleaned up together. The banquet is starting soon, and they also need to get dressed on top of that. Taking turns could be a thing if they wanted a quick scrub, but Wilhelm feels a bit dumb to ask for that. 

Also, his curiosity is stronger than his modesty: he's dying to know what Simon looks like under his leather armor.

"Do you-" Simon starts, acutely aware of Wilhelm's turmoil. 

But Wilhelm doesn't give him the chance to be kind and understanding; he pushes the door open and tugs Simon inside. 

If he's surprised, Simon doesn't let it show, not offering Wilhelm more than a raised eyebrow, before his lips curl into a soft smile. 

Following the rules of the bath, Wilhelm unties his shoes and leaves them by the door, decidedly not looking Simon's way. He's acutely aware of his presence beside him as he dips his feet in the basin. Simon doesn't break the silence as he, too, washes his feet. 

Hiding behind the wooden screen, he tries to take his clothes off as fast as he can, fiddling with the knots tying his armor pieces together. Funnily enough, that is one of the pieces of clothing he can put on himself, even if Walter's help makes it easier to tie up. Undoing it is an easy affair, though. 

But the more layers he sheds, the more his fingers tremble. The eager, curious part of his brain is slowly quieting, giving anxiety and insecurity more space to occupy his thoughts. He freezes when he feels the rough skin under his fingers, sliding along the large scar that bars his stomach. He knows its shape, picturing it easily even with his eyes closed. He spent so much time studying it in the mirror, disgusted by it, his heart heavy.

He knows how discolored the skin is there, somehow paler than the rest of his already pale torso. The red, then pink color of the scar faded with time, but the texture, the weird twists and knots, remained. He knows how it swirls around his stomach, above his navel, then to his side, only to end somewhere on his back. He knows he hates it and fears everyone will. 

He fears Simon's smile will morph into a disgusted frown when he sees it. 

"Wilhelm? Are you okay?"

He startles when Simon calls for him. He doesn't know how long he stayed still, his arms crossed around his middle, now shivering in his underwear. He takes a deep breath and clears his throat before answering. 

"Yes, I-... I'm fine!"

"I finished washing up, I'll dip in a bit." Simon replies, and Wilhelm distinctly hears the sound of Simon stepping away. 

He grabs a towel and slings it around his waist, a little higher than usual, concealing a good chunk of his scar under it. Then he steps out and is hit by a vision that's right out of a dream. 

Simon is sitting by the bath, his legs dipping in the water, leisurely swirling around the little ripples that come and lick at his skin. And what a skin. Tanned and smooth, with the occasional faded scar on his hip or along his arm… Wilhelm finds himself wanting to be a water droplet, to be able to slide down the curves of Simon's body, lose himself into the planes of his back and the dips of his hips…

He's staring at the bottom of the pool, seemingly lost in thought, unaware of Wilhelm's ogling. His hair, made longer by the way the water weighs on it and smoothes the curls out, hides half of his face. He flicks it away, tucking some of it behind his ear as he looks up at Wilhelm. 

And oh, he's a wonder to look at. Not only his body, that Wilhelm's eyes just devoured like those of a man who never saw beauty before, but his face, also. Wilhelm already noticed Simon is pretty, but he hasn't properly looked. 

Simon's face is the definition of perfection. High cheekbones, all rounded up, when his plump, rosy lips curl into a smile. A well-defined jawline, that an artist would need a ruler to get right on a canvas, making Simon's profile absolutely divine. Dark, brown eyes, already trained on his, dark pools he wants to drown in. 

Before he realizes they're going down, landing on his waist, where the towel slid down a bit. 

He clears his throat again and gestures to the bench. "I'm… I'm gonna…"

Simon nods wordlessly, and Wilhelm all but flees to the bench, letting out a small sigh of relief when Simon's eyes don't follow him there. 

Without a word, and to avoid staring at the little water beads sliding down Simon's nape, and down his back all the way to- he starts cleaning himself, doing a quick but efficient work of it. 

"You know…" Simon starts, halting Wilhelm's scrubbing. "I find it a bit fascinating how you are so modest with me, when you're used to other men and women dressing you up." 

Slowly, Wilhelm sets the soap down, his eyes wandering to Simon. He sees him move a bit, guesses he's swinging his legs back and forth, making the water slosh a little in the pool. 

"It's different."

"How so?" A breath, then Simon adds, almost apologetic: "Not that I'm criticizing you. I'm just trying to understand you. You don't have to strip down in front of me if you don't wish to."

"It's… It's just different. I'm not supposed to…" He doesn't know how to phrase it, and lets out a sigh. "My servants' opinions on my body aren't of any importance. Yours, on the other hand…"

"Does my opinion matter? It's an arranged marriage, Wilhelm." 

And wow, if that isn't a slap on the face. 

"Thank you for the stark reminder." He deadpans, and Simon chuckles. 

"Sorry! I didn't mean it like that." He straightens up a little. "But Wilhelm, I don't have to have an opinion on your body. It's not like you can change it."

"It has been changed, though." He mumbles, not quite sure if Simon can catch it. 

But he does. "Your scar?"

He sighs again, his soap-coated hand resting on his side. "Yes." He admits, his eyes cast downwards in fear Simon will turn around and judge him for it. 

"You know… We kinda value those, here." 

"I know." He crosses his arms over his stomach, holding himself a bit. "But we don't. For us, scars are a sign of weakness." 

"How come? You need to fight, to live, to earn one." 

"Yes, but earning one also means you didn't fight properly. And mine… It doesn't come from a fight. I didn't do anything heroic to get it."

Simon's head turns to the side, eyeing him a bit. "Will you tell me about it?"

Wilhelm hesitates a little before humming in agreement. He will have to tell him at some point, why not now? He hangs his towel up on the rack and pads to sit down next to him, leaving a little space between them. 

"It happened when I was twelve." He starts, feeling Simon's stare on him, but pointedly looking away. "We were having a little vacation on the coast before the summer festivities there. My mother made a point to visit the place every year, to show our people we follow the traditions. I really liked those vacations. It was the only few days I could pretend I was a normal kid, playing in the sand and making paper planes." 

He hears Simon's light giggle. "You didn't get scolded for having sand in your shoes, little prince?"

Wilhelm feels his own lips curl into a smile. "Believe it or not, I was allowed to run around barefoot in that house." 

"Oh, no palace?" 

"Nope. A beach house. Granted, it was fancy, but still on the beach." He closes his eyes and finds himself transported back to said house, with its light blue walls and dark tiled roof. It smelled of pastries and iodine. 

Simon's silence invites him to continue. Like he knows the story is not about some silly little vacation. Truth be told, Wilhelm is persuaded Simon already knows the story, or at least the big picture. Even if his mother wanted to keep the ordeal a secret, there were too many witnesses. And how to explain the destruction of their summer residence? 

"It happened at night. We were asleep, Erik and I shared a room there. My mother allowed it because I was often sneaking into his room anyway, so it was easier. I woke up to his cries. There was a fire in our room. I don't remember exactly everything in the right order, I was just in pain. My own bed caught on fire, hence the…" He gestured to his side, mentioning the scar. Simon's gaze felt heavy on him, but he continued. 

"My father carried me outside, jumping out of the window. We were only on the first floor, so he didn't get hurt, but I did. I barely understood what was happening until I saw it." 

He can't suppress a shudder, his mind supplying him with the image of the creature that still haunts his nightmares. Its dark scales glowing green in the light of the fire, its golden eyes focused on them, its large maw open, fire igniting inside. Simon's hand reaches out, covering his. 

A small smile creeps onto his face at this simple gesture. It's not much, but it helps a lot. It grounds him in the present. There's no creature there. Only Simon. No threat. No fire-breathing thing ready to hurt him again. 

"It looked like a dragon, or something like that. It was hard to tell. None of us is very knowledgeable in that domain." He lets out a sigh. "I lost consciousness at some point during the attack. What I know is what I've been told. Our guards managed to hurt it enough to make it fly away before it was in too much trouble. They saw it land in a nearby forest, but were unable to find it. Most likely a shifter on the loose." 

He mumbles the last sentence. Shifters were rare in the Svealands, having fled to the Norrlands en masse during the Split. Some still remained, and they were ruthlessly hunted and banished, or worse. 

Simon slightly tenses beside him. He kind of wishes they were close enough. If they were, he would scoot closer and rest his head on Simon's shoulder. Maybe Simon would hug him. Maybe he would like that. 

"Why did they go after them?" Simon asks instead, and Wilhelm shrugs. Why does it matter? 

"Well, to hang them. That's what they deserve for-"

He never finishes his sentence, as Simon abruptly gets up. Startled, Wilhelm looks at him as he steps away, grabbing his robe. "Simon?"

"Don't." He answers sharply, and Wilhelm is once again very confused. 

Simon ties his robe around his waist and grabs his things in haste while Wilhelm gets on his feet, ready to catch him as he goes for the door. 

"What happened? Did I say something-" 

Simon doesn't answer and slams the door in Wilhelm's face. 

Simon's anger didn't keep him from attending the banquet and fulfilling his royal duties. It's after having to call Walter for a quick help with his clothes that Wilhelm joined the dining room, which had been fully decorated and set up to welcome the Queen's numerous guests. Not once has he seen Simon, not until he stepped foot in the room, only to find his fiancé sitting on the left of his mother's throne, his back straight and his jaw tense. 

His eyes roam the table around which people are starting to get seated, he doesn't know if he's expected to sit next to Simon. And he doesn't know if he'd like that, after the way the other left him behind. He still doesn't know the reason for his behavior, and Simon doesn't seem to have calmed down. His eyes land on Sara, sitting on the other side of the table. 

She gives him a pointed look, one that means "what the fuck did you do again", her eyes darting between him and Simon. But he can't answer that, because a loud, familiar voice calls out for him. 

"Wille!"

He turns around so fast he almost trips, caught by warm hands on his elbows, firm but soft, steadying him. He opens his eyes wide as Felice's smile appears before him. Felice, who's supposed to be all the way back in the Svealands. 

"Felice?! What are you doing here?" He yelps and lets her pull him into a bone-crushing hug. One he gladly returns. And if he lingers there a little more than what's proper, who's going to blame him? 

Sara clears her throat, standing beside them, a smile on her face. "Felice has been a really good supporter during this trial, did you know?"

"I didn't! Why wasn't I informed-"

"Because you would've messed it up if you knew." Felice giggled, arranging Wilhelm's hair a bit. "Plus, I got to know Sara a little, and she was delightful company." 

Wilhelm doesn't even flinch at how easily Felice dropped the titles around Northern royalty: she was always better than he at reading social cues and meddling with others. 

"Happy to oblige." Sara comments. "I'd love to steal her a bit more, but I think you guys have a lot to catch up on, so why don't we switch places for tonight, Wilhelm?"

Wilhelm raises an eyebrow at that. Switch with Sara? And sit next to the Queen like he's part of the family? That would be rude of him. He immediately opens his mouth to refuse, but Sara barrels on: "After all, it's customary for the future spouses to be the center of attention." 

She stares at him, and suddenly, she tilts her head slightly to her left. There, Wilhelm catches Simon watching them, turning around quickly when he notices Wilhelm saw him looking. Oh. So Sara also gives him an out from her brother. Or maybe she wants to question him. Both options are good for him, because he'll be far from Simon, and closer to Felice. He nods. 

Sara claps excitedly and beckons them to their spot, just in time for the Queen's entrance and a sudden lull in the conversations happening around them. 

The Queen stands in her spot, gesturing for people to sit down, and everyone does, Wilhelm making an effort to look at everything but Simon, knowing full well the other is also doing the same thing. What a good pair of fiancés they make…

"Good evening, ladies, lords, and all visitors from our lands and beyond. Tonight, we celebrate! The first Trial for my son's betrothal is over, and the council, along with the Witches, just gave its verdict!" 

Suddenly, Wilhelm feels two cold hands on his shoulders, startling him. If he had looked Simon's way, he would've seen Madison creep up behind him, too. He assumes the other witch is the one holding his shoulders. 

He feels compelled to look at Simon then, if only to see what Madison is doing to him, as it seems both witches work in tandem, their hands mirroring each other as Wilhelm feels his collar being opened to reveal his neck. Simon's own is now on display too, and Madison reaches into a jar, coating her fingers. 

Both witches now smear some colorful paint on their collarbones, reaching up to their ears. The paint on Simon's skin is red, and Wilhelm can only imagine the same color is applied to his. 

Then, both witches step back, and Wilhelm sees Madison bow her head to the Queen, likely a sign for her to continue. 

"It has been decided that Prince Simon and Prince Wilhelm passed the first Trial! The first step of their bethrothal is now complete, shall the marks of their success remain visible for all to see! Now, please, enjoy the feast!" 

Claps and some discreet cheers erupt at the table, clearly in a more muted fashion than before when they were in the pit. Then, as Queen Linda finally sits down, everyone starts chatting and eating, excited about the day of fights and celebrations they just had. 

Wilhelm is tempted to button his vest back up and to scratch at the paint starting to dry on his neck, but seeing as Simon doesn't touch his, he keeps his hands to his cutlery and politely smiles at Linda's praise of his fighting skills. 

He does his best to include Felice in the conversation, and the girl takes all opportunities to talk with the Queen as she informs her that yes, women are also trained in battle here. 

Felice had always been slightly jealous of his training. She liked all the girls' activities, yes, but she was a curious soul and wanted to try her hand at everything. But since she wasn't allowed to wield a weapon, she resorted to teaching Wilhelm how to sew and embroider. Something his mother should never hear about. 

Conversation flows easily, but Simon never addresses Wilhelm, so Wilhelm doesn't even try to talk to him in return. It's obvious they're giving each other the cold shoulder, and Wilhelm catches Linda giving Simon a stern look more than once. 

Felice also caught on to their attitude and, after trying three times to include Simon in their conversation, she drops it and simply tells Wilhelm a little more about Erik's own engagement. Wilhelm knew his brother was seeing someone before he left, but apparently his engagement to Simon accelerated things between them. Which isn't a bad thing, because Kristina is starting to give him more responsibilities, sending him to the border to oversee military training there. 

He also inquires about Felice's presence here: surely she didn't travel that far just to see him wave a sword around. 

"I actually tagged along with Erik's carriage to the border, I pretended to be very interested in looking at my father's investments there. Wrote him a report, and then I received Simon's crow, inviting me to this. Perfect opportunity for me, and it was so sad I couldn't get back home in time for the dinner my parents organized with the Horns…" She fakes a sad grimace, and Wilhelm snorts so hard he feels the ale he was drinking go up his nose.

Dabbing at his nose while Felice laughs openly, he elbows her slightly. "A dinner with the Horns?" He chuckles, leaning into her a bit. "So they're looking at August, eh?" 

Felice rolls her eyes at that. "Sadly, they are. And as you can see, I'm thrilled about it. Can't believe I lost my card with a big loser to end up with an even bigger loser!" 

Faking offense, Wilhelm gasps. "Who are you calling a loser?"

"You, Your Highness." And with a swift move of her fork, she steals the last bite of Wilhelm's dessert, a sort of puff pastry filled with cream and chocolate. "That's for the emotional damage you'll cause me in ten."

He knows exactly what she's referring to, and that discourages him from seeking revenge for his stolen dessert: she will most likely interrogate him about the tension between Simon and him. So he keeps a low profile, chancing a glance towards his fiancé, who's playing with his own pastry, moving it around his plate, making a mess of cream and chocolate as he visibly broods. Sara has long given up on trying to rope him into conversation, and she instead listens to the man on her right explaining something Wilhelm can't really grasp about a horse and its saddle. 

Guests slowly start to move, paying their respects to the Queen before leaving. That's the sign Wilhelm was waiting for: he's not supposed to be the first one out, but he also doesn't want to linger at the table more than necessary, especially with Simon's sour mood. 

Felice is quick to catch onto his impatience and loudly suggests they take a little digestive walk before heading to bed. They both bid their goodbyes and promptly leave the dining room. It's only once they're outside that Wilhelm lets out a loud, long sigh. 

"That bad, eh?" Felice takes his hand and guides him on the gravel path. 

"I don't even know." He sighs, locking their arms together as he takes the lead through the gardens. 

The castle gardens aren't as pretty as the ones Wilhelm is used to. Plants grow wildly, flowers leaving their designated flower beds, and from the path, they can see the patches of land that are used to grow crops. Something Queen Kristina would never allow in her well-kept, pristine gardens. 

Wilhelm has already found his favorite spot in the gardens: there's a willow down the path, overlooking a little pond where Simon keeps small fish. Wilhelm likes the feeling of solitude that comes with sitting down by the pond, half-hidden by the low branches. So that's where he's taking Felice, granting her the spot on the large root to avoid staining her dress on the damp ground. 

"So, will you tell me?" 

He nods a bit, taking a stick to prod at the water. "I thought we were making progress, honestly." 

"You said it was a rocky start, I remember that from your letters." 

"It was. I think I understood his grief. They don't talk to servants the way we do. Well, they do talk to them, actually. Remember how my mother would scold me for even smiling at Henry when we were little? Simon's actually friends with his squire." Wilhelm chuckles at the thought of his mother witnessing him hanging out with Henry as if they were equals. "I know she would have a heart attack."

Felice hums. "Well, that kind of makes sense. Servants are always around, and bonding with them would only be natural. Does that mean they found it offensive that you didn't acknowledge them?" 

A nod. "Yes. I can see why. They're used to nobles being actually polite to them. Oh, Felice, you should've seen Walter's face when I said 'please' last time-"

She barks out a laugh, hiding behind her hand like a proper lady would. "I bet he almost forgot himself there! That boy is even stiffer than your mother!" 

"He is. Poor thing, I should apologize: I've been testing out familiarity on him these last weeks." 

"Don't apologize, he's going to have an aneurysm!" 

They laugh a bit at poor Walter's expense, but Wilhelm's laughter dies down a little as he remembers the original topic of their conversation: Simon's mood. 

"Anyway, I've been trying hard, you know. I help him every day, I listen to him, I try to be mindful of their ways, but I always feel like it's never enough for him." He sighs. "But then I thought he was warming up to me, he was nice, and caring. Like he wants me to fall into his life, but he doesn't step on my boundaries either. It's a weird balance."

"He does care, he invited me to cheer you up, after all." She adds, and Wilhelm lets his head fall against her knee. 

Instantly, her fingers start cradling through his hair. A gesture she knows calms him a lot. "But then I fucked it all up earlier, and I don't even know how." 

"Give me a run-down?"

"We were in the bathroom. We share one, but we usually take turns… I didn't want him to see… You know." 

Felice doesn't say anything, but the way her palm presses on the side of his head tells him she knows exactly what he's talking about. 

"Anyway, we shared today because we were short on time, and I- after this duel… I got curious, okay? I wanted to spend more time with him, even if it was that intimate and-"

"And your horny ass wanted to see what he looked like."

"Shut up!" He whines, pushing her away as she giggles. "I'm not like that!"

"Oh, but you are, and that's okay, the boy is a pretty thing." She sticks out her tongue, and Wilhelm lets out a loud groan, settling against her leg again and forcefully placing her hand back in his hair. 

"Anyway, we were there, and of course, he saw the scar. He told me they value scars around here, but like… Mine is not a battle scar, it's just- well. I told him about the attack."

"Oh, Wille… Were you okay?"

He nods again. "I think I was. It's still in my dreams, but it kind of felt good to tell someone else about it? I don't know." 

"I'm proud of you." 

He smiles a little, letting his eyes close under Felice's ministrations with his hair. "Mmmh… Thank you. But Simon didn't take the thing well, I think. He was a bit tense when I told him. He left when I explained it was a shifter's doing, and he didn't even explain what was wrong. He just shut me out and left. Like that!" 

The more he talks, the more frustrated he grows. The whole situation seems stupid to him. It is the second time Simon got upset and didn't tell him why. How is he supposed to improve, to make efforts, if he doesn't know what Simon wants from him? 

He's about to tell all that to Felice when she asks: "What did you say about shifters?" 

Wilhelm frowns, looking up at her. "Nothing, I barely answered his question about why the guards tried to find them at the time. Why?"

She lets out a small sigh. "I don't know, I'm trying to understand. If that was the breaking point, maybe he disagrees with our ways of handling… them."

Sitting a little bit straighter, Wilhelm hugs his knees a little. "Maybe… But why would he care? It's just shifters, they're going extinct anyway."

"He seems to be strongly attached to his values. And from what you told me and the little I've seen… He doesn't seem to try to walk into your shoes either." 

"That's the thing, one minute he's thoughtful, inviting you, requesting my favorites in the kitchen, respecting my limits… But the other one, he's all petulant and treats me like an idiot."

"Because he's not in your position. You're the foreigner, you're the one who's supposed to adapt, and knowing you, you're not doing a great job at it. But he needs to learn to listen to you, and to actually communicate, or your relationship is doomed."

Wilhelm lets out a loud groan at that. Because she's right. If they're not able to talk and see eye to eye, they're fucked, and their arranged marriage is fucked, and the alliance is fucked. His mother is going to have his head. 

He tells Felice as much, and she pulls him in a tight hug. "You will figure it out. Give him the night, and try to talk to him tomorrow."

Talking to Simon the next day had been impossible. It was like the other prince sensed him coming and left the room he was in just seconds before Wilhelm came in. He managed to avoid Wilhelm like the plague, not staying around him more than necessary, and barely giving him attention in front of his mother or other people who were not privy to them. 

Whenever Wilhelm would try and follow him around, Simon would find a way to sneak into the darkest, smallest parts of the castle and somehow disappear. Doing this, Wilhelm actually started to understand how the castle was built, and was more and more able to navigate through its corridors. He didn't need anyone to guide him anymore, so much that he was convinced Simon used some kind of magic tricks to lose him in the castle grounds. 

There has been one time when Wilhelm thought he was finally about to corner Simon, as he was heading in a direction Wilhelm knew was a cul-de-sac. But when he finally got to that dead end, he only found an empty space, chilled from the wind coming from the open window. In a brief, wild moment, Wilhelm even went up to the window to look outside. All he saw was the precipice below, as that part of the castle opened to the mountainside. It was impossible that Simon could've escaped this way. 

Of course, he had complained to Felice about his failed attempts. She had stayed for a week, and during her time in the castle, her presence soothed him a lot. It was easy not to dwell too much on Simon's attitude when she was around to make him laugh and shut his mind off. The girl always knew what to say, what to do, to make the pesky little voices in Wilhelm's head stop. 

Sara joined them often, too, finding their guest to be quite entertaining. The girls quickly teamed up to bully him on a daily basis, the dynamic only shifting when they went out to ride their horses: Felice was really bad with them and always ended up whining about this activity being stupid. 

It was easy to forget he wasn't making any progress in his arranged marriage when he had to defend his honor in a game of cards or chess. But when Felice's departure inevitably came, Wilhelm was left alone with his thoughts, tossing and turning at night while he knew very well Simon was sleeping mere meters away. 

He could've cornered him there, during the night, knocked on his door, and demanded explanations, or at least a chance to apologize for whatever he did wrong. But he knew better than to impose in Simon's private quarters. He knew he would hate it if Simon did that to him, so he chose to simply ignore the door on the other side of his. 

After Felice left, Sara didn't spend as much time with him, but still talked to him, greeted him in the halls, and offered to play chess. And then, a few days after Felice left, she sat down at the breakfast table, across from him, and went right to the topic of Simon's mood. As if she was growing tired of her brother's antics, too. 

"I'm sorry about Simon." She starts, stealing the jam from him as he was barely finished spreading it on his bread. "I told him he's being unfair to you, so now he's giving me the cold shoulder too."

Wilhelm winces: he doesn't want the siblings to fight because of him. "You didn't need to. I should be able to-"

"I'm his older sister, it's within my rights to slap some sense into his thick skull." She smiles a bit before biting into her toast.

"I feel like I've already heard that one." He chuckles. 

"It's a universal older sibling privilege." She rubs her hands together to get rid of some of the crumbs. "Simon's being a bitch right now. I know it's a sensitive subject for him, but he needs to actually listen to you before he makes up his mind about your entire worth as a person." 

Nodding along, because she's right, Wilhelm also wonders what exactly she knows that he doesn't. "Why is this so sensitive for him?" 

It's Sara's turn to wince. She buys herself some time to think her answer through by downing some tea, but Wilhelm is patient. Simon has been silent for ten days, so he can wait. 

Eventually, she sighs. "Simon has a big savior complex. Every little creature that he deems less fortunate than him? He'll want to protect them. Shifters are perfect candidates for his quest to save the world: they're either used or persecuted. So he takes their condition to heart."

Frowning, Wilhelm shifts a bit on his seat. His guesses weren't far off from Sara's explanation. Still, he presses on: "But they're free to live as they please around here, right?" 

Sara shakes her head. "Yes, but no. Discriminating against them is, on paper, forbidden. Hate crimes against shifters? Prohibited, heavily punished. But that doesn't mean they have it easy. Shifting is not some addition to someone's human nature. It's a condition. And most people forget that when they encounter shifters, and treat them poorly by ignoring their needs."

Wilhelm never read anything on shifters. If anything, he avoided the subject. For him, it was these scary, barely human individuals who could turn around and try to roast a family to a crisp in the dead of night. He knew he wasn't rational, and that, realistically, a lot of shifters were probably good, normal people, but fear wasn't rational. Sara's explanation is news to him. 

"Condition? What do you mean? Aren't they just like werewolves that choose to transform at will?" At least, that's how he knows them. 

Sara nods. "They are, but shifting takes a toll on you. Human bodies are not made to host a creature like that. A lot of them forget who they are when they shift, depending on how much of the creature's blood they carry. Usually, only shifters from long lineage, like say, yours or mine, are able to be in full control of themselves once shifted."

"So, if I were a shifter, I would be able to still be myself when transformed, but if, say, Walter was one, he would forget his humanity?" 

She smiles, pointing a finger at him. "Bingo. Well, they don't forget it all; usually, what remains is the end goal and their allegiance. If a shifter wants to, I don't know, transform to carry a huge rock to block a river, they will remember to do that. If they shift to protect someone, they wouldn't turn around and hurt them. Heart and will always win over mind, something like that."

Wilhelm lets out a long breath. "Okay, so when you say people ignore their needs…"

"I mean, people ignore that they need resting periods, they need clear instructions, and to be allowed to say no to transformation. Shifters are normal humans too, they need food, shelter, and money to afford those. They're well paid for their services, but people don't care if they're exhausted or if they go to sleep not remembering their own names." 

"So that makes them a vulnerable minority that Simon and his little 'I want to save the world' attitude wants to protect from bigots like me who look down on them and their hardships?"

Sara snorts and gives him a thumbs up. "Yep, you got it. Except, are you really a bigot, Wilhelm?"

He shrugs. "I don't know. I've only seen one shifter, and they tried to burn me alive." Sara loudly swallows at that. "But I also know a war chief can sing a lullaby to her babies, so maybe they had a reason, or maybe they were hired to do so. Either way, this person, I don't forgive. The others? I think I start to understand."

Sara looks at him for a long time, long enough for him to start opening his mouth to blabber some more. But she doesn't let him, and instead goes around the table to circle him with her arms, pressing her forehead against his shoulder while she hugs him tight. "Good answer, Prince Wilhelm." 

After his talk with Sara, Wilhelm decided to let Simon calm down on his own and stopped chasing him to get his explanation. He respected his fiancé's need to fight for the less fortunate, but he wasn't responsible for the world being an unfair place. Simon didn't even let him speak before he'd set his mind on Wilhelm's opinions, so what more could he do? 

Instead, he decided to get involved in the life around him, something he had already started doing while following Simon around to assist him in his duties. This time, though, he couldn't follow Simon, so he asked the only person he knew wouldn't question his need to be useful and would put him to work immediately: Rosh. 

The squire only sported a pleasantly surprised smile when Wilhelm requested that she direct him towards chores he could do. She seemed to like this change in his demeanor, so she put herself in charge of him and had the prince assist her in her daily tasks. Some of them involved Henry, and he didn't question his master either, only shot him surprised glances. 

Wilhelm also enjoyed the puzzled look on Simon's face when he saw Rosh walk through the courtyard carrying hay, with Henry and Wilhelm trailing behind, their hands full of tools, following her like little ducklings. 

He learned the royal family's horses all had been named by Simon when he was younger, hence the sometimes silly names. A white mare was called Chalk, but another black one was named Potato. There was absolutely no logic in that, and Wilhelm almost choked when Ayub revealed Simon also named every fish in the pond, and his favorite was Steve. 

That morning, Wilhelm had been tasked with taking care of Oski's enclosure. Henry was doing the other ones, as he was twice as fast as Wilhelm was, being used to the task and all that. But even then, Rosh was pleased with his work: he was slow, yes, but thorough. 

As he steps outside to take a well-deserved break, Wilhelm allows himself to sit on a bench against the stables' outside wall. As days passed, the weather had been warmer, the Sun shining from early morning to late afternoon now. Closing his eyes to take in the nice feeling of sunshine on his face, Wilhelm lets out a satisfied sigh. 

"Tired already, Your Highness?" Rosh's voice comes then, and Wilhelm smiles, not even bothering to open his eyes. 

"A bit. My night was quite short."

A beat, and Rosh scoffs. "Oh, are you reconciled with Simon yet?"

That prompts him to look up at her and see the smug look on her face. He rolls his eyes. "Of course not. He's not responsible for my lack of sleep, so wipe that smile off, will you?" 

She plops down on the bench next to him, leaving a good space between them. "I swear I will kick him myself if he doesn't get off his high horse." 

Wilhelm only shrugs. He's starting to lose hope. But if the one fucking up the agreement is Simon, maybe he'll feel less guilty.

He's about to retort something when a silhouette appears above them. Startled, Wilhelm looks up. 

Flying low over the castle grounds, the huge creature doesn't seem phased by the large tower in its path. Wilhelm can only stare in disbelief as the large black dragon extends its wings a little bit more to tilt to the side, effectively avoiding the tower. There's no mistake this time: it's a dragon, its black scales shining slightly purple under the sunlight. Wilhelm can't see its face, as the creature flies away from them, but he's pretty sure it looks as terrifying as he imagines it. 

"A dragon?!" He squeals, turning to Rosh, who's simply looking up, a smile on her face. 

"Well, yes, didn't you know they had one?"

Wilhelm freezes. He knew about the infamous dragon the Erikssons kept somewhere, but always thought it was a myth, a lie made up to protect them, to scare invaders away under the promise of a large, fire-breathing beast fighting for them. Seeing said dragon in the flesh, flying just above him, was something else. Something deeply frightening, but also exhilarating for some reason. 

"I thought it was a lie!" He looked back at the sky, the dragon hovering lazily above the treetops. "Like a threat to other countries or something!"

Rosh snorts. "Well, that'd be a stupid lie. You can't exactly pretend to have a dragon."

"Yes, but where do they fucking hide it? I've been here a month and it's the first time I see it!" Wilhelm exclaims, his arms flailing to his side as they do when he gets too excited and forgets it's improper for a prince to shake like this. 

"Easy now, tiger." She has the nerve to laugh. "This dragon doesn't like strangers much, so with all these guests coming and going, he preferred to stay in his cave. Can't blame him now, can you?" She smirks, a knowing glint in her eyes. 

"It's a he? How do you know? Wait, how did they acquire him? How can someone even own a beast like that? Isn't it dangerous? How can-"

"Oh my god, Wilhelm!" She raises her hands to stop him. "Calm down, I can't answer shit when you fire all these at once!"

Wilhelm ducks his head a bit. "Sorry, got too excited." 

"I can see that! Weren't you afraid of those? Sara said something about-" Rosh interrupts herself, suddenly aware she was talking about something she may not be supposed to know about. 

He sighs, his eyes going back to the forest below the courtyard where the dragon disappeared. Yes, he's afraid of dragons, like everyone else to some extent, he thinks. He sees one in his nightmares all the time. He's almost as surprised by his own reaction as Rosh is, if he's being honest. But this dragon felt more like a magical being he was privileged enough to catch a glimpse of, rather than the murderous beast that haunts his nights. 

"I don't know why I'm not panicking, honestly." He slumps a bit on the bench. Surely, this is something he should talk to Erik about. Maybe he's making progress? "I'm more curious than afraid, right now. Is that strange? Does one ever stop being afraid of something like that?"

Rosh studies him for a bit, a single eyebrow raised. Under her gaze, Wilhelm feels smaller than ever, until she opens her mouth again. "People change, they grow, they build courage, patience, other qualities. I don't think it's strange. I'm fascinated by the sea, but I know its depths are too frightening for me to step on a boat anytime soon." 

Surprised that Rosh would be afraid of something, Wilhelm gapes a bit, her statement about growing up and fascination being lost. She pushes his shoulder. "Don't look at me like that, you've lived by the sea your whole life, I only ever heard tales."

"I'm more concerned by the fact that something is scary for you, Rosh." She has the nerve to laugh again.

"Okay, okay. All seriousness though, if you want to know more about the dragon, you should ask Simon." 

Ask Simon, she said. Like, of course that would be easy. It should've been easy if you didn't take into account that Simon was still actively avoiding him. But if Simon was that passionate about their dragon, maybe that could be a nice tactic to have him address Wilhelm. 

Sure, it felt a tad manipulative, but at this point, Wilhelm was willing to try anything. So after his bath that very day, he sought Simon out, going right back to their chambers in the hopes of catching him before bedtime. His fiancé must've dropped the hyper vigilance after a few days of Wilhelm not insisting on talking, because he didn't get up on time to avoid Wilhelm entering their private quarters. 

Their eyes meet, and Simon closes the lid of the piano he was playing on, standing up to lock himself in his room, again. Not exactly knowing how to hold him back, Wilhelm simply blurts out: "I've seen your dragon, outside."

That stops Simon in his tracks. "Have you?" His voice is small, a bit snappy, but he sounds calm enough. 

"Yes. I was at the stables, he flew above us. I was quite surprised…" 

Simon scoffs. "Surprised?"

"Well, yes. I thought those rumors about your family owning a dragon were false." Wilhelm speaks fast, even if he tries to choose his words carefully. This is the first conversation they had in almost twenty days, and he doesn't want it to end quite yet. 

Simon turns around, crossing his arms in front of his chest. His eyes roam over Wilhelm's face. "That's a bit false, though; no one can actually 'own' a dragon." 

"What do you mean?"

Simon scrunches his nose, something Wilhelm has grown to like. "Do you really think a beast like that can be tamed and bow to someone?"

Wilhelm closes the door that he left open when he came in, and steps a little towards Simon. "I don't know, Simon. I don't know a thing about dragons, except they're rare and powerful."

His fiancé keeps silent, his posture still closed-off, his arms tightly wound around himself, and his eyes studying Wilhelm, as if he's trying to assess whether Wilhelm is worth his time or not. Wilhelm won't give him the time to overthink this. 

"Rosh said to ask you about them." He gestures to the bookcase. "I'd read a book or two, but I think I'd rather hear it from you."

"From me? Why me? There are a lot of people you could ask about dragons, my moth-"

"Because I like listening to you, Simon." That shuts Simon up, his lips now closed in a fine line. "If you'd let me." Wilhelm adds. 

He can almost hear Simon's thoughts reeling, the other prince swaying slightly on his feet as he ponders the idea. The old gods must be with Wilhelm tonight, because Simon sighs and goes to sit on an armchair, inviting Wilhelm to sit on the other one with a tilt of his head. 

Trying hard to suppress a grin, Wilhelm doesn't waste any second and sits in front of Simon. Even if it's not an explanation on why Simon's upset with him, it's a conversation, and Wilhelm is about to take anything Simon is willing to give him. 

"I'll give you a quick run down, and then answer your questions, is that okay?" Wilhelm nods. "Okay, great." Simon clears his throat. "I meant it when I said you can't exactly own a dragon. Those creatures are too proud, and they don't exactly have the same set of values as humans do. A dragon can follow you around, help you, fight for you, let you fly with them, but one day they'll decide they're done with you, and they won't let you approach anymore, or they'll be hostile. You can't exactly train them or force them into submission."

Simon shifts a bit on his seat, settling a little more comfortably as Wilhelm drinks his words. "You have to understand that we, humans, are nothing but ants in a dragon's eye. They can live up to 1200 years, and there are so few of them, while we're a lot, and we don't stay for long. Sometimes they find a human that's been helpful to them, that provides for them in some way, that entertains them, so they stick around for a while. For them, it's not a long time, for us, they often stay long enough for people to think they're faithful. But the human usually dies before the dragon deems their debt paid, or before they find another, more interesting person to stick to."

Wilhelm's tongue burns with all the questions he has for Simon, but he behaves, letting his fiancé continue with his explanation. "Some have tried to get a dragon to obey, to submit, via violence usually. That never ends well. Some used love, charms, never worked as dragons are highly intelligent. 'Our' dragon is a particular case. He's been around our family since the day Erik the First settled in this castle. It's believed Erik himself watched over the hatch, as the egg was found in the depths of the castle. Erik knew a whole lot about them, and I think you know why. So he helped raise it, and the dragon has been around our family since then, showing up when he wants to. He's not exactly answering to our demands or anything, but he shows up when we do need extra help."

Simon leans a bit against the armrest, staring at his hands, before he looks up at Wilhelm: an invitation to fire his questions. Simon knows Wilhelm is shaking with them. 

"Okay… I understand, I think. Proud creatures, can't be tamed, live a long time… But how come Erik the First knew so much about them? Wasn't he raised in the Svealands? We're not very familiar with them."

Simon purses his lips. "Don't you remember the very reason why Erik and Ebba split the kingdom? Erik was a shifter. Literally a remnant of a time when dragons and humans lived together. That's what shifters are, so of course, he did his research on the subject. That's how he managed to take care of our dragon."

Wilhelm knew about all that, but for some reason, his brain didn't make the connection between those two facts. He apologized for not thinking enough, and Simon dismissed the apology with a snort. "So you're telling me this dragon has been with your family for the last two centuries, basically?"

"Yes, that's it. Maybe he feels like he owes us a bit. I'm not in his head, though." Simon nodded. 

"Did you ever interact with him?" 

"Twice. When I was like five and he let me climb onto his back." Simon laughed a little, the sound sending shivers down Wilhelm's spine. "Mamma almost had a heart attack. He came back to me one day when I was lost in the forest, too. I'd escaped from the castle after an argument with my sister and ended up lost in the storm. The dragon shielded me and guided me home." 

Wilhelm is not aware he's gaping at Simon before the other raises his eyebrows. He closes his mouth quickly, shaking himself out of it. "That… That sounds insane. To have a literal dragon fetch you in the forest." 

Chuckling, Simon slumps a bit on his chair. "It was. But I haven't had the pleasure of encountering him since then. He mostly ever flies above the castle or the capital." 

"Can I ask two stupid questions?"

Simon's smile widens, and he nods. "Does he have a name? You only ever call him 'dragon'." 

"He doesn't. Or well, dragons don't do names. Humans name them when they want to. My family didn't settle on a name. Maybe we will, one day. Next stupid question?"

"How do you know he's a he?" 

Simon doesn't contain his laughter at this one. Wilhelm allows himself to chuckle at his own bluntness. "Oh, that- I mean-" Simon heaves through his laughs. "Ehm, good question actually! I've been told he's a male, so I didn't think further but- I mean there are ways to tell but I wouldn't dare approach him like that to check!"

"Fair, fair! But if your ancestor found him in the castle… Does that mean he was abandoned or? Do dragons believe in family?"

Simon just shrugs at that. "Unclear. Dragons are usually hoarders, eggs are heavily protected… But they're mostly solitary creatures, so they may part from their parents at some point. As for this particular egg… It's believed it has been stolen by the original owner of the castle, who migrated to the South when the king decided his residency would be Stenhammar."

Stenhammar was the Svear royal palace, where Wilhelm had spent most of his life, only leaving for vacations or military training. And marriage. "And he left a dragon egg behind- wait, isn't this castle really old? How could the dragon survive for so long?"

"Dragon eggs are pretty durable. You could keep one for millennia, and the dragon inside could still be born. That's why the species isn't extinct yet: there's always someone reviving a lone egg somewhere."

"That's incredible… Where did you learn all that, though? Books?" 

"I'm not a bookworm like you are." Simon smirks. "No, I've been taught all that by my father."

"You never talk about him."

"You never asked."

Wilhelm lets out a loud sigh. "We need to stop doing that, Simon."

"Doing what, exactly?" 

As he feels Simon closing off again, Wilhelm seizes his chance to tell him his truth. "Tiptoeing around each other. Keeping our distance and not communicating. I know I'm not the best at opening up to people but-"

"But you're mad I've been ignoring you all these days. Don't you think I had a good-"

"I'm not mad, Simon." 

Simon frowns. "You're not?"

"No." Wilhelm shakes his head. "I'm simply hurt." And because Simon's face falls, he makes good on what he said about communicating just before: "I'm hurt because you didn't respect me enough to tell me why I upset you. I know I came here ill-mannered and ignorant, but I thought you saw how much I tried. Obviously, it wasn't enough."

"I-... I didn't mean… I didn't think you weren't trying enough, I... I just got iffy because-"

"Because you were scared I was cruel? That I thought an entire group of people needed to be taken down? I wasn't stating my own views when I told you this person deserved the gibbet, that's just the law for criminals, shifters or not." 

Simon nodded and continued, his voice smaller. "I didn't want to start feeling good about someone with such views."

"You shouldn't have assumed. I know I didn't give the best first impression, but I thought you started to know me."

"You're kind of a tough nut to crack, Wilhelm." Simon crosses his arms again, defensive, and Wilhelm shakes his head.

"I know, and I'm especially hurt because the one time I willingly shared something important with you, you took it the wrong way and slammed the door in my face." 

He feels his voice crack at the end of his sentence. Because that's what was bothering him the most, besides Simon being angry. Wilhelm doesn't open up to others often, and when he does, it drives them away. Simon proving his anxiety right was like a punch to his heart. 

"I'm sorry, Wilhelm…" Simon whispers and leaves his chair to kneel between Wilhelm's legs, his hands hesitating for a second before he takes Wilhelm's and squeezes them hard. "I didn't think that far, I-..." He sighs. "I let my emotions get the better of me, and I didn't know how to go back from that. I should've listened to you, told you about how this made me feel instead of giving you the silent treatment."

Wilhelm exhales shakily, willing the tears that built up behind his eyelids to disappear. When he looks down at Simon, it's to find him looking up at him with a genuinely concerned expression. 

He doesn't know what spurs him on then, but he reaches and replaces a stray curl on Simon's forehead, then lets his hand cup Simon's cheek. Simon doesn't flinch, leaning into the touch a little bit. "I'm sorry I didn't choose my words better, I never wanted to scare you off."

Simon shakes his head slightly, closing his eyes as Wilhelm's thumb brushes his cheek. "You're fine, you were talking about a difficult time, you were emotional." 

"No more stupid fights?" 

Shaking his head, Simon looks at him, earnestly. "No more stupid fights. And Wilhelm?" 

"Yes?" 

"For what it's worth, I don't think your scars are a show of weakness. And I won't ever be repulsed by them."

Wilhelm stills a bit, his eyes searching for any sign that Simon's lying for his benefit. But he only finds sincerity, and maybe even some kind of tenderness in those dark brown eyes. "Won't you?"

He shakes his head. "You're beautiful, and brave."

"I'm not brave, I-"

"Wilhelm, you fight demons every night. Don't think I never heard you." Simon admits, his voice soft, but not soft enough for Wilhelm not to want the floor to swallow him and his shame. 

"I didn't know I was making noise, I…" He bites his lip, willing the voice nagging him to just shut up because Simon didn't mean it like that, right?

Simon is the one shutting the voice up, as he takes Wilhelm's hand that's still resting on his cheek and presses the softest of kisses in his palm. "You don't worry about it, Wilhelm. Ever. And if you know how to ease your nights, tell me." 

Staring at the spot where Simon's lips were just pressing, Wilhelm hesitates. He knows exactly how he handles it when the nightmares are too much. He tends to do it less and less as he grows older, but when his nights are too frightening, he usually seeks out Erik's reassuring presence. He sneaks into his bedroom and lets himself be held, the voices usually muffled by his elder's snores. 

But Erik isn't here, so Wilhelm can't rely on him. Simon is offering, but maybe he's not offering that kind of comfort- no. Wilhelm can't overthink this. Not after he told Simon they needed to communicate better. Instead of dismissing the offer, he takes a deep breath. "Back home, when the nightmares were too much, I asked Erik to share his bed with me. His presence helped." 

He doesn't dare ask out loud if Simon would be willing to do the same for him, but his fiancé gets the message anyway. He smiles a bit, his hands clutching at Wilhelm's. "I can do that for you, if that's what you need."

Wilhelm nods, just a little, feeling his cheeks burn. "I think I'd like that, yes."

Simon's only response is a hum, and he stands up. "Maybe we should finally make use of that ridiculously big thing." He gestures to the bed in the middle of their shared room. That piece of furniture had been blatantly ignored by both of them until now, its function too intimidating. But it also looks very, very comfortable. 

They part for a bit, each of them getting ready for bed in their own bedroom. Wilhelm puts on his nightgown, which consists of a light, white tunic that goes below his knees. It's not that cold that he needs slippers, so it's barefoot that he steps back into their shared room. 

Simon is already there, pulling the heavy curtains closed. He doesn't have a gown on, but simple, large breeches that hang low on his hips. That's unusual for a nobleman to wear pants to bed, but Wilhelm has learned not to question anymore. Still, Simon explains anyway: "I tend to run hot at night, so the less I wear, the better I sleep." 

Wilhelm only acknowledges his explanation with a nod before sitting on the bed, arranging the pillows a little. Sensing his nervousness, Simon takes his hand. Looking up at him, Wilhelm is met with a kind, knowing smile, and he lets himself be guided onto the soft mattress. As he lies down, he notices Simon is looking at him, still sitting on his side. 

"Everything okay?" He asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Simon simply nods and turns around to blow the last candle illuminating the room, plunging them into darkness. Wilhelm hears him shuffle beside him, and Simon's hand searches for his under the heavy blankets. He takes it. 

Lying on his side, he can barely make out Simon's form, but he knows he's turned to the side too, facing him. "Thank you, Simon."

"Don't thank me until you've got your night's rest."

Wilhelm snorts. Then, not knowing what gives him the courage to do so, he lifts their hands up to his face, to nuzzle against Simon's hand. "I'm sure I'll get plenty of it."

He feels Simon scoot a little bit closer, his fingers squeezing his tightly. There's a beat of silence, then Simon moves up to press a kiss on his forehead. "Sweet dreams, Wilhelm." 

"Wille."

"Mh?" 

"Call me Wille. I'd like that better."

"Alright then, Wille."

Chapter Text

Wille was right to think he would get a full night's rest that day. And for three nights straight, he slept soundly. He only awoke twice because he felt too hot under the covers. Simon wasn't lying when he said he was running hot at night: he was a literal furnace, even. Other than that, his fiancé was a comfortable company at night. He slept like a log, not moving much, his breath coming out in tiny snores that Wille could only make out if he focused on the silence around them. 

He was an early riser, but did his best to tiptoe around the room to avoid waking Wille up until he felt it necessary to do so. Because after the first morning, when Walter came into the room expecting it to be empty, or for Simon to be at least fully dressed, and found his master drooling on Simon's pillow while its owner was trudging around in breeches, no one came into their chambers before one of them got out. 

Wille found this newfound intimacy to be quite enjoyable. Back home, servants often had the permission to come and go into his room whenever they needed to do chores in there or to deliver him messages. Walter and Henry were the only ones respecting his privacy by using their special knock, which had made a comeback in the past days, both of them ensuring they wouldn't interrupt him and Simon. 

"I find that insane that with the whole protocols and ranks and status you guys have, you also don't have the right to be left alone." Simon said when Wille explained the purpose of that knock. "Here, if you don't answer, they don't come in, and if the message is urgent, they yell it for you or slide it under the door!" 

A message was sent to them shortly after this discussion, while Simon was questioning Wille about his herbarium that he had started back home but abandoned. Randvi, the servant that already helped Wille out with his clothes once, came in when Simon allowed her to, showcasing Simon's earlier talk about their boundaries, and told them the Queen was waiting for them in the throne room.

That sounded like quite the formal request, so Wille ends up being a bit antsy as they walk towards the throne room. Simon notices and lightly touches his elbow, before sending him a reassuring smile. "I'm sure it's nothing too bad." 

Wille nods, the touch grounding him a bit. Simon studies him a little before opening the door, entering without announcing himself, because it's not a formal event. Wille follows suit, letting his eyes take in the magnificence of the room. He has to ask Simon about that black metal that he's seeing everywhere.

Queen Linda interrupts her conversation with Sara and the witch upon hearing them. She beckons them over with a smile. "Simon, prince Wilhelm! Come on in, we need you both to prepare for the next trials."

Wille lets out a quiet, relieved sigh. The trials, of course. With Simon being angry, he almost forgot about those, but he still has to prove his worth to him two times again. Though he doesn't remember the virtues Simon mentioned.

"Oh, yes." Simon talks for them both. "When is it scheduled?" 

"In two days. But Lutsia needs you both to complete the potion."

"The potion?" Wille squeaks, before clearing his throat, trying to regain composure. "Pardon me, a potion?"

The witch, whose name Wille now knows to be Lutsia, nods slowly. "A potion, yes. For the next trial, we need to brew a very complicated one that requires time and effort. And a part of each of you."

Wille winces at that. What does she mean, a part of each of them? He eyes Simon, trying to see if he's as lost as he is. But Simon holds out a hand to Lutsia, quite confidently. "Sure thing."

Lutsia takes it and draws out a dagger. That makes Wille jolt, his body tense and ready to intervene, before he notices he's the only one moving. The Queen is watching calmly, and Sara stays behind, fiddling with a little cord. Simon himself isn't phased by the blade sinking into his palm, and Wille can only stare with wide eyes.

"Sorry if it stings, my prince." Lutsia apologizes and takes a glass vial from her belt to collect the blood dripping from Simon's hand. When the vial is full, she seals it with a cork stopper and cleans the dagger with a white cloth. She gestures for Simon to go over to his mother, and Linda carefully treats her son's hand, wrapping it in a bandage. 

"Prince Wilhelm?" Lutsia calls, pulling him out of his observation. She holds her hand out, clearly wanting to do the same to him. 

Hesitating a little, Wille searches for Simon's eyes. He finds a kind smile and an encouraging nod, and that's enough for him to step forward and offer the witch his hand. 

He can't help but flinch as the cold blade tears his skin, but the sting isn't as bad. No, it's something else entirely. It's like a warm current, spreading through his being and- oh , skies above, is he feeling it? Feeling the blood curse through his body? The beating of his heart giving speed to the otherwise tranquil river of his veins? 

It's the weirdest sensation, but it only lasts for a few seconds before Lutsia cleans his hand with another cloth and beckons him to Linda. "Your own mother isn't here to care for your hand, so your fiancé's will do it, if you allow her." 

Frowning a bit at that, Wille shoots her a questioning look, before looking at Linda. She doesn't move, only smiling her usual kind smile. Are they really waiting for his approval? 

"Is… Is it tradition?" He risks, wanting to test that theory. 

"It's usually the mother, or the person that's closer to a parental figure, that cares for this wound, yes. But you can also take care of it yourself. It won't affect the process." Linda explains, and Wille wonders if his own mother would've insisted on taking care of his wound. 

Thinking back on it, he's not sure he can remember a time when Kristina took care of him, cleaned a cut, kissed a bruise, or wiped his tears. He's pretty sure it always was a nanny, or Erik, doing that for him. And maybe… Maybe that's why Wille doesn't question it further. Maybe that's why he walks towards Linda and gives her his hand. Maybe that's why he lets her clean the fresh cut with a wet cloth that smells a little bit funny. Maybe that's why he's amazed at how carefully she wraps his hand in a bandage, similar to Simon's. 

Because that's what mothers are supposed to do, right? They're supposed to care, to soothe, to take your pain away. At least, that's how they are in the books. 

Wille won't ever say it to anyone, not even Simon, but that day, he felt like healing, a little. 

They're awoken two days later by Walter's gentle knock on the door. Not even Simon is awake, lying on his stomach and starfishing over Wille. Startled awake, Wille opens his eyes to see that the sun is barely up, their room still quite dark. 

For a second, he thinks he dreamt the knock, that maybe it's a noise from outside, or a figment of his imagination, until he hears it again, more insistent this time. Okay, that is not Walter, because he's not one to insist. 

"Yes, Henry?" Wille mumbles, pushing himself on his elbows to check if Simon is still covered by the blankets as Henry opens the door. 

"Good morning, Your Highness." He calls out in a low voice, barely poking his head inside. "I've been sent to tell you both to get ready for the trial, the convoy leaves in one hour." 

Wille frowns, sitting up on the bed to look at his squire properly. "The convoy? Are we going somewhere?" 

"The clearing." Simon pipes up from somewhere under the covers, and Wille almost jumps out in surprise, as he expected Simon to still be asleep.

"What clearing?" He asks, and nods in Henry's direction to dismiss him. "Give us a few minutes, we'll go down for breakfast."

"I'm sorry, Your Highness, but they specifically told me to inform you that you aren't allowed to eat beforehand. Walter is coming with unsweetened tea, and Ayub has your clothes."

Even more confused by this array of information, Wille turns to Simon, who groaned the moment Henry said they wouldn't eat. "Fucking potions and their restrictions…" 

"I'll be outside." Henry excuses himself and closes the door, leaving Wille without answers, so he relies on Simon, again.

"Care to tell me more, Simon? Because I'm a bit confused." 

Simon huffs and sits up abruptly, finally emerging from the pile of blankets. His face is still puffy with sleep, and his hair goes in all directions. "Ugh, sorry." He mumbles, rubbing at his eyes. Wille can't resist the urge to try and smooth his curls out. 

Simon leans into the touch, and if Wille didn't know better, he'd swear he heard him purr. Still, he keeps with his ministrations, quietly arranging the stray curls on his forehead. Simon closes his eyes, a lazy smile stretching his lips, and that's the second time this morning his behavior resembles that of a cat. 

"Are you going to tell me where we're going? I thought you didn't have any idea of how the trials were conducted." He asks in a quiet voice, not wanting to break the moment, but needing answers anyway. 

"Mmmh… I don't know, really, but I know how potions and magical rites work. Most of those are conducted in places that are 'charged' with magical energy. Don't ask me more about that, I'm not very versed in it…" He yawns. "The closest one is a clearing at the foot of a waterfall, on the other side of the mountain. It's not easy to go there with horses unless we go down the mountain, then around it and back up…" Sighing, he adds with a pout: "Flying would be so much easier…" 

Wille chuckles, and ruffles Simon's hair. "You don't even know how to fly, silly!"

Simon looks at him like he's grown another head, and rolls his eyes. "Eh, that's just wishful thinking! Realistically, a bird would be able to reach that place way faster than we!"

"Or we could hike there on foot, like people who know how to walk?" Wille suggests, a sly smile on his lips. 

Simon pokes him in the ribs, making him recoil with a choked gasp. "Is the pretty prince seriously suggesting we dirty our shoes and pants by trudging in the forest like mere peasants?" 

"All I hear is you calling me pretty." Wille preens, and Simon lets out a disbelieving scoff. 

"Oh wow! Getting bold, I see, I-" 

He's interrupted by a loud knock. Henry's one. They both look at each other with guilty looks: neither of them got up to get ready at all. 

"Yes?" Wille calls out, while stumbling out of bed to get his robe and have a little more decency, while Simon jumps down from the bed. 

"Walter and Ayub are here, shall I let them in?" Henry calls back, and Simon hums loudly in approval. 

Ayub doesn't wait long to burst in, holding a pile of colorful clothes, Walter trailing behind, holding the tea that was promised. Simon's shoulders slump at the sight of the tray: they really won't be eating this morning, and that sounds like the most awful thing that could've happened to him, judging by how he lets himself fall face down on the bed. 

"Oh, come on, Simme, it's a big day!" Ayub laughs and throws the clothes on the bed. "You'll get your breakfast later!" 

"Breakfast is supposed to be eaten first!" Simon whines, barely moving from his spot. "That's why it's called breakfast in the first place!"

"Well, you got tea, and a nice hot potion later too!" Giggling, Ayub starts sorting through the clothes, separating them into two piles. Looking at them more closely, Wille recognizes some of the patterns of his own.

"What are those, Ayub?" He asks, grabbing an undershirt that's lined with the golden ruffles he knows belong to another shirt. 

Ayub snatches the shirt from him. "That, Your Highness, is your fiancé's shirt for the day." He tosses it at Simon, who barely catches it. 

"But it's-"

"Made with materials from your clothes, yes." Simon frowns in Ayub's direction. "You guys didn't ask before taking those?" 

That's when Walter chimes in, putting a cup of hot tea in his master's hands. "Didn't have to, I've been instructed to gather some of the clothes the Prince doesn't wear often so they could use them." 

Simon doesn't seem satisfied with the answer, and eyes Wille, who simply shrugs, blowing on his cup. He doesn't mind ruining a few clothes, especially if he doesn't wear them. That seems to be enough for Simon, who starts digging into his pile. 

"Who's responsible for this horrendous choice of colors?" He says, holding the large orange tunic that's lined with delicate purple embroidery. 

"Blame your partner's choice of colors." Ayub shrugs, and pushes a cup of tea into Simon's hands. "Drink up, we'll be late."

"But Wille mostly wears blue, you-"

"I said I preferred orange when Walter asked me." Wille pipes up, wincing at the burning tea on his tongue. 

The look Simon gives him is one of pure shock, as if Wille just confessed to a crime, a treason of some sort. "Orange?! Really?! That's so… Orange!"

"You have a way with words, Simme." Ayub laughs, and Simon tosses a cushion at him, almost dropping his tea. 

Wille chuckles a bit. "Well, I like it. It's a happy color, it's bright. I don't wear it because it's a cheap color to make, blues are harder to get and thus, more expensive and more 'royalty'. So no warm colors for me, unless it's to show respect to a dignitary's customs." He recites, and feels his cheeks warm under the attention of the three other men. 

Ayub whistles. "Woah! I didn't know they were even color-coding your clothes! That sounds a bit overkill." 

Smiling into his cup, he nods. "It is. But every piece of garment tells a story in the Svealands."

"Even your nightgown?" Simon jokes, discarding the tea because of its bitterness. 

Wille gives him a pointed look. "Yes, actually. I am not allowed to sleep naked until I am married."

"Wait, you're allowed to sleep in the same bed as me, but not without clothes? Don't they know clothes can be removed?"

"I'm technically not allowed to do that either, but I think there's a loophole if I am to respect your own traditions…"

"How convenient-"

"And thank god he doesn't sleep in the nude, can you guys get ready so we can leave before Rosh kills me?" Henry's voice comes from the corridor, his head poking in. "Come on now, you can talk of your bedroom activities on the road!" 

Wille raises an eyebrow at Henry's audacity. With Wille trying to ease the protocols and stiffness between him and his two servants, Henry has grown quite bold with his master. Not as bold as to not duck his head and go back to his post when he catches Wille's gaze. 

They listen to him anyway and start getting ready. The clothes Wille has been given are quite simple: brown breeches, a plain white undershirt, and a large purple tunic lined with a brownish orange fur. A simple but large belt hanging low on his hips, and his hunting boots finish the look, which is quite far from his usual royal attire. 

Turning around, he sees Simon's is quite similar, but the colors are inverted, and he sports some elements directly inspired by Svear clothing. Instead of fur lining his tunic's collar, sleeves, and hem, it's ruffles, and his belt has to be tied on his back, mimicking the traditional Svear noble ways. That belt, tightly laced in the back, cinches Simon's waist nicely, making Wille's mind travel a little too far to be proper. 

When they're ready, they're both given a similar dark brown cape they're instructed to wear, but not to put the hood on. 

They're also supposed to ride their own horses, to Wille's delight, but they're not to do the trip together, to Wille's dismay. Simon and his entourage are riding first, leading the way down the mountain and around it, and Wille is relegated to the back of the convoy, trailed by his servants. He notices his mare has been groomed, and her mane feels like silk under his fingers. 

The convoy doesn't go through the city. One of the guards explains that they don't want to deal with too much security, and that this trial is supposed to be a little more private. Wille tried to get more information on it, but the guard didn't have any, nor was he willing to tell him more. 

The ride wasn't that long; Simon had been exaggerating a bit. Or maybe it was his nerves talking, because the sun was already high in the sky when they entered the forest once again, the path slowly narrowing until there was none anymore, and they had to simply follow the other horses. 

"We're close, listen." The guard points out, and Wille listens. 

It's faint, but once Wille finds it, it's all he can hear: water. The clear sound of flowing water… And something else. Some strange noise… A beat? 

"What's this?" He asks, as it grows louder with each step they take. 

"The witch's lament." Walter pipes up from his left. "She's warning the forest spirits that a ritual is coming. Something like that." 

Wille nods and asks Walter to try and find books about Northern magic when they come back. Walter will comply, of course, but feels compelled to explain: "I didn't read about it; Ayub explained it to me, as his sister is on the path to becoming a witch." 

"To become one? Isn't magic something innate?" 

Walter shakes his head. "Apparently not. It's something all beings are, theoretically, able to wield. Some have… Predispositions. Others don't. But you can learn it. I can ask her to give you a lecture, if that's your wish."

Pondering it for a bit, Wille ends up agreeing to that. He's starting to grow quite fascinated with the relation the Northerner have with magic. For Svears, magic is a waste of time. Well, most of the time. Svears are actually quite fond of magical artefacts, like Wille's tracking pendant. But the people making those are called "artificers", not witches and wizards. It's a different form of magic, practical and cold. 

There's nothing cold about the ritual Wille's about to take part in, and it's made obvious the minute they enter the clearing. The music is loud now, loud enough to cover the small waterfall's noise, and those of the forest surrounding them. Lutsia, the witch, is standing on a rock near the pond, every inch of her skin that peeks out of her greenish outfit painted with vivid colors. 

She's singing, a throaty, hoarse sound that seems to wreck her body as she pulls the sounds from deep inside. Madison sits a bit further, against a tree, lightly tapping on a large drum, while another girl quietly guides every person to a designated spot. 

The Queen and Sara are to sit on large logs, along with a few people that Wille recognizes as their own entourage. The guards are tasked to lead the horses a bit away so the animals don't get in the way of the ritual. Then, Walter and Ayub are led to the pond, each of them sprinkled with some of its water, and they're given a wooden tray. Wille notices those are medical supplies, and worry starts making its way into his chest. His hand flies there, almost on autopilot. 

He feels Henry's hand squeeze his shoulder, startling him a bit: it's the first time the squire dares to make a comforting gesture for his master. Something he's not technically allowed to do, but Wille welcomes it with a deep breath. 

When Walter and Ayub are placed on each side of the pond, the girl leads Henry and Rosh forward. All the while, she doesn't say a word, but she cleans their faces, pushes Henry's hair out of his face, and smears some black paint over their foreheads. Each of them is given a wooden sword, the kind kids use to train, but Wille notices they're engraved with some symbols he identifies as runes. 

They're then guided to stand next to Walter and Ayub. If Rosh stands straight, her hands securely wrapped over the sword's hilt, Henry fidgets a little with it, only to stop when Walter elbows him slightly. Then, there's only Wille and Simon left. 

Lutsia's singing is now uncomfortably loud, and Wille wonders how she manages to belt out sounds like that. The girl holds out both her hands to them, and after a quick glance at Simon's tense face, Wille takes it. His moving first spurs Simon on, and they're led to the edge of the pond, made to kneel down next to each other. 

The girl smears some more paint on their faces, decorating them with symbols and swirls that Wille can't understand the meaning of. When she's done, she takes their hands and makes them dip their fingers into the water. 

Strangely enough, that plunges the clearing into silence. Suddenly, there's no lament anymore, like that simple gesture shut Lutsia up. But not only Lutsia, as Wille quickly notices there's no other sound. None, at all. Not even the waterfall. 

He dares to look up at the waterfall, and sure enough, the water's still flowing. So why can't he hear it? 

A glance at Simon tells him his fiancé is as lost as he is. 

Then, Lutsia's voice comes out, booming, from behind them. "Today, we're witnessing the second trial of Prince Simon of the North, and Prince Wilhelm of the South. Trust is the most important thing to have in a relationship, and today, we'll see if they can fully put their life in the other's hands." 

Wille tenses at the words. What does she mean by that? Will they have to fight a common enemy, together? Will they have to face death for the other to save them? Will they get hurt? 

Lutsia walks around them, directly into the pond. "The potion has been brewed successfully and will guide them through a journey of self-discovery. Their designated healers are to move only if instructed to. Their designated wards are to stand as a shield between them and the eventual rogue spirit. If everyone is ready, I will conduct the ritual."

Wille can't see the rest of the little assembly, but assumes everyone nodded at some point, because Lutsia bows slightly and holds her hand out in front of them. "For this ritual, you're both to drink a potion that will cause your spirit to travel to another plane of existence. In this existence, you will be faced with your deepest fears. It will be a hard thing to go through, but you won't be alone. Your betrothed will guide you through it, if you let them. You will get out of the dream only when you let them fully in charge." 

Confused, Wille doesn't think he understood everything. He simply got that he was to drink something that would make him face his worst fear, and he would have to trust Simon to help? That sounds a bit wild to him, but Wille has to trust the process. Still, he isn't keen on moving forward when Lutsia asks which of them wants to try first. 

Simon, sensing his doubt, takes the witch's hand and is pulled to his feet. 

And then, Lutsia guides him into the water. The pond is not very deep, and Simon only has water up to his knees. The girl from earlier comes up, holding a tray with two bowls. Wille notices one is full of a red liquid, and the other contains the same, albeit way less of it. 

"Drink up, Prince Simon." She instructs, and Simon obliges as she hands him the fuller bowl. He drinks to the last drop, wincing at the taste he obviously doesn't like, and she takes the bowl back from him, replacing it with the other one. "Now, spit into it, and feed it to your partner." 

Wille freezes upon hearing that. Spit? Does she expect him to drink Simon's spit ? 

That doesn't seem to upset Simon, as he does as he's told, and turns to him, like it's a perfectly normal thing to do. Well, none of this looks very normal to him. 

He hesitates a little, because there's spit inside this mixture, but he ultimately does as he's told. And if Simon's warm hand on his cheek, guiding his head up, helped a lot, it was no one's business but his. 

The taste is not as weird as he'd expected. It's a bit sour, very citrus-y, and Wille's tongue burns a little, as if the potion contained some sort of spice. What strikes him, though, is the warm feeling coursing through his body, as if he were covered by some sort of blanket. 

"Now, Prince Simon will lie down in the water, and Prince Wilhelm will hold his head up over the surface. The potion's effects will be felt soon, and they will both fall into a magic-induced slumber, guiding them through the depths of Prince Simon's heart."

Wille has a million questions, the most important being how he is supposed to keep Simon's face from being submerged if he is too, sleeping? But a sudden weight on his body and mind gets the better of him, and he absently does exactly what the witch told him. 

Soon, the only feeling he has is the cold wetness of the water on his hands, and the softness of Simon's curls around his fingers. He doesn't even feel the weight of his head in his hands anymore, and when he notices that weird fact, his vision blurs, and the world around him spins in swirls of colors. 

When he opens his eyes again, he's standing in an open field, or what is left of it. The crops that were there before have been stomped on, and the air is charged with iron and dirt. Looking around, he only finds a desolate landscape and, to his horror, a few silhouettes lying on the floor. 

Bodies. 

He's on a battlefield. Most likely after the battle. 

He doesn't have the time to look for a banner, a weapon, any hint as to what kind of battle took place here, because he hears a whimper behind him. 

Whipping around, he sees him. Simon. 

He's kneeling on the ground, bent over a body Wille immediately identifies as being Rosh's.

Frozen in place, Wille can only witness Simon's distress. He's clutching Rosh's face, trying to wipe the bloodstains from her cheeks, and Wille feels his eyes water at the terrible sight.

"Rosh, no… Please… Wake up…" Simon's voice comes out hoarse, small, and Wille hates that sound. He hates it, and he never wants to hear it again, but for that, he has to do something. To comfort Simon, to take his hand, pull him away from that horrific vision. 

But when he reaches for Simon, his hand goes through him. 

It's like Simon is not a material being anymore. Wille tries again, and again. And each time, his fingers close over nothing. Simon is out of reach, on his own plane of existence where Wille doesn't exist, and can't help him. 

"Simon!" He calls out multiple times. But Simon doesn't seem to hear him. 

And then the witch's words dawn on him: "Your betrothed will guide you through it, if you let them. "

Simon has to choose. He has to remember Wille's here, that he'll help, that he'll be the rock he can lean on. But how can he even think of Wille, in this state? 

And while Wille's trying his best to understand how to solve the puzzle, Simon's grip on Rosh doesn't loosen. He tries to call out for him, to make his presence known, but he just can't, he can't reach him, and he's stuck here, witnessing his fiancé's sorrow, raw and heartbreaking. 

Out of frustration, he kicks the nearest object he finds, some broken sword hilt. 

That makes Simon look up. He stares at the sword. 

Oh. 

So Wille can interact with the environment. And Simon sees it. It doesn't ease his pain, clearly painted on his face, but it gives Wille hope, hope he can reach him.

So he takes the sword and drags it on the floor, tracing a path before Simon's eyes. He doesn't know if he will follow, but it's worth a try. 

Simon does follow. He gently presses a kiss on Rosh's forehead, and stands on his feet to walk towards Wille, following the trail he's drawing on the dirt. His brow is furrowed, like he's trying to make sense of what's happening. 

But taking Simon's eyes off of Rosh isn't enough; he still has ears, and a loud cry startles them both. Simon whips around to his left, and suddenly the battlefield is no more. 

Instead, they're in the castle's courtyard, obviously under siege, and the cry came from Ayub, who they see falling down the stairs of the entrance, clutching his chest. 

"Ayub!" Simon yells, rushing to his side. 

Wille's blood runs cold. Is this hallucination going to make Simon witness death after death? 

And why isn't Simon trying to rationalize it? Has he forgotten that all of this isn't real? Or is he too shaken to even consider that he's not really losing his friends? Maybe the potions' effects are stronger on him, like it's a nightmare, and he doesn't realize it yet. 

He's begging Ayub to hold on, to stay with him, but Wille knows it: this Ayub is gone, and Simon will only have his eyes to cry. He can't do anything, because that reality is made to tear him apart, and Wille can only look, and it's frustrating and-

And he can do something. The environment. He can use it. 

Looking around, all he sees are men fighting, faceless silhouettes battling each other, obviously filling the atmosphere of the dream. For Simon, this must look like a real siege scene, but Wille sees the flaws, the blur in colors and shapes, and the bow and arrow. 

He runs through the yard, climbs on a low wall near which a bow is conveniently placed, and aims. 

The arrow goes right next to Ayub's head, making Simon jump out in fear. His wide eyes roam the scene, and land on Wille, or well, in his direction, never really focusing on his face. But that's enough. That's enough to start Simon's fire, as he grabs the nearest sword he can find and charges towards him. 

He charges, and Wille welcomes him with open arms. He knows it's a dream, he knows Simon can't hurt him, that maybe he will simply go through him like Wille's fingers slipped through his form earlier. 

But instead, he pushes forward, grabbing Wille by the waist and taking him down with him. 

The shock takes the wind out of Wille's lungs, as he lands hard on the ground, suddenly surrounded by Simon. Simon and his wild despair, reaching for his throat until… 

"Simon!" 

Wille's eyes widen at the sound, mimicking Simon's own as they, for the first time since this hallucination started, look at each other. But Simon doesn't seem to care that he's pinned Wille down, no. 

Because Sara calls for his help. 

Sara calls for help, and Simon scrambles to his feet to run in her direction. That's when Wille notices they left the courtyard, and instead are in the castle halls. He turns around to follow Simon, who's running up the staircase, following Sara's voice. 

They turn to the left, just in time to see Sara wrestling a red-headed man from behind, just in time to see the blade come out of her stomach, splattering angry red blood everywhere, her cries dying in her throat as she collapses on the floor. 

Simon's wail wrings his ears.

"No! Sara!" He cries out, catching her in his arms, his body trembling with fear and despair. 

Wille can't handle this. He can't see him like that. But he has to. He has to help. 

He lowers to the ground and wraps his arms around Simon. He knows this time he will be able to. Feeling Simon's body solid, firm against him is a relief, and he holds him tight. "Simon, it's not real. Please." 

He doesn't know if Simon heard him. His cries are so loud they almost cover the battle noises around them. But Simon lets himself be held; he even leans against him, still gripping onto Sara. He doesn't dare to look at her face, and Wille won't let him anyway. 

"It's not real, Simon, you'll be fine, you'll be okay. Listen to me, please…" He whispers in his ear, strengthening his grip on him as the sobs shake his whole body.

Slowly, but surely, Simon's cries die down, his shoulders sag, and he lets his head fall back on Wille's chest, his eyes closed. He mumbles something Wille can't quite catch, but it's okay, it's okay because Wille can gently pry his fingers away from Sara. Simon lets him lie her down on the floor, away from Simon's lap, allowing him to curl into a ball in Wille's arms. 

Wille doesn't know how long he's been holding him, but he doesn't care; he will hold him as long as it's necessary, until this nightmare is over, and long after. 

"Oh, I see you're getting cosy here." 

Both of them startle at the new voice. 

One, because they weren't expecting the nightmare to continue. Two, because this voice is none other than Wille's own. 

Afraid of what he'll see when he'll look up, Wille chooses to stay focused on Simon. But the look of sheer horror slowly painting on his fiancé's face prompts him to raise his head. 

As he feared, it's himself he sees, sitting on the throne, in a destroyed throne room they've been transported to. He's surrounded by bodies, faces Wille doesn't recognize, but Simon does, as his eyes land on each of them. Then, his eyes widen as he catches a detail Wille hasn't seen. 

"Where is she?! What did you do!" He roars, and Wille scrambles to try and keep him from standing up. 

The other Wilhelm smiles, a wicked, uncharacteristic smile. His face is slightly distorted, and that's when Wille sees it, the blood dripping along his cheek, seemingly coming from the golden crown on his head, its black jewels reflecting hues of red. Queen Linda's crown. 

"WHERE IS MY MOTHER?!" Simon yells, fear and anger mixed in a heart-wrenching cry. 

A cry that seemingly amuses the other Wilhelm. His laugh is a terrible sound, one Wille doesn't know he would ever be able to replicate. "Oh, dear Simon. She's where she belongs. Like each of you pigs of the North. Down in the dirt." 

"Why?! She welcomed you! She-"

"Was a fool to do so." Wilhelm giggles. "Did you really think I would lower myself to marry someone like… you? Princeling of this pile of shit you call kingdom? It was all a ploy from the beginning. Did you truly not know, or were you too busy being in denial?" 

Simon's anger is palpable, and Wille grips him, he tries to talk over his dream counterpart: "He's lying, Simon, it's not true, Si-"

Simon pushes him away, hard. 

"It was her, right? All along, your fucking mother?" He asks, his voice trembling with fury. 

Even if that fury is not directed at him, the real him, Wille steps back in shock. Simon looks absolutely terrifying, his eyes burning with a roaring fire, his lips torn like an animal preparing to bite. There's something about Simon's posture, his energy, that makes Wille recoil in fear. 

But the other Wilhelm doesn't even flinch; he's amused, even. "My mother? Oh, Simon… Why do you think I take after? She's The Bold for a reason, but she doesn't control me. She didn't tell me to lure you into trusting me. She didn't tell me to sell you a sob story about my so-called traumas. She didn't tell me to convince you I'm not like her. I did that all by myself. And you, Simon, are so desperate to be loved that you believed me."

Simon doesn't answer. He's staring, air coming out of his mouth in shaky puffs as Wilhelm's words make their way to his heart and soul. 

"Simon! Don't listen to him!" Wille tries to grab him again, but to his horror, his hand goes through him again. 

Simon is back to being out of reach. 

"You're lying, you-" Simon tries, but is cut by the other Wilhelm's laugh. 

"Am I? Do you really believe that, Simon, or are you trying to convince yourself?" He pauses, looking him up and down. "Why would someone like me lower himself to even look at you, Simon? You may be a prince, but your family rules over a mountain of trash. And you're the lowest of them all, you know it. You don't belong among us all. When this conversation is done, I'll have you either serve my family for the rest of your miserable life, or have your head rot on a spike for your whole kingdom of degenerates to see. And I won't bat an eye, because I never even considered you." 

Wille doesn't know why Simon doesn't move. Doesn't interrupt him. Doesn't stop this bullshit. But he doesn't. The fury that lit his eyes for a minute is gone, and defeat is painted all over his features. 

Defeat is not something Wille associates with Simon. But that last part of his nightmare, after losing every person he loves, is too much. 

It's too much, and Wille understands Simon's afraid of trusting. He's afraid he opened up to someone who will turn against him. He's afraid of the terrible image of Wilhelm his insecurities and pre-conceived ideas put up in his head. 

Wille has to act before Simon crumbles, before the fight leaves him for good. Before the dagger he's got on his belt disappears like it's currently doing. 

Wille grabs it, and Simon barely flinches. He looks at Wille's hand, the dagger. But Wille doesn't wait for his approval, and he gets to the throne, behind it, and grabs the other Wilhelm by the hair, pulling his head back so he can slice his throat open. 

The dagger goes through. Wilhelm laughs. "Poor little Simon, you-"

"Simon! Let me do it!" 

Wilhelm shuts up, and, finally, Simon looks up at Wille. Their eyes meet, and Wille sees the doubt, the sadness, the fear, that are settled deep within Simon. He's so afraid that his trust in Wille will cause their demise, but he knows that Wille is not like that. That his Wille is not the monster from his nightmares. He has to, because he nods. 

And Wille doesn't waste time, this time plunging the dagger right into the other Wilhelm's heart. 

He gasps for air, and around him, the world is a blur again. 

It's a blur of blacks, reds, then greens and hues of blue. Until his eyes open for real, trained on the shiny brown ones of Simon. 

They don't stare for too long before Simon is helped to his feet by Ayub, who takes him to dry land and gives him a blanket and some water. Wille sits back on his knees, unable to look anywhere but at Simon. Simon, who's shaking under the blanket, clear tear streaks on his cheeks, his eyes rimmed with red, and his whole body leaning into Ayub's arms for comfort. 

He wants to reach out, he wants, too, to comfort him. But part of him is afraid, afraid that Simon's head is still full of the other Wilhelm, the one Simon is afraid he is in reality. He's ashamed, because hell, what if he's done something to make Simon so afraid of his betrayal? 

But Simon's eyes search for him, sending him a pleading look, and, when he realizes Wille won't move, he holds out a hand. That Wille takes instantly, crawling to his side. Ayub lets go of Simon so he can shift to Wille's arms, burying his head in his chest. 

Wille holds him tight. "You're okay, Simon, it's over now." He whispers, and Simon only answers with a shaky gasp. 

Fearing they will interrupt them to continue their ritual, Wille doesn't dare to look up at the other people around them. But no one comes near them for a while, giving them some much-needed space, until Madison comes to check on Simon, asking him if he needed more time, if he was hurting somewhere… Wille honestly tunes out most of their conversation, still hung up on the fact that, deep down, Simon fears him. 

"Are you ready for the second part?" The witch asks as they've both taken their positions back on the pond edge. 

Hesitating a bit, Wille ends up nodding alongside Simon. After that first half of the trial, he feels like he's drained of all energy, but they still have to make it through the rest of it and face Wille's fears. He doesn't know what fears they're going to face, either. His bet is on the dragon, that terrible beast that has been haunting his nights for the past eight years. He doesn't know how they expect him to rely on Simon to face the beast, but he will have to, just like Simon let him slay the evil version of himself. 

They need to talk about that, too. Later, but Wille wants to unpack all of this. 

Lutsia makes him stand in the water, just like she did with Simon earlier, and hands him the bowl. This time, the potion is a deep green, looking almost like a spinach soup, but tasting way more bitter than the first one. It's very unpleasant on the tongue, and he almost cough on it. 

Mimicking Simon, he does as he's told and spits in the other bowl before making Simon drink this part of the potion. His hands shake as he does so, feeling his body tensing as he feels like he's perceiving the liquid going through his body. Simon holds his wrist as he lets himself sink down into the water, pressing a reassuring thumb against his pulse point. 

Lying down with only Simon's hands to hold him upright, Wille doesn't even have the time to shiver under the cold feeling surrounding him, his eyelids heavy, his head spinning and- will he be able to remember it is all a dream? 

His eyes open again, revealing his room in the Northern castle. He's alone, but a look in the mirror tells him he's back to being dressed like the proper Svear noble he is: all laced in the back, vest and shirt crisp and stiff against his skin. That doesn't look right. 

He hears some noise coming from the other side of the wall. Reaching for the door handle, he freezes when he hears Henry speak. "Oh, he's a lost cause."

"Do you think so?" Walter answers, while making some more noise Wille can't exactly place. It sounds like he's tidying something. 

"Of course! Isn't that why we've been sent here? To rid the Queen of a useless spare and give her a good reason to burn this place to the ground?" Henry exclaims, and Walter hums in response. "That would be a risky plan. What if Wilhelm manages to go through those idiotic trials, and this whole marriage ploy is a success? You think the Queen would risk that?"

"Walter, he won't manage it. You know as well as I do that he's useless." Wille feels a lump form in his throat. Why is Henry speaking of him like this? "He's not even loyal to his own traditions! Look at how he treats us now that he's listening to Simon! The boy has no spine, and that prince won't have a doormat pose as his spouse!" 

"Mh, maybe he would? Like a trophy husband or something? That's what Wilhelm is supposed to be, anyway." 

"Nah, he will fail those trials, and the Erikssons will reject him, giving our Queen a good reason to attack with the support of both Trons and Finns in the North. He was chosen for this, he's a failure." 

"Maybe you're right." Walter admits, and Wille wants to puke. 

Have his servants always thought so little of him? Did they always gossip like that behind his back, belittling him every chance they got? 

He was starting to think of them in a more friendly manner. They did grow up together after all. But hearing all that makes Wille feel… Pathetic. 

Miserable, even. 

What kind of prince relies on his servants like that? What kind of person is he, to start looking at literal employees as friendly figures? Someone who doesn't have friends, that's the kind. 

He lets go of the door handle. If his servants think so lowly of him, he doesn't know if he can even face them. He should not care about their opinion, but he does. He does, and it hurts. 

Sitting on the bed, he hugs himself a little, his arms coming to his chest. Comfort. He needs it. His mind goes directly to Simon. Maybe he could ask him for some? 

As he's thinking that, he feels a warm pressure on his shoulders, like someone has slung an arm around them. It would be nice to be held, to let out his frustration, his sadness and-

And what if Simon thinks exactly like that? 

What if he, too, is convinced Wille is a spineless failure? That he's pretending to try and get Wille to pass these trials and avoid conflict, but doesn't really care about him? 

What if he's just waiting for the marriage to be celebrated to go back to his usual life, ignore Wille, and leave him to rot in some chambers in the castle? Forced to just sit there, look the part, until someone finds him a purpose? 

Because he's too stupid to find a purpose for himself, right, and-

"Have you seen Wilhelm?"

Simon's voice, coming from the other side of the door. 

Wille wants to hide. He doesn't want anyone to find him in this state, alone, doubting, and so, so cold, and where did that pressure go? 

"I haven't. He's probably reading somewhere." Ayub's voice comes after, and Wille guesses his servants left. 

Simon sighs loudly. "Unsufferable. Svears really are useless, I guess." 

"And rude." Ayub points out. "Any idea of what will happen next?" 

"We're watching the Svear movements. The Queen must expect us to return her princeling soon." Simon walks through the room, his steps loud. "My mother's on her guard, we won't let them fool us."

"Haven't you been fooled already? Sleeping in the same bed as him?" 

Simon laughs. "With a dagger under my pillow, Ayub. If anything, he's stupid enough to trust me. With his little nightmares… No wonder his mother got rid of him, he's a petulant little kid." 

Wille doesn't want to hear him anymore. He feels the tears prickle in his eyes, and he wants Simon to shut up. He covers his ears with his hands, pressing hard to muffle Simon's voice, but he can still hear him, loud and clear: "When the masquerade is over, I'll make sure to make his dreams come true, Ayub!" 

"What do you mean?"

"He's so scared of that big, bad dragon hurting him, so I'll make a joy of feeding him to our own. Maybe we'll make a good spectacle out of it." 

That's too much. 

Too much for Wille to hear. 

He sinks down on the floor, holding his head between his knees, pressing hard on his ears in the hopes of making Simon's voice die down, of making it stop, please, stop. 

He knows he's nothing, he doesn't need a stark reminder of it. He doesn't need reality to slap him in the face with it. But Simon's voice is nagging him, his words twisting in his mind, snaking into the small crevices of his cracked being. 

A door slams, and Wille is shaken from his panic. His body is still tense, he's still curled in a ball, but silence now surrounds him. 

Only the sound of his breathing, and, somewhere distant, a tune. 

Like a strange lullaby. 

A melody he has never heard, but feels so reassuring anyway. 

He needs to find the source of that sound. Maybe it'll help. Maybe it will soothe his sorrow. 

He looks up, and realizes he's now in his old room, back in the Svealands. It's empty, though. Empty of any traces of him. There's his bed, with plain white bedding, his desk, a bookshelf… But it's all empty. Wille didn't leave with everything he owned. But it all disappeared anyway. 

The door opens behind him, Erik coming inside, barely surprised to see him there. 

"Erik? Where are my things?" Wille hears him ask, and he bites his cheek for even asking that: who cares about his stuff, it's his brother here, he needs to go up and hug him. 

But something in the way Erik looks at him makes him take a step back instead. His eyes are not shimmering with glee or mischief. He's not the usual happy-go-lucky big brother Wille's used to. His piercing blue stare is cold, instead.

"Why would we keep those? You weren't supposed to come back." 

His voice is cold, too. Too cold to be Erik's, but it can't be anyone else's. It's Erik, standing in front of him, his arms crossed over his chest, closed-off, almost pissed at Wille for… Being here? 

"What do you mean I wasn't supposed to come back?" 

Erik has the audacity to roll his eyes. "You had a mission, you had to shut up and marry that prince, nothing else, and even that, you managed to fail." 

Wille recoils again, his leg bumping against the desk behind him. "I… I swear I-"

"You what? You couldn't think for one minute, and just make an effort to make that marriage thing work? So we could keep the fucking peace for a little more?" 

"I tried! I swear I did!" 

"Apparently not enough. Be thankful I was able to get your sorry ass back safely, because that barbarian prince was about to get your head." Erik spat, turning around to leave. "Don't move a finger, don't fuck everything up again." 

"Erik, please!" Wille croaked, feeling tears coming again. He couldn't cry, though, not like this, not while arguing with his elder. 

"Please, what, Wille?" Erik whipped around, anger clear on his features. "Please fix the mistakes I've made, again?"

"I don't- I never asked for you to fix my mistakes!" He cries out, and Erik laughs. 

He laughs and runs a hand through his perfect hair. "Wilhelm, are you really that dull? Who do you think has been tidying up your mess since you were little? I endure everything so our mother doesn't fully acknowledge how stupid you are, because I fucking love you, Wilhelm! But you've done a number this time!"

Wille shakes his head vehemently. That can't be happening. Erik can't be turning against him. He can't possibly say those things, he can't think them-

"No, no, you're not saying this, it's not-"

"I swear, you're so fucking hard to love sometimes." 

Wille breaks. 

There's no other way to describe it. To describe how he falls to his knees and hides his head in his arms, forehead pressed against the cold stone floor. He breaks because he's fragile. So fragile words can hurt him like daggers. Daggers sharpened with the sheer terror caused by Erik's words. 

Because if he says all that, he must mean it. He must resent Wille so much. Resent this little brother who brought him nothing but worries and problems. 

His tears are hot, streaming down his face at an alarming rate as the loud sound of his sobs aren't even enough to muffle the words Erik says, repeating that damn sentence over and over and over and Wille head hurts because he's slamming it on the floor again and again and again but the voices won't stop -

Glass shatters. 

It shatters and falls to the ground, its sound cutting through Erik's words, making his voice die down until there's only his own breath. 

Wille doesn't dare to open his eyes. Not yet. 

There's someone touching his back, rubbing calming patterns along his spine. Delicate fingers applying some much-needed pressure. The warm feeling of a body next to him. And a tune. 

Quiet, discreet melody that Wille wants to seek out. 

He opens his eyes, sits down on his heels. He feels arms snake around him, pulling him in a tight embrace. He recognizes the warm, earthy scent of Simon, who's humming the melody. Wille leans into the touch. He doesn't say anything: he doesn't want Simon to stop singing. 

Then, another voice comes along, and Wille feels utterly small. 

"Wilhelm, what are you doing on the floor, again?" 

Kristina's tone is sharp, displeased, and Wille feels like a kid again. He always does when she talks to him. 

She's standing tall, looking him down, and he wants to curl up into himself even more. "That is not how a prince should behave. Stand up, will you?"

Wille does as he's told. Normally, he's taller than she. But for some reason, he has to bend his neck to look at her face now, even standing. She doesn't seem bothered by it, and her eyes dart between him and the broken window behind. "Was it your doing, Wilhelm?"

He gives the window a look. He doesn't remember breaking it. And his mamma said he shouldn't lie, so he shakes his head: no, he didn't do it. 

His head whips to the side when she slaps him, hard. 

"I don't like liars, Wilhelm." She spits, and he clutches his cheek, his lower lip trembling. 

"I wasn't lying, mamma-" His voice comes out, small, high-pitched, like a little boy's. 

"You were alone in here, boy. Don't pit that on a ghost." 

"I wasn't! Erik was-"

Another slap, harder this time, and Wille tries hard to keep a whine in. She won't like that. 

"Don't try to pit this on your brother. He's been nothing but kind to you, even if you don't deserve it. Go pick up your mess, now. Come on!" 

Wille doesn't even argue, even if he wants to, because it's unfair, he didn't lie, he didn't do anything, he's not responsible for that window breaking. But if the Queen wants him to pick up the mess, he needs to do it. He nods and starts to walk to the door. 

But she catches him by the ear. "Where do you think you're going? The window is the other way around."

He flinches at the pain in his ear, but doesn't protest. "I'm going to pick a broom-"

"You have hands, use them."

Wille closes his eyes and nods. There's no need to argue. He turns around and kneels on the floor, starting to pick up the pieces, one by one. The window is large, and the glass panel is too. He will be there all day, and she knows it. 

He picks every little shard, storing them in his little hand. Some leave cuts in his palm, on his fingers. But he doesn't complain. He does it, even if the blood mixes with the tears that drip from his cheeks. It's weirdly soothing, the pain, and Wille knows no one will care, so he starts pushing the sharp edge further into his skin, breaking it to draw more blood. 

Someone takes the shards from his hand. 

"Let me help you, Wille." Simon's voice comes out, calm, soft, and Wille is almost afraid to trust him. 

But Simon starts picking up the pieces, doing quick work of it because he starts with the bigger ones that he sets on the desk, and wipes the tiny ones under the rug. It's shit work, and his mother will be mad at him, so he starts to cry again, but Simon catches him. 

"Shhh, little Wille, come here." He takes him in his arms and lifts him up like he's weighing nothing. 

He sets them both on the bed and wraps Wille in a blanket, holding him against his chest. "Listen to my voice, Wille. Nothing you heard is true. People love you."

Wille lets out a shaky sob, buries his face against Simon. Simon, who's so tall. Who was never supposed to see him so frail, so small, so helpless. 

"Erik loves you, he does. He told you so; he wrote it, too. Felice does too, she crossed a country just to see you. Henry and Walter care for you, they're not only your employees. I-"

Simon hesitates. Wille is still shaking against him, his voice is loud, clear, but the voices of his loved ones telling him how unworthy he is still resonate in his mind. He shakes his head, and that spurs Simon on.

"I love you, Wille." 

Wille looks up, barely seeing Simon clearly with his eyes glazed with tears. "You do?" He croaks out, and Simon nods, pressing his forehead against his. 

"I do. Let me take care of you, because I do." 

And he does. He lets Simon care for him and lets himself be held, his eyes closing over this nightmarish fantasy. 

Chapter Text

"I have a question, though." Wille asks the witch while the convoy is getting ready to leave. 

His hair is almost fully dry now. Draped in the brown coat, the hood now covering his head, he feels a little too hot under the sparse rays of sun that filter through the trees. But he doesn't question the traditions, even if he would've preferred to get changed, instead of suffering through damp clothes. 

He'd awoken from his potion-induced nightmare with sobs wrenching his throat and Simon's hands firmly gripping his hair. Walter had to pry them off him to carry him out of the water. When he realized he was back in the present, surrounded by other people, he'd tried to rein in his cries, to no avail. It felt like someone opened a dam containing all his sorrows and fears. 

It was only when Simon held him tight that he managed to calm down. The princes were then taken behind a brown curtain hung between two trees, giving them a little break and some intimacy after Walter finished taking care of the open wound in his palm. How did he manage to hurt himself in the same way he did in that hallucination was beyond Wille's comprehension, but he didn't question it either, too happy to chug the water he's been given. 

"I think we have to talk about all this." Simon had murmured then, fidgeting with the pastry in his hands. 

Wille just nodded at that. "Later. I just… I need to sleep for a decade or something." 

Simon smiled, and fed him a piece of his pastry. "Me too. Care if I join?" 

So they settled on an afternoon of napping and lazing around, before they were called back out to conclude the trial ceremony. Lutsia had painted their faces again with red paint, and Wille grimaced at the prospect of having to wear that all day, itchiness be damned. 

Still, there was something, a question, lingering at the back of his mind, and he let Simon walk to their horses alone, instead going to talk to Lutsia. 

"Ask away, prince." She bows slightly with her head, and gestures for the little girl assisting her to move away. 

"I… I was wondering… You said this trial was supposed to make us face our deepest fears, but. Why did we face two of Simon's, and only one of mine?" 

Lutsia studies him for a couple of seconds and holds out a hand, silently asking for his own. He obeys immediately, eager for an answer. She turns his palm up, and carefully traces a finger along the lines of his hand. "Why do you think you only faced one?" 

"Wasn't that my fear of inadequacy? I don't see what else…" 

She nods, humming thoughtfully. "I don't know what you both saw. I only got the results. Should you have failed, you wouldn't have been able to get out of the dream by yourselves." She looks up at his face. "Do you allow me to read your mind? Maybe I can see what's happening." 

The prospect of having someone reading his mind is not exactly appealing, but Wille needs his answer. He needs to know why the beast of his nightmares didn't show up. Was he somehow cured of that fear? So he nods.

"Alright. Hold still. Try not to blink too much." She says, and stands on her tiptoes to match his height, pressing her forehead against his, her eyes boring right into his. He's tempted to step back, and she must've felt him flinch, because she explains: "Eyes are windows to the soul, that's the easiest way to read you." 

So Wille doesn't move, tries to stay still and not blink, focusing on Lutsia's pale grey eyes searching his very soul. The world is a blur around him, and he feels some kind of spark running through the contact points between him and the witch. It feels like an eternity, but she eventually steps back, a slight smile on her face. 

"Oh, my boy, you already are doing the work with that one." 

Wille frowns, confused by her answer. "What do you mean?" 

"You wonder why the beast didn't show up… But the trial's goal is to make you both learn to trust one another, to let the other help you with the weakest part of yourself." 

"Isn't this a weak part? The way I'm so afraid of these creatures?" 

Lutsia nods while fixing the brooch holding Wille's cape. "It is. But you already trusted him with that. Didn't you?" 

She raises an eyebrow and turns around, the conversation obviously over. Still confused, Wille looks back at Simon, who's already looking his way, holding his horse's reins. He beckons him over with a tilt of his head, and Wille complies.

And while they ride back to the castle, he's trying to make sense of the witch's words. Why does she think he's already had Simon's help with his fear of dragons? Granted, Simon's lesson on dragons was a great help in rationalizing their behavior, but that didn't lessen the frequency of his nightmares, replaying that dreaded night over and over again. 

It's only when they finally reach their room, when Simon sheds the cape from his shoulders and lets himself fall down on the bed, that Wille understands. 

He asked Simon to sleep with him for that very purpose. To calm his nerves and sleep better. In a way, he's already been vulnerable enough to reach out to him. And Simon didn't hesitate for one second before giving him the support he needed. 

Before falling into Simon's open arms, Wille makes a promise. To himself, and to Simon too, even if he doesn't tell him. He vows that Simon will never have to be afraid of him, ever. 

Simon had been right to point out they needed to talk after the trial. And Wille agreed with that statement, only they underestimated the emotional toll these hallucinations had on them. After their nap, they lazed around for hours in a comfortable silence while the sun gradually lowered in the sky. Apparently, it was normal for them to feel drained, and they weren't called up for supper; instead, food was brought up to their chambers. 

Even with the burning need to address the elephant in the room, Wille found it easy to be around Simon. The other man's eyes didn't lose their spark, glinting with mischief before he'd tried to steal a spoonful of Wille's dessert, making a mess of egg cream on their bedsheet because yes, they'd been lazy enough to actually eat on the bed.

After debating whether they should call up a servant to bring them another set of bedsheets or go on a late evening expedition to the laundry room, they finally decided it was a problem for the next morning, and Simon offered they share his private bed. 

Tempted to refuse, to give Simon some well-deserved space, Wille didn't miss the way Simon actually asked, looking at his hands, fidgeting with the ring Wille had given him. Maybe he was afraid of his own demons visiting him in his sleep tonight. So Wille accepted and got up to change into his nightwear. 

Finally alone in his bedroom, he shed the last of the ceremonial clothes he still had on, and gave himself a once-over in the mirror. 

What stared back at him was a tired version of himself, with dark circles under his eyes, dried paint flaking off his skin, hair sticking in every direction. But there was something unmistakable there: the sight of those red streaks, showcasing his - their - success, made his lips twitch upwards into a smile he rarely wore when he saw his reflection. And, for once, his eyes didn't immediately focus on the fading scars barring his torso. 

As they were forbidden to wash off until the next morning, he simply used the little water basin to card humid fingers through his hair, the freshness on his scalp a welcome feeling. He brushed his teeth with hazel leaves and a dry cloth and put on his night gown, feeling a bit dumb to hide his body in the garment even after Simon had seen him completely naked in the baths. 

And emotionally naked in that pond, too. Wille shivered, thinking back on the dream, where he was in that very room, hearing the atrocities coming from his servants, then from Simon himself. He knew they were his imagination, that Simon wouldn't say that, and that Henry had half a mind to be at least discreet if he wanted to diss his prince.

Of course, the most anxious part of him still believed there was a layer of truth behind these fears. That surely, Henry and Walter made fun of him behind his back, that Simon had complained to Ayub about his behavior, that Erik must've been tired of his fuck-ups, and his mother… That part wasn't really a dream. Kristina had never been a doting mother, but rather a terrifying authority figure.

And that fact, that tiny sliver of truth that was actually the very root of his insecurities, made Wille doubt Simon. For a second, as he stepped through their shared room to go knock on Simon's door, Wille doubted. He doubted, and carefully lifted Simon's pillow. 

Under it, no dagger. No, instead, a tiny pouch, sealed with a tight knot. Curious, Wille picked it up and pressed it to his nose after assessing its weight. It smelled fresh, like some kind of plant. He couldn't exactly tell which one by the smell alone. Maybe if he saw the leaves, he would be able to identify them, but he didn't trust himself to seal it back like it was, so he put the pouch back where it belonged, Simon's pillow on top. 

So Simon wasn't that afraid, after all? Or was it some kind of protective spell?

But then again, even if Simon was attached to traditions, he didn't seem to be the kind of person to trust a spell to protect him. 

Wille didn't ask, not when Simon welcomed him into his room. Not when he looked at the room with curious eyes, impressed with Simon's choice to hide the walls behind heavy curtains to make it cozier, his dressing table a mess of bottles and pots with various concoctions Simon explained were Maddie testing out combinations of plants and oils to make his skin and hair look good. His wardrobe was closed, but he nailed several charcoal drawings on the wooden panels, and his windows were decorated with shiny colored glass suspensions that reflected the pale orange sunset. 

Simon's room was like him: a comforting mess. 

He didn't ask when Simon took his hand and guided him to the bed, and tossed the big fur blanket aside, the temperature high enough for them to sleep with the light sheet only. Not when, for once, Simon hadn't been the one opening his arms for Wille to slip between them. No, instead, he carefully moved closer, with a newfound shyness that prompted Wille to sling an arm around his shoulders and pull him to his chest. Simon didn't even flinch, nestling against the light fabric of his tunic and letting out a small, contented sigh. 

He didn't ask and let the quiet sound of Simon's breath lull him to sleep. 

He didn't ask, but as he was sharing breakfast with Henry in the small dining room, he wished he had. 

Because he didn't see Simon that morning when he awoke, and panicked until Ayub came to inform him that Simon had left for a ride. 

Nothing out of the ordinary, Simon liked to ride, after all. But he usually went alone when he was upset with something, and needed to "clear his head", as he said. 

"Your mind is clouded." 

Henry's voice cuts through the fog of Wilhelm's mind, and he shakes his head to try and stop his thoughts for a bit. "Is it?" He tries to sound nonchalant, sipping on his tea. 

His squire swallows around a mouthful of sugary bread before pointing a finger at him. "You can't really fool me. You haven't spoken a word since you sat down." 

Wilhelm frowns a bit. Since when has Henry become so bold with him? Henry must sense the tension, because he drops the finger, but not his gaze. "What makes you think you can suddenly read me, Henry?" He asks instead, trying to escape the conversation by making him uncomfortable.

But Henry doesn't let him. "I've been able for a while. We grew up together, remember? Me being your subordinate doesn't magically erase my social skills." He tears another piece of bread, dipping it in the remnants of his porridge. 

"And why the sudden invasion of my privacy?" Wilhelm hisses, pushing his teacup away. 

Henry sets down his bowl, a scowl on his face. "Are we seriously reverting back to this?" 

And when Wilhelm doesn't answer right away, Henry lets out a loud sigh. "With all my due respect, Your Highness, it's a bit hard to know how to address you these days! One day you're getting familiar, sharing pleasantries and being, dare I say, friendly, and the other you're back into that weird formality that you only erected between us, and with Walter." 

Wilhelm feels his shoulders sag under Henry's harsh words. It's true he's been testing out the limits of that newfound concept of friendliness with his servants, going as far as to talk to them as if they were equals. But the events of the day before had painfully reminded him that Henry and Walter weren't his friends, just his employees. Not even his, but his family's. 

"I know you're trying hard to fit in this castle and their habits, but you can't expect us to know whether it's a friendly Wilhelm day or an untouchable Prince day." Henry groans, barely audible, and that prompts him to blurt out his question: "Do you hate me, Henry?" 

Henry freezes and looks up at him with an incredulous look. "What? No! Why would I?" 

Wilhelm shifts uncomfortably on his seat, trying to make sense of his thoughts. He shouldn't care about Henry's opinion of him, really. He shouldn't. But he does. Maybe because he cares about Henry? To some extent? That's not something his mother would approve of. 

"I'd understand if you did. I'm your employer, after all, and-"

"And I'm a squire, what a big deal!" Henry shrugs. "Sometimes I feel like you forget that we've been raised in a similar way. I'm not Simon or his friends, I grew up with our codes and our traditions." He scrapes the bottom of his bowl with more bread. "I served your father before you, remember? The man couldn't even remember my name, kept calling me Hendrik! You were kind enough to actually talk to me." 

Wilhelm frowns a bit, not sure where Henry is getting at, but he doesn't interrupt him. "When they trained me to serve at the castle, they told me to never address anyone directly, to use the correct titles at all times, to never look at anyone above me in the eye, and to make myself forgotten." He wipes his hands on a kitchen cloth, and looks up at him. "Do you remember the first time we talked?" 

The first time he talked to Henry? He must've been… Around eight or nine. Wilhelm remembers feeling a bit lonely at the time, because Erik was training a lot and he wasn't allowed to follow. It's around that time that Henry got engaged as a favor to his family for providing money to the army. Wilhelm hadn't really paid attention to the new kid following around the intendant for the first weeks of his training. Until one morning. 

"I was hiding from my preceptor." Wilhelm remembers, and Henry's nod tells him he's got the right memory. "In the bushes, and I saw you carry these… I think it was saddles? Was it?" 

"Buckets, I was carrying buckets of water to fill the horses' trough." 

"Oh, right, and you dropped them!" 

Henry nods again. "Yes, tripped on my shoelace. And you went to help me. I didn't realize who you were until your nanny yelled at me." 

Wilhelm remembers exactly how his nanny came in and grabbed Henry to pull him away from him. As if he were carrying some sort of disease Wilhelm could catch if he breathed the same air. She went as far as to slap him before Wilhelm kicked a bucket to distract her and started running away. That worked, but earned him a good scolding, until his father came in and decided he wouldn't punish his son for being kind, but still reminded him that the servants didn't need his help. If anything, he was belittling them by "helping". 

"That's a stupid concept." Henry says when Wilhelm tells him what happened after he ran. "I won't ever feel insulted if someone gives me a hand, but I guess that works on some… Walter hates it, for example." 

"But why are you mentioning that moment?" Wilhelm still doesn't get where Henry wants to go with this. 

"Because I learned two things that day: speaking to a prince without permission earns you a nasty bruise on the cheek, and what they told me about princes being superior beings was wrong." 

Confused, Wilhelm doesn't answer, so Henry clarifies: "I was never afraid of you, rather of what you could become. You could stay that nice eight-year-old who helped a struggling kid with his task, or you could end up walking on my hand because you didn't pay attention to those below you, like your cousin did. And when I accepted to be your squire, I knew which path you had chosen." 

"But I was the one who-"

Henry smiles. "You chose me, I know. But the final word was mine. Even if my parents would've hated it, I could've chosen to get away from you and just serve virtually any other noble who would've wanted the Consort's old page. Believe me, I had plenty of options! I'm just that good!" He chuckles, stretching his arms over his head. 

"So… You're not secretly despising me." Wilhelm says, as if getting the words out would make him believe it. 

Henry shrugs. "Nah. I don't despise anyone, really. Maybe August, he's always been a dick. But I don't have time for grudges." He takes Wilhelm's empty cup and places it in his empty one to add to the bucket of dirty dishes. "Of course, I had moments where I complained about you, like any other would. Of course, I hated you for making me move countries and having your head so stuck in your own ass you didn't even realize you weren't the only one shaken by the changes in our lives." 

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Wilhelm winces. He actually thought about Henry's, and Walter's, situation, but only after he was done feeling sorry for himself. Like the selfish prince he was taught to be. That fact leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. "I'm sorry for that. I didn't realize… I should've asked to go alone, then…"

"Then what?" Henry raises an eyebrow. "You would've been all alone here, with this castle's servants who expected different manners from you without being explicit about it? Don't get me wrong, you should've been informed of their ways - and also informed me, thank you very much - but once they knew you had no clue how things worked here, they could've given you a little rundown, and saved us the trouble!" He rolls his eyes. "I appreciate you realizing it was a lot to ask of us. But we're fine, now. Walter had to leave that girl anyway; she was a pest!" 

Wilhelm raises an eyebrow. "A girl? What girl?" 

Henry giggles behind his hand and finishes clearing the table, thanking him with a nod when Wilhelm hands him the empty bread basket. "Fredrika, they started to date behind her parents' backs, and she kept him a secret because you know, status and appearances." 

"Fredrika… As in Lady Fredrika?" Wilhelm gasps out loud, and Henry laughs a little more. "Well, yes! She's acting all prim and proper but she grabbed Walter's ass at the ceremony for your mother's birthday!" 

Suddenly hungry for gossip, Wilhelm urges Henry to tell him more. That's how he learns Walter has bedded a lot of noble girls and Henry was a bit upset about it (he thought it was some kind of game the girls were playing), that Henry was sanctionned for getting too cozy with a duke and that Wilhelm's name was almost as popular as Erik's when it came to drinking game like "fuck, marry, kill". 

Henry is in the middle of explaining how Sir Nils has been caught checking Erik out numerous times when Walter calls him out for slacking off. "Oops, better get going before Rosh decides she'll get my head!" 

Wille chuckles a bit. "You should, yes." 

Henry gathers his satchel, but before he leaves, Wille calls out, driven by a sudden need to act on Henry's earlier praise: "Henry? Thank you, for your words. I needed that." 

He turns around and smiles at him. "You're welcome!" Hesitating a bit, he walks back to Wille. "Can I be honest?" 

Wille looks up and gives a nod. "Go on." 

"I think living here is doing you some good. You remind me more of the nice boy from my childhood since you've settled in here. You seem… Happier. More open." He holds out a hand. "So I'll dare ask. Friends?" 

Staring at Henry's open hand between them, Wille feels his breath hitch. Did Henry just ask him to be his friend, for real?

Suddenly, he feels like an eight-year-old again. He feels like the little boy who wanted to wipe the tears off that red-headed kid's face. He feels like the lonely little boy who only wanted friends to play with instead of those stupid lessons. He feels like the boy he wasn't allowed to be, facing another boy whose childhood was, too, ruined by expectations. 

He takes Henry's hand and shakes it with a wobbly smile. "Friends."

Wille was set on engaging that dreaded discussion with Simon as soon as he would be back from his ride, but he's cut short in his attempt by Lutsia's little assistant, who's waiting in front of the stables. She holds out a hand, sporting the serious look of the kid who's been given their first important task. 

"Prince of the South," she starts, obviously wanting him to take her hand. "I've been sent to fetch you. Your next trial will begin." 

Frowning in confusion, Wille looks around, wondering if the kid is playing with him. "My next trial? Already? The last one was yesterday…" 

The girl nods solemnly. "Yes. For the last one, we need to ride for three days, so we must get started now." 

"This far? Is that really necessary?" Wille doesn't like how his voice doesn't sound as firm and assured as he'd like it to, but the girl doesn't seem to notice, or to care. 

She shrugs, losing a bit of that Lutsia-inspired fake demeanor. "The conditions are ideal. Prince Simon has already been informed, and his entourage is on the way." 

There's a pang in his chest at that. So Simon knew and didn't insist on waiting for him? Was he prepared and left Wille out of the loop? He knows, now, how these things affect him. "Is he now?" 

His voice must've sounded quite pathetic, because the girl purses her lips. "Yes. They went to join him in the forest." She takes his hand and guides him to his horse. "Your squire will be back with your valet shortly, with supplies and food for the trip." 

As if on cue, Henry bursts into the stables at this very moment, hunched over with the weight of the bag he's carrying. "For fuck's sake, why didn't we get a warning before? Why the hurry like, they won't fucking disappear if we take a few hours to prepare the trip!" 

Walter, walking behind with a large bag too, hums dismissively. "They told us they wouldn't give one, though. Granted, I didn't expect it to happen this early." 

"They said the princes wouldn't know, not us! Do they not-" 

Wille interrupts him by clearing his throat, and Henry freezes. "Ah! Your Highness!" 

Raising an eyebrow at the honorific, used just after their conversation about friendship, Wille doesn't comment on it, more interested in what Henry just said. "So you're saying it's perfectly normal that I haven't been informed of our departure beforehand?" 

Henry shrugs, giving a sheepish smile as Walter drops his bag with a huff and goes on to explain that it's apparently to make sure the fiancés are as unprepared as possible, as the next trial is supposed to test their endurance. 

Wille still doesn't know what this test is supposed to be. When he tried to picture it, he only had a vague idea of some kind of race, thinking about the basic physical endurance. But with how the last trial was conducted and this weird need for him to be "unprepared", he's starting to doubt his theory. 

"Kolla, can you give me that saddle over there? I'll take care of the prince's horse." Henry says to the girl on Wille's right, who instantly complies. He's about to protest that he can saddle his own horse, thank you very much, but Walter beckons him over to hand him his hunting boots, as his everyday shoes are not good for riding. He slips them on and waves Walter's hand away to tie his own shoelaces. 

The three of them work quickly to have all four horses and their bags ready to go. The girl Wille now knows as Kolla is riding in front on one of Sara's ponies, and she's regained her solemn expression that reminds Wille of the one he himself was sporting on his first official appearances. A kid acting like the grown-up they expect to be. 

During the ride, Wille tries to ask the little girl questions about the trial, but her lips remain sealed. Henry tries another approach, even if he's got more information than Wille, just for the thrill of the game. Unfortunately for him, it's Walter who gets her sole hint at the nature of the trial when he sets out to cut Wille's bread for him. 

"He's not going to make it without his nanny." She says around a mouthful of her own bread. 

Walter looks up in confusion, and Wille feels his cheeks burn under the sheer amount of judgment this simple sentence contains. Having Walter be called his nanny is a new level of humiliation, and he's blaming Svear's codes for that. 

"I'm not his nanny, I'm his valet." Walter protests, and Kolla frowns. "What's the difference?" 

Henry snorts semi-discreetly, and earns a glare from his prince, whom he tries his best to ignore. Wille opens his mouth to answer, but Walter is faster. "A nanny's job is to take care of children, from birth to teenage years. They provide milk, then food, and teach them how to walk, talk, clean themselves, and have proper manners. They put them to bed… I'm not doing any of that for the prince, I'm merely assisting with mundane tasks his rank forbids him to do." 

Kolla seems even more confused by Walter's explanation. "Isn't that what mommies do? The things you said about nannies?" 

Henry and Wille both look at each other with slight concern: both raised in noble, rich families, they both had nannies, up until he was engaged as page for Henry, and up until his fifteenth birthday for Wille. Walter, on the other hand, had no such thing. "Not for nobles and royalty, no." 

"Why? Do noble mommies die? Don't they want to take care of their babies?" 

Again, Henry and Wille are embarrassed by the question. No, they both still have a mother who is very much alive. "Remember what I told you about nobles not being permitted to perform mundane tasks? Taking care of babies is considered one." Walter answers without missing a beat. 

"Why? Why is it forbidden?" Kolla presses on, and Wille suddenly realizes that, in her astonishment, she's also very curious about this other way of living. 

Henry's the one to answer this time: "Because it's believed that the higher your rank in society, the closer you are to purity, the top ones being royalty. They can't lower themselves to simple things like changing a diaper or washing dishes. It'll be an insult to their blood. That's why nannies, valets, and servants exist. They fill these roles so the pure-blooded people keep their hands intact. Here." 

He grabs Walter's hand and shows it to Kolla, alongside his own. "Walter here has chipped nails, calluses, and little cuts from his work. I have some too, but I still have quite soft hands. And the prince," he gestures for Wille to hold out his own hand, and Wille complies. "See? No visible scar, perfect nails, hands that never worked a day." 

Kolla stares at their hands for a bit, and frowns while looking at Wille's, suddenly surging to grab it. Walter audibly gasps at the audacity, but Wille doesn't move, curious as to why the kid did that. "Is something the matter?" He asks softly. 

She points at a line in his palm. "I'm not very good at chiromancy, but there's something weird happening with your heart line and your head line, it's as if they were in conflict, one cuts the other, and that's not supposed to happen. I think." She purses her lips. "I should ask Lutsia about this." 

She drops Wille's hand and sits back on her spot, crossing her legs like she didn't just say something very insane-sounding, and barrels on with another question: "So, does that mean the Queen of the Svealands doesn't wipe her own bottom?" 

It's very hard to stop Henry's laughter after that. 

The rest of the trip to their unknown destination is then filled with Kolla's questions about their kingdom and traditions, with the occasional snarky comments about the stupidest ones. In return, she answers all of Wille's questions about her magic apprenticeship. Walter telling him that magic is not something innate has sparked some interest in how exactly it works. 

Kolla has been learning with Lutsia for three years now, starting on her tenth birthday because tradition forbids them to start sooner. When asked why, Kolla simply answers that kids aren't allowed to access forces they can't control and understand, and that they can start opening their eyes only after their tenth winter. The number seems arbitrary, but then again, Henry argues that he couldn't start his own apprenticeship as a squire before he was fourteen. 

She also tells Wille about he way magic is used for everything. The way she talks about it, it seems like magic is just like basic science for Northerners. Healers channel it in their potions and ointments, performers use it for entertainment, soldiers infuse their weapons with protective spells contained in polishes for their steel… Magic takes an infinity of forms, ranging from simple spells producing sparks to grandiose invocations of thunderstorms only the brightest witches and wizards can perform. 

"Lutsia, for example, could theoretically awaken volcanoes if she channelled enough of her magical force! That could kill her, though. That's the price of magic." 

Because magic comes with a price. Tiny, for the smallest uses. As an example, Kolla explains that Madison's healing ointments are made from dead plants and insects, using this tiny spark of life she stole from them to infuse that force into the wounds she heals. 

Kolla's small course on magic stops when she announces they're nearing the lake. 

"The lake?" 

"Yes, your trial takes place right there. It's maybe the deepest one in the land; anything sinking in there is lost forever!" She muses, and Wille turns pale. 

"You're not suggesting we swim in that, right?" 

She laughs and shakes her head. "Not really! I mean, maybe you will, but we trust you not to be an imbecile. Didn't your nanny teach you how to swim?" 

Wille throws the remnants of the apple he was eating right at Henry's laughing face. 

When they finally approach the lake, they're taken aback by the sheer majesty of their surroundings. The lake is huge, even for Svears like them who lived near the sea. It's surrounded by mountains, its waters ranging from a clear, bright blue on the shore to a deep, dark one in the deepest areas. With a clear sky above them and a luscious forest dressed in its spring clothes, the sight is close to where fairytales take place. 

But he's interrupted in his observation of the scenery by someone calling out to them. A little higher on the shore, a little encampment is being settled, and Wille can't help but smile at the sight of Simon waving them over, his smile bright under the sunlight. 

Wille doesn't hesitate for one second before making his horse gallop right in his direction, stopping a few meters away to dismount properly and welcome Simon in his arms as if it were a normal thing for them to do. And it feels oddly normal, actually, to have his now familiar frame trapped against his chest, making them both shake with the force of his laughter and gracing Wille's ears with the delightful sound of it. 

"Someone's happy to see me!" He chuckles, and Wille can only groan. 

"Don't make me say it." 

Simon's eyes glint with mischief as he looks up at him. "I'll let it go, just this once, because I am too!" 

And oh, Wille suddenly realizes that he hasn't said "I love you" back in his dream, and he wishes he had. Because it burns his tongue, but it's not something he wants to say right there, right now, surrounded by other people watching them. No, it's a private little thing, meant for Simon only. Just like Simon's confession was for him only to hear. 

So he swallows down his words, biting down on his lower lip before tightening his grip on Simon, burying his nose in his curls for a minute before he lets him go and walks over the encampment. 

Ayub and Rosh are busy setting up a large tent, while Madison oversees two guards doing the same. Wille raises an eyebrow at the guards' presence: his own ride happened without additional security, and Simon had explained several times that he didn't need any himself. 

But his question is answered a few minutes later when two other guards show up with more supplies. Apparently, they've been trailing them, making sure they arrive safely. 

And when Henry and Walter start to put up another tent, Wille makes a move to go and help them, but Madison interrupts him with a snap of her fingers. "Prince! Don't touch anything. You and Simon are forbidden to do anything; go sit on the rock instead." She says, pointing at a large, flat boulder advancing a little in the water. 

Simon doesn't even question it and pulls Wille by his hand. They both sit cross-legged on the boulder and Simon doesn't let go of his hand, keeping it in both his. "How was the ride there?" He asks casually, watching as the others work like ants. 

"Uneventful. I learned a lot, though. Kolla did too." He points at the girl unpacking a large bag full of various supplies with his chin. 

"Did you? About what?" Simon's smile widens, and Wille knows he's pleased that Wille would actually listen to a small girl he wouldn't have even looked at a couple of months ago. 

"Magic. It's fascinating how you guys live with it. Back in the Svealands, it's a thing that's reserved for artificers only, and we tend to believe it's innate for some and that most humans can't even feel it. It's highly discouraged to try and study it unless you really want an apprenticeship as an artificer." 

Simon frowns in confusion. "But what's the difference between a wizard and an artificer? Don't they both use their knowledge of magic?" 

"From what I understood with Kolla's explanations, a wizard will use magic in any form. An artificer only tames with objects. They can make armor more efficient or forge swords that can burn your enemy. It's mostly used for either everyday life, like they make very efficient plumbing systems, or for war. You wouldn't see an artificer read your hand lines." 

"I see…" Simon hums and lets his head rest against Wille's shoulder. "So it's more practical then? You don't have bards that make their harps sparkle or singers that use their voices to charm animals." 

Wille chuckles. "No, we don't! But I'd love to see a sparkling harp. And…" Unconsciously, he raises his free hand to his mouth and starts picking at his nail as his thoughts trail away. What if an artificer were to actually open their mind to this kind of magic? Would they be able to do wonders with that kind of knowledge? 

"And?" Simon nudges him, and when he looks up, his gaze lands on Wille's hand. He reaches for it, making him flinch immediately and drop his hand to his side. Simon looks at him for a beat, but decides not to ask. "What are you thinking about?" 

Wille shifts a bit, suddenly hyper aware of Simon's attention on him. He feels his cheeks warm, and he knows that's not because of the sun. "Oh, ehm… I was wondering what… What one could do if they tried to sort of… Combine the two? Like an artificer learning more about magic, what kind of magical wonders would they be able to produce? Maybe some powerful artefacts that could help people or create beautiful things?" He muses, his hand going to the pendant resting on his chest, under his shirt. "There's some very precious ones out there, rare items that truly are miraculous, and I wonder if it was the making of someone like that?" 

Simon studies him, his smile fading a bit until he follows Wille's movement to his neck. Raising an eyebrow, he asks tentatively: "Wouldn't that be a risk, too? People with too much power tend to use it for bad things." 

Sighing, Wille lets his shoulders drop. "That's why it feels wrong to wonder about this. I can't imagine my mother allowing someone to do that if she couldn't use it in battle. But imagine the possibilities…" He tries to lighten the mood, nudging Simon. "If someone were to craft something that could make you fly, would you pass on the opportunity?" 

Simon snorts loudly, remembering their silly conversation about them flying to the other side of the mountain instead of going around it. "Yeah, I guess I would sign up to try that!" 

They're interrupted by Madison walking up to them. "Alright, princes! We're ready here, so now I'll explain how the next days will go for you, and what the trial is about. You can ask all the questions you want, but after I'm done!" 

Both Wille and Simon nod, and Madison points at the island in the middle of the lake. "In a few minutes, we're going to get you both on that island. You're going to stay there for an undisclosed amount of time, without any supplies. The goal of this trial is to gauge whether you're able to work together to survive. There are natural resources there, we checked beforehand, so don't worry, we're not setting you up to starve."

Wille feels his stomach clench. He's clearly not suited for this. He spent the last three days explaining to a little girl why he wasn't even allowed to tie his own shoelaces, and now they want him to survive in the wild?

He doesn't want to rely on Simon either. Helping each other implies they both are doing something, and Wille suddenly feels very inadequate. He will be weighing Simon down. 

"But-" 

"I'm not done, Prince." Madison frowns. "You will be each allowed to have one item. It can be something you think will be useful, or a trinket of good luck. Other than that, you'll only be provided with your pants and shirt. No belts, no shoes, no jewelry, nothing." 

Instinctively, Wille's hand reaches for his pendant, while Simon's clenches around the golden bangle on his wrist. Madison continues: "Unless you want to keep one of those items, of course. The trial will end when we come to fetch you, Lutsia has pre-determined the moment already. There's nothing that will make us stop the trial earlier than necessary, so even if there's a storm, a blizzard, or a heatwave, you'll need to endure it. You will, however, be provided with a single flare that you can light up easily with the small detonator at the end of it. This flare, you'll need it if you're in dire need of help, if the situation is too critical for you to continue. Do you understand?"

This is a lot of information for Wille to take in, and he feels defeated already, picturing himself as very useless and disappointing Simon in the process. Because, somehow, the prospect of disappointing Simon seems actually worse than starvation. 

Simon is the first to process all this: "Will it be like admitting defeat? To use the flare? What kind of situations call for it?" 

Madison shakes her head. "Not automatically. When we mean dire situation, we think about an injury you can't treat, a wild animal you can't tame, or one of you losing their mind. Last time I helped with such a trial, the future bride used the flare because her fiancé got bitten by a rodent who gave him rabies. We healed him, and they passed the trial anyway. You can't control nature, only the way you interact with it!" 

That is some kind of danger Wille wasn't thinking about, and his stress increases significantly. His breath comes in short puffs, and he closes his eyes to try and rein in the impending panic. Simon squeezes his hand lightly, likely feeling the tension radiating off him. 

"Wilhelm, any questions?" Madison asks as she, too, notices his silence. He shakes his head. It's all very clear: he's so failing that test. 

"Good. Now choose your item, please." 

For a beat, Wille is tempted to keep his pendant. But the medallion is only useful if he's lost, and he keeps it more out of habit. Henry knows where he'll be, and he won't be alone. So he doesn't pick it, and goes for a bow, as he knows already how to make arrows, and his hunting skills are the sole ones he can rely on.  Simon picks a pocket knife. 

He then drops his ring and bangle into the box reserved for their belongings, and unties his belt and shoes. He's allowed to keep his earring as he doesn't know how to open it. Wille doesn't miss the way Simon takes longer to take the ring off. He, himself, stares at his before dropping it in the box. He's more reluctant to drop his pendant in the box, though, and asks if he can give it to Henry instead. Madison doesn't have any problem with that, so Wille hands it to Henry before shedding his boots and belt as well as his birth necklace. 

Then, they're taken to a small boat, with two guards rowing them there. They don't exchange a word during the short trip to the island, both lost in their own heads. 

Once they've reached the island, they're given a last opportunity to eat some fruits before the guards have to go back to the other side of the lake, leaving them alone to fend for themselves for who knows how long. Wille is already making a mental list of what their priorities should be, and he hopes he's not that far from what Simon would consider a priority, too. 

Simon doesn't utter a word until the boat is slowly getting away from them. But suddenly, he huffs and lets himself drop on the sand. "I can't believe it!" 

Wille doesn't really know what to do with himself. He hovers a little next to Simon, fidgeting with his hands. He's about to open his mouth when Simon starts laughing. Hiding his face under his arm, he's really laughing, his whole body shaking with the force of it. 

"What's so funny?" 

"Don't you find it funny?" Simon peeks at him, smiling widely. "They made a whole mystery of that very serious final trial, but it's just a pre-honeymoon!" 

Wille frowns, and finally sits down next to him. "A pre-honeymoon? How? We're supposed to survive and-"

Simon abruptly sits up to stare at him, wide-eyed. "Oh shit, do you really think we're in danger?" 

Feeling his cheeks warm under what he feels is another humiliation coming, Wille starts picking at his nails. "Aren't we? I don't know about you, but my survival skills are close to zero, and we don't know how long they'll leave us here… What if we don't find any food? What if there's a storm or predators on this island?" 

Simon gives him a long look before reaching for Wille's hand. "Wille… They wouldn't have put us on an island where predators live. I know they're keen on keeping traditions alive, but they wouldn't risk our lives. Especially since your death would start a war." He squeezes his hand a little, tracing patterns with his thumb on the back of it. "And I can keep us safe from anything, promise." 

Almost wounded by the way Simon talks like he's handling a little kid that's scared of the dark, Wille answers a bit dryly. "I can fend for myself, thank you." 

With an eyeroll, Simon pulls him to his chest and messes with his hair. "I know you can, you big baby! But I promise we're more than fine. Even if we don't find food for days, a little hunger won't kill us. Plus, I'm sure you can find us some nice non-toxic plants we can eat! And we'll hunt a bit, you have a bow, we can craft arrows!" 

He lets him go and gives him a warm smile. "And if we don't, I'm pretty sure we can survive a little on just love and clear water." He says, with all the confidence in the world, and it's the second time Simon talks about love… 

Wille doesn't know what possesses him to do that, but he surges forward and presses his lips to Simon's. The other lets out a surprised gasp, but doesn't pull away, instead he starts giggling against his lips, wrapping his arms around Wille's shoulders. 

Realizing what he just did should've made Wille recoil, shocked by his own recklessness. But Simon's laugh and warmth just make him melt, joining in with his own chuckles, breathing in his fiancés' joy like he was drowning before and just emerged onto dry land. 

It's only when Simon kisses his nose lightly and stares into his eyes that the reality of it settles in: he just kissed Simon, for the first time. He just kissed Simon, and it was his doing, his decision, on a whim, yes, but his. He just kissed Simon, and no one told him to do it; he didn't do it because it was the proper thing to do, no, it just felt right. 

"I take it you're reassured?" Simon asks, and Wille nods a bit. "I'm not sure about the 'living off clear water' part, especially with how grumpy you get when you don't have breakfast, but we'll make it work."

Offended by the breakfast dig, Simon starts some kind of tickling battle that leaves them both breathless and sweating under the afternoon's scorching sun. 

Looking at Simon lying on the sand, his eyes sparkling with joy and his lips stretched in a lazy smile, Wille feels his stress and anxiety slowly melt away. There's something with him, with the way he expresses his happiness, that makes Wille's heart soar like it never has before. 

Wille has had his fair share of silly crushes he had brushed away as pointless and not worth pursuing. Felice had tried to push him to do something about those, ask the person out, or simply talk about it with her. But Wille always preferred to ignore the little bird singing in his chest, knowing full well he wouldn't be able to experience a fairytale worthy romance. It wasn't his purpose in life. He was brought into this world to serve his kingdom first, and any unfortunate romance was doomed if he was always set to marry for profit. 

But, this time, he can. He can let his heart sing all the love songs. Because, by a fortunate twist of fate, he happens to be falling for the man he's been shipped off to. He happens to be promised to someone good, someone who's slowly opening new perspectives. Someone who wants to make him learn impossible things, like magic, flying, and loving? 

He outstretches his arm and lets the tips of his fingers brush against Simon's cheek, momentarily disturbing the perfect image of him with his own person. Only momentarily, because the fond look Simon throws him makes him understand that he, too, now fits in that image. 

Simon's lips hover over his index finger, press a little kiss on it, and he turns around to face him properly. "So, want to go and explore the forest a bit? Maybe we can find something interesting to do. Unless you just want to lie down and stare at me like a fish out of water?" He smirks, and Wille only now realizes he's had his mouth open in awe all this time. 

Cheeks warm from embarrassment, he shakes his head, trying to fire back at Simon so he's not alone in that predicament: "It's your fault for looking like that!" 

"Like that? And what does that mean, Svear?" Simon giggles, pushing him a little with his foot. 

"Like some sort of magical creature whose beauty they talk about in the poems." Wille whispers, meaning that as a compliment, because Simon does remind him of a naiad, a siren, even. Dangerously beautiful.

But the comment makes Simon lose his smile, frowning slightly before he sits up. "What kind of creature?" He asks warily, and Wille mentally slaps himself for not being precise enough. Maybe Simon took it the wrong way. 

He sits up as well and moves to stay behind him, staring at the planes of his back. He wants to trace the line of his spine, but doesn't know if he's allowed to touch. So his hand follows it, centimeters away from Simon's skin. "There was that one, in one of the books I've read. I don't remember all of the story, but she was some kind of nymph, devastatingly beautiful. Like other nymphs, she was supposed to use that beauty of hers to lure humans into the river, drowning them as a cruel pastime. But after doing it several times, she found it deeply disturbing that her existence as part of the forest was to take life, instead of facilitating it. So she went against her own nature, against other nymphs' advice, and started guiding humans instead. Leading their way out of the forest, so much that humans started relying on the river, walking in it to find their way home. They would give her offerings, things they knew she liked. Shiny objects, pretty flowers… But soon, the very nature of humans took over. They gave her things, right? They started being demanding, asking for more fish, more water for their crops, and for everyday life. She gave so much that they started feeling entitled to it. So the nymph took everything back, and… I don't really remember how it ends…" 

"She took the lives of the fools who tried to mock her again. Put a price on her generosity, and set some fear back into the humans' hearts so they knew better than to take advantage of what nature was generous enough to give." Simon recites, completing the story. 

He turns around to face him. "Is that how you see me? A creature that uses its beauty to hurt reckless people?" There is some hurt in his tone, that Wille wants to soothe away immediately. 

"I don't think you understood the point of that story." He reaches up to cup Simon's cheek. "Her beauty was a weapon, yes, but her heart was too good for this world. And, afraid of being taken advantage of, she put up these walls." He traces the lines of Simon's cheekbone with his thumb. "Magnificent little thing, she was, but she could defend herself. I still have a scar on my cheek to prove it." He dares to look at Simon's eyes. "You're still scared to trust me, right?" 

Simon's eyes are warm, glistening with something Wille can't place. "I want to trust you. I don't feel any malice in you. But there are still parts of me I am yet to lay out for you." His hand goes up to cover Wille's, which is still on his cheek. "I thought you were undermining me with that creature comment. Saying I was below, somehow." He admits in a whisper, before the ghost of a smile appears on his lips. "But you're just an idiot who doesn't know how to compliment someone!" 

"Am I?" Wille chuckles. "No, I am very serious when I talk about magical creatures. However, I don't think those are below humans, below me. If anything, I am a mere mortal." He presses his forehead to Simon's. "But you're right that I could've worded it better. I just wanted to compliment your beauty. You're truly the most magnificent person I've seen, and I've seen a lot of princes and princesses, all supposed to be the fairest ones humanity has to offer. But I also didn't want to reduce you to just being pretty, because you're cruel like that, you can't just have one quality, right?" 

Simon's honestly laughing now, a single tear falling from his eye. "You're sappy. And I doubt I'm that pretty! Have you heard of that prince from the South? They say he's quite the sight…" 

"Is he now?" 

"Yeah, they're all singing praises of Prince Erik's allure." 

Wille's laugh joins Simon's, and they don't stop until they've fake-complimented all the royals they can think about, boasting about some prince or duchess like the two idiots they're acting like. 

Thirst and hunger are starting to bother them after a while, and after quenching their thirst with some water from the lake, they set up to explore the forest, maybe find some plants to hold up until they've crafted some arrows for Wille to hunt with. 

The forest is a familiar environment, and Wille recognizes plants and berries along their way pretty easily. Simon follows his instructions and picks some, storing them in his large pockets that soon take a purple-reddish color. 

"Can I ask you a question?" Simon says while Wille studies a dark type of berry, trying to determine if it's a blackberry or another type they shouldn't touch. And since he's not sure, he drops it. "Go ahead." 

"What's with your medallion? You didn't want to give it to Madison. And I've seen you play with it sometimes. Is that a charm or something?" 

Wille smiles, remembering exactly when Simon saw him play with it, one of those times he used it to mess with Simon's game. "Not exactly. It's an artefact." He straightens up to look at Simon. "Or well, part of one. It's a two-piece set."

"Does it do something special, then?" 

Wille nods. "It's like… A locating tool? The other part is a compass. When you activate the pendant, the compass awakens and starts pointing in the direction of the pendant. Wherever you are, the one holding the compass can find you." 

Simon frowns a bit. "And who's got the other part then… Wait! Is it Henry?!"

Noticing the moment Simon realizes it, Wille chuckles, his smile wide. "Yes! He always has it on him, a security measure. It was a gift from my brother. Only us three know about it, because it's precious and we wouldn't want someone to rob either part of it to harm one of us. Or well, now you know, too." 

"That's actually clever… And it explains how Henry found us and that deer faster than Rosh did. You sneaky Svears…" He nudges him with his elbow, making Wille laugh a bit. "Hey, you never said anything against using artefacts in the rules!" He argues, earning an eyeroll in response. 

"Guess I didn't expect you to have some device in case you got lost! Almost sounds like a puppy with his little collar." 

Wille shrugs. "Maybe! But it's a bit of a lifeline. Helps with when I feel lost. I know I'm never alone." 

Giving him a long look, Simon starts walking ahead. "You're confusing, sometimes." 

"Am I?" He asks, following in his footsteps. 

"Not only you, Henry, Walter. I don't really understand your relationships. Are they simply your employees? Why would you trust an employee with such an artefact, too?" 

Wille hums, thinking back on the conversation he's had with Henry on this matter just a few days ago. "We actually cleared that up." 

Simon doesn't answer, instead encouraging him to speak with a quick smile before he kneels to pick up some blueberries. So Wille continues: "On paper, Henry is my squire. I guess Rosh would fill a similar position for you? I don't know. Anyway, Henry's position is a little special, because squires usually assist experienced knights to complete their training and become one themselves. But princes need squires, too. It's actually a great 'honor' to be a prince's squire. Because then he benefits from the same training as I do. And he gets to have his own gear and horse, instead of hand-me-downs. Usually, royal squires are chosen by the royal instructor, but I specifically asked for Henry." 

That makes Simon raise a curious eyebrow. "Why him?" 

"Because I knew him already." Wille shrugs, and takes the berries Simon hands him to fill his own pockets. "He was my father's page. I saw him every day, and he was nice - not the boot-licking kind of nice. He gave me cold cloths when I got a scolding, warned Erik when I was in trouble, and made silly faces behind my parents' backs to make us laugh. He was the most normal person around. So I wanted him by my side." 

He feels his cheeks warm under Simon's amused smile. "That's actually an adorable reason." He chuckles. "Remember when you explained to Ficke that Henry 'earned his position'? I was expecting you to say Henry was a skilled warrior or something!" 

Sheepish, Wille pushes his hair away from his face. "Well, that's what I told my instructor, my father… Anyone really. But no, the real reason is that I didn't want a doll following me everywhere. I wanted a real human being." 

"And Walter? Did you choose him too?" 

Wille shakes his head. "No, he earned his position by being a perfect little boot-licker to the head intendant. And everyone, really. Walter's a master at accommodating people. He noticed my nerves were an issue pretty early on, and that I was on edge when people would come and go in my room, so he eased me with that knock he and Henry use. So I could calm down and have the illusion of privacy. So, of course, when the intendant asked who I preferred, I vouched for Walter. Which is a way better position than any other he could have, if we don't take this 'moving to the Norrlands' part." 

Simon whistles at that. "Wow, so Walter basically manipulated you into recruiting him?" 

Chuckling, Wille nods. "He did!" 

Curious about the dynamics in the Svear castle, Simon has many more questions, to which Wille is happy to answer. He asks some in return, wondering how Simon grew up, exactly, since Northerners didn't rely that much on nurses, them being mostly there to assist the mother, rather than replacing her. 

They talk, joke, laugh, and end up sitting under a mossy tree to feast on the berries they found. The weather is simply perfect, sunshine peeking out from the treetops, a gentle breeze moving the leaves. Simon tells him anecdotes about his childhood while he sharpens some branches to make arrows. Wille busies himself with braiding Simon's hair, forming a tiny braid crown around his head that he decorates with little flowers, saying he does look the part of the forest spirit now. 

Night falls on them pretty soon, and they set camp on the beach, as they're not sure the forest is safe to be asleep in. From there, they see the stars clearly, and that sends them into yet another discussion about traditions, magic, tales… Wille doesn't notice exactly when Simon falls asleep, resting his head against Wille's thigh, as he tells him about the brightest star in the sky being supposedly home to a goddess.

The following day is a hunting day. But they're not lucky. Not at all. They walk through the forest all day and never, ever stumble across any prey. They settle on some more berries, but they've picked a good amount the day before already. Simon suggests they don't eat all of them in one sitting, and Wille agrees. He looks tense, and Wille is almost afraid to ask why, but he has to. 

"Are you okay? You should eat a little more if you feel bad." 

Simon groans, shaking his head. "No, I'm fine. I'm just…" He sniffs one, two, three times. "Thinking. I'm thinking." 

"Care to share a bit?" Wille prods, popping his last blueberry in his mouth. 

Silence settles a little between them while Simon ponders his words. But, ultimately, he sighs. "I was thinking about the other trial. I feel like I owe you an explanation." 

"For your fears?" 

"Yeah." He crosses his arms on his chest. "It feels a bit silly, but I had a hard time trusting you, not because you were... you. But because of where you come from. And I feel bad, because I gave you a hard time when you came here with all your preconceived ideas on us… And I did exactly that. I misjudged you, because of where you come from. Because Svears are supposed to be cruel, calculating, prone to scheme against their opponents…" He sighs. "At first, I was scolding myself for thinking that way, but then…"

"Then I proved you right by not bothering to ask who exactly I was supposed to marry, I was rude to your friends, and acted entitled." 

Simon chuckles. "Yeah, that. But you were willing to learn, and I didn't take into account that, maybe, you had this vision, too. That maybe you were afraid, too. I had a position of power over you, since it's you, who came into my home, not the other way around. You could barely rely on anyone… Guess I wanted you to be a picture-perfect fairytale prince, charming and nice and all that. But…"

"What, I'm not charming?" Wille exclaims in mock offense, earning a swift kick to his shin. 

"You are! But not in the fairytale way. In a devastatingly human way. And… I think I prefer that. I prefer having a flawed fiancé who tries to better himself. And you're doing a great job at it." 

Simon's smile is warm, a bit shy, and Wille wants to kiss it. He doesn't know if it's a great time to do so, so instead he asks: "And… Are you still…" 

"Afraid of you?" 

Wille nods, a lump forming in his throat at the admission. Because what if the answer is yes? 

But Simon shakes his head. "No. I mean, am I afraid of your family? A little, still. Am I afraid something will ruin what we're building? Sure. But I'm convinced that, if something goes wrong, it won't be your fault." The last sentence is spoken in a low voice, almost shyly, daring Wille to please, confirm his thoughts. He's vulnerable, and Wille takes his hands. 

"It's the last thing I want. To ruin this." He doesn't dare to look at Simon, the words heavy on his heart. "It's the best thing I have." 

Feeling Simon flinch, ready to say something, Wille barrels on, afraid he won't have the courage to do so: "I was afraid too. I mean, you saw it. I don't… I don't want to disappoint people. You, my friends, my family. I also want to do the right thing. I, too, had a hard time trusting you. But not for the same reasons. I was afraid you'd discard me, marry me to seal the deal, and let me rot somewhere, away from all the people I love. I was afraid you'd be cruel. But you aren't. Far from that." 

It's Simon's turn to take Wille's hands in his, securing his grip over him. He pulls him forward, but Wille resists, because he has a confession to make: "I doubted, for a minute." 

Simon freezes. "What do you mean?" 

Wille takes a deep breath, and looks up at Simon. "I looked under your pillow. I was afraid. Afraid my hallucination was based on some truth." 

Surprisingly, Simon doesn't let go of his hands just yet; instead, he asks: "Why would you think that?"

The truth hurts, it hurts his throat, makes his eyes too watery, and his voice trembles. "Because some of it was true. Wh-what you saw, with my mother… It's all true." And when Simon doesn't immediately answer, Wille continues, like he opened a box he's not able to close just yet. "She's always treated me like this. Like.. Like I'm a disturbance. She'd choose the most humiliating punishment whenever she was around to actually acknowledge my existence. The last words she told me before I left were that she hoped I wouldn't be a disappointment again. And she didn't even show up to say goodbye-"

He can't finish his sentence, not because of the tears he felt building behind his eyes, but because Simon forcefully pulls him into a fierce hug, holding him tightly against his chest. "You're not. Wille, you're not a disappointment." 

He can't speak anymore, his eyes pressed shut to keep the tears at bay. He can't speak because he knows he won't be able to contain the sob that threatens to escape him. He can't speak because Simon does it for him: "She's wrong. And Wille, I trust you. This is not fake; this is all true. I only keep junipers under my pillow, not a dagger." 

"Junipers?" Wille croaks out, surprise momentarily taking over. Simon snorts. "Yes, junipers. Thought you'd recognize those. They're known to repel bad dreams. Makes one sleep soundly."

Wille pulls away, looking at Simon with wide eyes. "Do you always…"

Simon shakes his head. "I don't get bad dreams, not that often. I made it for you." 

"You made it?" It's almost comical how Wille's voice gets in the higher notes as he asks. 

"Of course, silly! Why would I tell anyone to make it? You trusted me with your nightmares, I was not about to tell someone else about them when I could make the charm myse-"

Simon is not able to finish his sentence, his lips claimed by a very happy, very much crying Wille. 

Simon had been wrong. They couldn't live off love and clear water. 

After those berries, they haven't been able to find anything to eat. They searched, over and over, for any living creature they could catch, but ended up finding nothing. No rabbits, no squirrels, not even a bird's nest to steal eggs from. They tried fishing, paddling through the water with sharpened branches in the hopes of spearing one or two fish. But no fish. And then, Wille had realized they didn't even see any insects. No ants, no mosquitoes, bees, butterflies… Nothing. 

That was when Simon decided to search the forest again, alone. Wille stayed on the beach, staring at the clear water, devoid of any fish. Simon returns hours later, covered in dirt from head to toe, as if he had been crawling instead of walking. When asked about it, he simply shrugs and says he stumbled on a root and fell down. 

There's a dark look in his eyes, clouds that Wille knows are worries. So Wille takes care of him that night, helps him clean himself up, runs his hands through his wet curls to untangle them, and rubs the dirt off his back. He's tense, under his hands, so Wille applies some pressure here and there, making the muscles roll under his hands, carefully trying to soothe him. Doing so, he absentmindedly hums a tune. 

That makes Simon startle. 

"What are you singing?" 

Wille shrugs; he doesn't really know. That tune has been stuck in his head for days. "I don't know. It's been in my head. I like it, though, it's quite comforting." 

Nodding silently, Simon doesn't press for more. He closes his eyes, and Wille takes it as an invitation to continue. The tune isn't that long, though, and he soon does the loop several times. Until Simon joins in and adds notes. "Is this something you know?" 

"It's something I made." Simon smiles, letting his head fall back against Wille's chest. "I was working on that melody. I sang it to you, didn't know you heard it." 

And then, Wille remembers exactly where he heard this. During the hallucination. There was a song, something that kept tugging at him. Made him look away from the pain and the doubt. Like a beacon in the dark. Of course, it had been Simon. That only made sense. 

"It's beautiful." He murmurs against his curls, his arms winding around Simon. 

He lets his eyes fall closed, as Simon continues his melody. He lets the music wash over him, momentarily forgetting about the deep hunger in his stomach in favor of surrounding himself with Simon. Simon and his angelic voice, Simon and his tender caresses on his forearms, Simon and his grounding warmth against him. 

"Heart laced with mine… Starving for your lips on mine…" He hums in rhythm with Simon's melody, and Simon stops for a beat before humming louder, nodding slowly against him to encourage him to continue. 

Words fall free, then. They tumble from Wille's lips, like they usually would drop on a page. "And this silent storm inside me, you tamed it and gave it a home." 

There's a certainty in his words, something that comes from deep within. He's no lyricist, but the way his voice mingles with Simon's melody is beautiful, like a magic spell they're building together. "I'd take an arrow through the heart, if they try to tear us apart..." 

It also feels like magic, the deep connection they're sharing in this moment, holding each other. It's like some kind of current going through them, filling his scared heart with an ocean of emotions he's not sure he can contain. His grip loosens as he doubts himself, doubts his feelings are appropriate, or welcomed. But Simon takes over the song. 

"Don't you let me go, I think I couldn't take that blow." 

He looks up at Wille, his eyes shining under the moonlight and the hundreds, thousands of stars above them. He's looking up at him in earnest, open and vulnerable, like Wille has never seen him before, not in their reality. He's looking up at him, waiting for Wille to reach out to him, too. He opened the door, and Wille feels foolish for doubting, even for a second, that the tempest inside him wouldn't be exactly what Simon wants from him. 

"You meant it." He says. Not a question. 

He doesn't need to say more. Simon understands what he's talking about. He closes his eyes for a breath, before opening them again, nodding. He meant it, those three words that shook Wille's core, even among the tears, the fear, and the doubt. 

"I love you." 

And he means it, too. 

He means it in the way he kisses him, in the way he holds him tight. He means it in the way he's lying down on the sand with him, in the way he presses their bodies together. He means it in the way he touches his skin with a reverence that's more suited for handling porcelain, in the way he responds to Simon's own touches, caresses, kisses. He means it in the way he whispers his name in the darkness, with the moon and the stars as their only witnesses. 

Their bubble of happiness bursts the next day, as rain pours over them. If they weren't lucky in finding prey in the past days, that rain won't help. It seems to unsettle Simon way more than Wille, who's still riding on the high from the night before. He still feels the goosebumps Simon's fingers left in their wake, smiling to himself as he stares at the troubled lake water. 

"We need food." Simon says for the fifth time that day. 

Their conversations have been sparse. Both are tired, awoken by the sudden downpour, with empty stomachs. Wille went to look for more berries, and came back empty-handed. Somehow, they'd managed to pick every single one. Some weren't ripe yet, but they couldn't eat that without anything else.

"I know." He sighs, letting his chin rest on his knees. "We could go look again? Maybe there are snails or worms that like the rain?" 

"No, there aren't." Simon's answer is short, assured. And Wille barely frowns, his brain clouded by fatigue. 

"What do you mean? We didn't look." 

"Can't smell any." 

Wille chuckles, and lets himself fall against Simon's side. "Here it is again. Pretending you can smell animals." 

"I can, though." Simon mumbles. "I'm worried, Wille." 

"Because you can't smell anything?" 

"Exactly." He sighs loudly, and wraps his arm around Wille. "I could try to go and find something in the lake." 

"Swim? Not in that weather." 

"I'll be fine." 

"I'm not letting you do that." 

Their argument is not heated. One, because Wille isn't angry, and two, because he doesn't let Simon get to that point. Simon's frustration is palpable, but he's more interested in making sure Wille drinks, because Wille doesn't think about it if Simon doesn't remind him. 

The rain doesn't stop. 

Days blur. 

They don't find any food. 

Wille doesn't look for any. Simon insists he should try his luck in the lake. 

Wille says no. 

Wille doesn't know how Simon still has the energy to argue, to stand, to take Wille to the shore so he can drink some water. 

Wille doesn't know much of anything. He smiles when he feels Simon's warmth. He doesn't care much for the rain soaking them, for the cold seeping through his bones. 

Simon tries to use the flare. But the thing is wet, unusable. He throws it in the lake with a whine. 

Wille knows Simon is holding his hand. And that fact is important. It's really fucking important. The world is spinning, and Simon holds him. 

Wille doesn't even know at which point Simon stopped giving him water. He doesn't know why his mouth tastes like iron. 

He giggles at the sudden bright light illuminating the sky. Did Simon fetch the flare from the lake?

He closes his eyes, knowing full well it is impossible. 

"Wake up! Wilhelm? Come on, how long has he been unconscious?!" 

A voice is cutting through the silence. Or well, the sort of silence. Wille's not sure if it was really silent before. Or just muffled sounds he couldn't quite catch. As if he got his head under water. 

He barely recognizes that voice. He doesn't hear the answer. 

There's no rain anymore. Or rather, he doesn't feel it anymore. He can hear it. 

"Wilhelm, do you hear me? Wille?" 

"I'm sorry…" 

That tiny, croaked voice. 

Simon. 

Wille shifts; he wants to hear it again. 

"There he is! Wille, come on!" 

Henry. 

So it's over? 

His eyes snap open. 

The first thing he sees is the brown fabric of a tent. Then, Henry's face, hovering above him, eyebrows furrowed in worry. 

"Wille?" 

He hums, feeling his throat as dry as sand. Someone pushes a cup into Henry's hand, and he sets to make Wille take a few sips. He doesn't let him drink the whole thing in one sitting. "Slowly. You're dehydrated. Ironically." 

The weather joke is kind of lost on Wille. The only thing that matters now that he's gotten some water is Simon. Where is Simon? He heard him; he shouldn't be far. 

The answer comes in the form of a hand slipping through his hair. "Shh, you're okay." 

Wille didn't even realize he's been calling out to him. His eyes search Simon's, finding a sad yet relieved look in them. "Simon?" 

There's a tired smile on his lips. "It's over, Wille. We did it." 

"The light… Did we…"

Simon shakes his head. "We did it." 

Chapter Text

The red paint itches his skin again, but he's relieved it's there. 

The banquet to celebrate their success with the last trial is a more intimate affair. They're only a handful: the Erikssons, Wilhelm, Ayub, Rosh, and Henry. Walter had been invited to sit with them too but was so intimidated that he was excused by Wilhelm. Madison and Lutsia only showed up to paint Wilhelm and Simon's skin before the food was served, and they all shared a glass of some bubbly alcohol that tingled deliciously on Wilhelm's tongue. 

He isn't allowed to have more than half a glass, though, as he's still recovering from the dehydration that made him pass out. He can feel Simon's worried eye on him as he downs a large cup of water. 

During their ride back home, Simon told him more about the end of the trial, which was a blur to Wille. 

"I don't know why, maybe the hunger was starting to mess with your brain. You barely answered when I talked to you. At some point, you even refused to drink water. It was so scary…" He shivered, his grip on Wille's hand tightening. "I couldn't exactly force you, you acted like it was painful to drink! And I still couldn't find food, I was too scared to leave you alone and-"

"And you wanted to go in the lake, which was also very stupid." Wille croaked, looking up from where he was resting his head on Simon's lap. They were transported in a carriage to go back home, their entourage having thought of their potential exhaustion. 

"Maybe, but at least I'd have tried something !" He groaned, before slumping against the cushions. He pushed a strand of hair from Wille's forehead. "Staying still is not really my thing, you know." 

"I know. I've heard you complain about not being allowed to the councils." Wille smiled, poking his tongue out to emphasize on the teasing. "But if your ideas are all suicidal like that, you'd better stray away from these." 

Simon groaned loudly again and messed up with Wille's hair. "It wasn't suicidal! A bit risky, perhaps, but I needed to move, you know." 

"You did, you lit up the flare." 

Frowning, Simon closed his mouth for an instant, looking down at him in confusion. Which confused Wille as well. "What? Wasn't that the big light I saw? They came to rescue us because of it, right?"

Simon's eyes flitted all over his face before losing focus, and he nodded slowly. "Ah… Yes. I… I put it to dry under the sand, guess it worked." 

"But I saw you throw it in the lake… How did you retrieve it…?"

A laugh bubbled out of Simon. "Oh, wow! Yeah, you must've been in a worse state than I thought! I never did that, Wille." 

He never…? Wille was sure he saw him toss the thing. He heard him complain about it, too. That was very clear in the middle of the blurred memories of the rainstorm and the days he lost count of. One of the last clear memories he had was of Simon slumping next to him, a distraught look of defeat painted on his face. 

But why would Simon lie about this? 

So Wille hadn't questioned further, simply shrugging and nuzzling more against Simon. He was in dire need of rest. 

He tries to reassure Simon with a smile. He's been allowed to rest in their chambers for the entirety of the day and had to assure everyone that he felt well enough to participate in the banquet. The Queen had insisted they could do it tomorrow, but Wille was in dire need of moving a bit, if only to go down to the dining room and share a meal. 

Plus, he wanted more information on their trial: how long were they supposed to stay? Why wasn't there any wildlife on the island? How long did he stay unconscious? Did they succeed? 

All these were answered in due time. First, their success is confirmed by the red paint smeared on them. Secondly, Henry revealed that they were supposed to stay about a day more, but that Simon had used the flare shortly after he noticed Wille wasn't simply sleeping. As for the wildlife… No one had any idea. That wasn't unprecedented, according to Linda, but that usually happened in the winter.

Simon had been closed off the whole time, merely playing with his food and giving short answers whenever he was addressed. Wille was dying to go back to their room to ask him why. Although there are more pressing matters at hand, as Linda speaks up shortly after they're all served dessert. 

"Alright then. Now that the trials are all complete, we can proceed with the next step." She says, joining her hands in front of her. 

That startles almost everyone, except Sara, who had been eyeing her mother all this time, surely waiting for her to finally get on with it. Wille chances a glance at Simon, who's gnawing on his lower lip. He doesn't know how that bodes for them to have Simon so openly worried, and he wishes he could reach out to squeeze his hand or his knee to offer some kind of comfort. 

"Luckily, you were both successful, and the tasks are complete within the time frame we've been given. We can start on the preparations for the wedding. Along with the council, we've established that the wedding will take place after the next moon, the day after Prince Wilhelm's ninetieth day with us."

"As to respect the three-month period?" Wille pipes up, trying to make sure he understood clearly. 

Linda's smile widens, and she nods. "Yes. Barely, but with summer being so close to it, we can't postpone much more. That leaves us enough time to prepare for everything, from catering to your outfits and jewelry."

Following Wille's raised eyebrow, Sara explains further: "We have strict codes for clothing and jewelry, as you've surely noticed with how your trials were conducted." She waits for him to nod before continuing. "You will be wearing something simple for the ceremony, and then Simon will have to drape you with a cape he'll be working on." She eyes Simon with a pointed look, and he barely manages to hide a grimace. "It's his role since he's technically of higher status, with the ceremony happening in our kingdom… We kept the drinking ritual you have in the Svealands too, don't worry. But then, for the following banquet, you'll both change into more intricate outfits and will need the appropriate rings, wristbands, and headpieces." 

"Headpieces?" Wille frowns in confusion. The rest makes sense, it's roughly the same ritual in the Svealands, except they don't change outfits, but rather shed the heavy vests they're wearing during the ceremony to show off the fancy dress or suit underneath. Rings are already on their fingers, and they'll be adding another set over them, and Wille guesses wristbands have some kind of meaning, too. But headpieces? 

"Yes, marrying Simon makes you a part of our family. And all of us have to wear one during formal events, it's a show of status." Linda says with a smile. "And they evolve with time, too. Mine wasn't always black obsidians." 

Wille had wondered if the gems on the Erikssons' crowns had any meaning; turns out they have. He doesn't dare to ask what the black ones are for: black is commonly associated with grief, and Linda being a widow, it only makes sense. He wonders about Sara's emeralds and Simon's… well, he doesn't know what the name of the gem adorning Simon's circlet is. 

"Well, my tiara was changed when I reached my twentieth birthday, and I was supposed to choose something that would symbolise what kind of monarch I aim to be. So I chose compassion, harmony, and protection as my core values. Emeralds are just that." Sara explains with a tiny smile, eyeing Simon when she's done. 

Clearing his throat, Simon takes his cue to explain his as well, his eyes flitting to his mother. "Mine is a charoite. Symbolizes spiritual growth and… well, transformation. Felt like a wise choice as I needed to grow as a person." 

Simon doesn't seem very comfortable with sharing that, for some reason. It shows in the way he avoids Wille's stare and in how Linda gives him a compassionate smile. 

Wille chooses not to press further. "It's interesting. Back in the Svealands, headpieces are worn by the direct royal line only." 

Simon's head whips up at that, his eyes wide. Was that so surprising to hear? But Wille can't ask him, as Linda chuckles. "Yes, we know. But here marriage means welcoming you to the family completely, it's partly why you were sent here and not the other way around." 

Partly, because Wille knows very well that Simon would've been nothing but a hostage if he were to settle in the Svealands. "So, you expect me to choose something, or is it decided for me?"

"As Simon's husband, you'll wear his gemstone for a whole year, but you'll have a say on the design, since it's supposed to be comfortable enough for you to wear all the time." 

"All the time?" He chokes out, making Henry snort from where he sits. He, Ayub, and Rosh have kept silent this whole time, out of respect for the Queen speaking. Wille shoots him a glare, and Henry is suddenly very interested in the remnants of his cream cake. 

"Traditionally, the newest member wears it constantly for a year, yes. But we're modern, you'll be able to take it off to sleep, and if you're unwell, don't worry. Plus, they're quite light materials nowadays." Linda chuckles. "Mine was a hassle: it kept getting tangled in my hair, so my husband had decided to braid it every morning to help." 

That private little piece of information makes Wille's heart swell for some reason. Maybe it's the fact that it's so intimate, making the Queen look more and more human, or maybe it's her willingness to share something with him, share how she relates to his situation in some way. Or both, really. 

He eyes Simon, who flashes him a little smile. "I think the purple will look good on you, don't worry."  

Wille chuckles at that. "I'm not worried about my looks, but thank you. I-"

He's interrupted by a loud knock on the door. Everyone turns around to look at the wooden panel, then at Linda, who's frowning. She's not expecting any visitor, at least not now. She beckons them over, and a servant whose name Wille isn't too sure about rushes in to whisper in her ear. 

Her frown deepens, and she stands up. "I'll see them in the throne room." 

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but he insisted that his orders were to talk to the Prince first and-"

"Yes, but he's in my kingdom, under my rule, not Queen Kristina's, so he's to talk to me as well, or not at all." She insists. "Go and lead him into the throne room, we'll be there shortly. Thank you, Krille."

Krille bows deeply and goes out to follow his queen's orders, leaving a bunch of questions in his wake. But Linda is prone to give them orders, too. "Sara, you go send someone to fetch the council, tell them to get ready for an urgent meeting in an hour tops, should the need arise."

Wille's heart falls down in his stomach. That confirms what he understood from this brief interaction: someone wants to talk to him, someone sent by his mother. That doesn't bode well at all. And since Queen Linda seems to think it warrants a council meeting, she's thinking the same. 

"Ayub, Rosh, can you both go and fetch mine and Simon's capes and crowns, please? Henry, does your prince typically need something more formal to receive someone?" 

Henry's eyes widen, suddenly put on blast, while Ayub and Rosh scramble to get out of the room after bowing to their queen. He glances at Wille, looking him up and down to assess his clothing. As always, for more formal suppers, he's clad in some of his fanciest clothes, a light blue vest that Simon carefully laced for him, over a white flowy tunic that's tucked down in his cream pants. He knows he should have a proper coat on, so does Henry, so that's what he tells the Queen. She orders him to go and bring one, and Henry immediately obeys. 

"Wait, are you casting me out?" Sara asks, not moving despite her mother's orders. 

Linda shakes her head. "I don't want to overwhelm that courier. You heard Krille, he's ordered to speak to Wilhelm first, so we'll make an effort. It's not his fault." 

"But Simon-"

"Is his future husband, and therefore has every right to hear it too." She then looks at Wille, finally. "I'm sorry to deprive you of privacy, but in these tense times, I doubt your mother would send a courier if it wasn't sensitive information. I hope you won't take offense."

Wille shakes his head. "I won't, if anything, I'm reassured I won't have to deal with whatever this is alone." He adds, looking back at Simon. 

Simon takes it as his cue to stand up and join him on the other side of the table. He takes his hand without a word, and Sara lets out a groan before excusing herself to follow her mother's orders. 

The three others don't take long to come back with their clothes and accessories. Wille doesn't miss the way Henry flinches at the paint leaving red flakes over his lapel. He's tempted to ask to get rid of it, but as Simon ties up his cape over his neck without even paying attention to the paint on his own skin, Wille decides against it.

Linda then leads them to the throne room. Since it's already late, there's no sunlight coming through the stained glass windows, and the chandeliers are not lit up, leaving the room in an eerie darkness. Two servants rush to light most of the candles with long sticks while Linda and Simon take place on their respective seats. 

"You can stand next to Simon, Wilhelm." Linda says with a wave of her hand. Her usual warmth has been replaced with a tense demeanor that's very unsettling, so Wille obeys without a second thought. "When you're done with half of these, stop, we don't need the full lights. Send him in as soon as possible."

The two servants make quick work of lighting up three of the six chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, and hurry out of the room. Then, the large doors open, revealing two guards walking on either side of a short man, clad in a quite dirty leather armor, his hair flat on his head, surely from wearing a helmet for a long time, and with slightly shaky legs. 

Wille recognizes him immediately, though, and realizes the matter must be important for his mother to send Nils, of all people, to talk to him.

Nils doesn't look at Wille immediately. He's a noble man and knows he has to address the highest-ranking person in the room first and foremost. He looks exhausted, but once in front of the Queen, straightens his back and holds his chin up. 

"Your Majesty, thank you for hearing me at this late hour." He bows, in a perfect Svear manner.

"Welcome. State your name and purpose, please." Linda says, her tone sharp, commanding. There's the queen who negotiated with Kristina for a week. Wille almost shivers. 

"Very well, Your Majesty." Nils nods curtly. "My name is Nils Poltjerna, and I've been sent personally by Her Majesty Queen Kristina of the Svealands to deliver a private message to her son, Prince Wilhelm, and ask for his prompt return to our kingdom." 

Wille feels Simon tense beside him. Simon, who was slumping on his chair the day Wille met him, is now sitting properly, his posture very regal, staring at Nils with the most neutral expression he's able to muster. But Wille knows Simon by now, and he spots easily the tension in his jaw and the way his fingers curl like little claws. Discreetly, he squeezes Simon's bicep, trying to reassure him. Which is kind of ironic, with how his own throat tightens. 

"Whatever private affair you have to discuss with the prince can be discussed in front of me and his fiancé. Fiancé he's supposed to wed in less than a month's time. Does Queen Kristina wish for us to void the pact in favor of her son's return?" 

Nils bows again, and speaks with a slightly different tone in his voice. Wille feels his hand freeze over Simon's bicep. "Absolutely, Your Majesty. I was merely sharing my orders. My Queen doesn't wish to void the pact of alliance between our kingdoms, but requires Prince Wilhelm's attendance at the event I was supposed to discuss with the prince. Do you allow me to at least address him to share the news, Your Majesty?" 

Wille can't help but glance at the Queen. Her eyes narrowed, she lets silence fall between them before nodding slowly. "Very well."

Nils then finally turns to Wille, and he stops touching Simon immediately, hiding his hand behind his back and standing tall like he's learned to. Nils bows even deeper for him - a slight jab to Linda's status, but he won't point it out - and delivers his message: "It's with deep regret that I shall inform you of the tragic passing of Lady Leonora. Her funeral has been delayed in order for you to attend, as per the Crown Prince's request." 

Something churns in his stomach, and Wille isn't sure it's only his meal. Leonora? Dead? The image of the nice yet discreet woman clinging to his brother's side is making him nauseous. Leonora had been Erik's fiancée for over a year now, with Erik being too eager to ask for her hand to wait for his diplomatic and military training to be officially over. With Wilhelm's forced marriage happening too, it had been decided they would be married in the middle of the summer, allowing Wilhelm and his spouse to attend as a proper couple. 

Now, she's gone? 

Wille's heart breaks a little. For Leonora, because he remembers her as a genuinely nice person, with whom he had several interesting conversations and riding lessons. But mostly for Erik, who must be absolutely devastated and in dire need of the support he knows their parents won't offer. 

He then realizes he's expected to say something, anything, as Nils addressed him directly. He takes a deep breath, nodding solemnly. "This is unexpected and terrible news. Unfortunately, we're under Queen Linda's rule here, and I can't leave without her permission." 

Nils bows to him again and turns back to the Queen expectantly. Linda seems equally tense and compassionate, giving Wilhelm a sad look before regaining composure to talk to Nils. "I understand Queen Kristina's request and offer the whole Svear royal family my official condolences. However, the time frame is tense. Are you in any capacity to assure us that Prince Wilhelm would be able to come back to our kingdom before the summer solstice?" 

Simon chances a glance his way, which Wille sees in the corner of his eye, but doesn't return. He's in a bit of a shock, and all he can think about is Erik and his grief. 

Nils speaks in a sultry voice again. "My Queen has thought about that and devised a travel plan for Prince Wilhelm to come back to the castle, attend the funeral on the next day, have a day's rest, and leave on the third with a fresh escort. With fresh horses, this should take less than twenty-five days if we leave tomorrow." 

Linda narrows her eyes again. The short notice is obviously throwing her off, as she needs to make a decision tonight. Simon must sense it too, because he speaks without being addressed: "Excuse me, maybe I am out of line by asking this, but waiting twenty days for a funeral sounds a bit… Too much. Couldn't your Queen send a fast crow instead of having a courier deliver the news with so much delay?" 

Simon is obviously referring to the long journey Nils must've taken to reach the castle. And he's right to ask, Wille didn't think about the logistics, but having a crow tell all that in a letter would've sped up the process quite substantially. 

Nils bows again, towards Simon, after Linda nodded for him to address her son. She didn't reprimand him this time, and simply acted like it was a normal thing for him to do. "Wise concerns, Your Highness. It was a simple thing, really, I was just posted at the border when I got the order, and left the day of. Lady Leonora passed about four days ago." 

And Nils, being a lone traveller, could ride way faster than Wille's whole entourage. That also made sense, but still, Wille can't shake the feeling that it was highly unnecessary. Nils must sense his hesitation, because he speaks again, addressing the three of them. "I am not to discuss my Queen's motivations, simply follow her orders. From what I understood, she believed such tragic news must be given orally, if only out of respect for the Lady." 

Now, that sounds sensible. A bit surprising, coming from his mother, but Wille can see it. Linda, too, because she nods. "Do you wish to leave, Prince Wilhelm?" She asks him directly, and Wille hesitates a little. 

On one hand, he would've expected Erik to stand beside him if he were to go through such a thing, but on the other, he doesn't want to leave Simon's side during the preparations of their upcoming wedding, and can sense the Eriksson's reluctance to let him go.

Nils glances up at him. The room spins a little, his vision slightly blurry, but he's suddenly very sure of what he needs to do. 

"If Her Majesty allows it, I'd like to be with my brother during his time of need." He states, a bit surprised by how sure his voice sounds. 

Simon's head whips to look up at him, his brows drawn together in slight confusion. Wille tries to give him a small smile, and to reassure him about how serious he is about their involvement, he adds: "But I'd rather leave without a proper entourage. Riding as a small group would shorten the trip and ensure I can be back in the Norrlands in a timely manner. Would that be possible?" 

"I'll come with." Simon chimes in, earning a slight nod from his mother and making Wille's heart grow fuller. Having Simon by his side eases his worries quite a bit. He really doesn't want to part with him, and maybe facing the coldness of his mother would be easier with Simon there. 

But Nils speaks again, his voice low again. "My deepest apologies, Your Highness, but I believe my Queen hasn't extended the invitation to you. As you're not a married couple nor acquainted with the late Lady, it wouldn't be proper…" 

Oh, that, too, makes sense. So much that Linda nods again. "Of course, Prince Simon was merely offering his support to his fiancé. We'll prepare a small escort for you all to leave at dawn. I'll let my intendant show you to a room where you can rest properly before going back. Thank you, Mr Poltjerna." 

Nils bows deeply and thanks them profusely. He's escorted out, and suddenly, the room feels a little brighter, his senses a little sharper. Wille shakes his head to get rid of the feeling. Meanwhile, Simon gets up, agitated. 

"This won't do! There's something very wrong with all this. He can't go back!" 

Linda frowns. "Simon, you can't forbid Wilhelm to go to a funeral; this is very insensitive of you." 

"This is not about the funeral, mother! Don't you realize? That guy is hiding something from us. And I'm pretty sure he messed with both of you!" 

It's Wille's turn to be confused. What is Simon implying? "What do you mean, mess up with us?" 

"I don't know, I felt it! You both changed your minds too fast, and there was like… Some magic behind it, I can almost smell it with how obvious it was!"

Linda sighs a bit. "Simon, I know you're a bit more acute to this, but remember Svears despise magic. Queen Kristina wouldn't trust a man who wields it to bring her son back to her." 

"Maybe she would! You have to believe me, this whole story sounds wrong!" He stamps his foot on the ground, like a child throwing a tantrum. A side of Simon Wille doesn't really like, and didn't expect to see coming again. 

"And why would he bewitch your mother and I, and not you, Simon?" Wille sighs, rubbing at his eyes to chase that weird cotton-y feeling. "This is a mess. I just want to be there for Erik, alright? I'll be back soon." 

Simon's shoulders slump in defeat. 

Packing for this short trip is easy enough. Walter didn't deem it necessary to bring Wille's funeral clothes to the North, so he counts on them still being in his rooms back in the Svealands. He doesn't wait for Walter to pack either, filling his bag with simple travel clothes and a few toiletry items. 

Simon looks at him with a watchful eye, sitting on the edge of their shared bed. Wille can sense his reluctance, but Simon hasn't protested again since they left the throne room earlier. Still, Wille rushes through his packing and hands the bag to Walter as he finally makes it into the room, telling him he'll trust him with the rest, and to not disturb them until they have to leave. 

Turning back to Simon, he kneels down in front of him, taking his hands between his. "I promise I'll be quick, you won't even have time to worry." 

Simon's smile is a bit bitter, but he nods. "I'm already worrying." He brings one hand to Wille's cheek, brushing it with his thumb. "But I trust you to come back safe and sound." 

Wille can't resist the urge, and he reaches up to pull him down into a kiss. Simon kisses him back with the same reverence, the same fervor, and something more that Wille can't exactly place. Desperation? Maybe. He doesn't want to think about it. About how this situation must be equally as hard on Simon, who's still battling his own demons, trying hard to trust Wille. 

He tries to channel all the love he feels for him in that kiss, and the other ones that follow. He tries to convey all the feelings Simon sparked inside of him since the first day they met. The way he challenged his vision, challenged his reluctance to open up, challenged the way he saw himself. He entered the Norrlands as Prince Wilhelm of the Svealands, a very respectable young man who tried hard to fit into that mould of a perfect Svear prince he's been raised to be. He will leave them as Wille, his eyes open and ready to learn more about the rest of the world, his heart curious about everything he doesn't know, ready to muster the courage to be his own person. All that, thanks to Simon. 

Simon, who unravels under his touch, open and vulnerable beneath him. Simon, who devours him like he's desperate to taste all of him before he goes. Simon, who murmurs sweet words between praises right in his ear. His hands, his head, and his heart are full of Simon, and he's very content with that; he's at home. 

"Simon, can I ask you something?" He says, as the first rays of the sun filter through the curtains. 

They ended up staying awake all night, alternating between lazy naps and passionate embraces. Wille is pretty sure he mapped out the whole of Simon's body, but he couldn't get tired of it even if he tried. Simon blinks slowly from where he's cuddled against his chest. "Mh?" 

"I meant to ask earlier, before… Well." He starts, stroking Simon's curls with one hand. "You looked very surprised when I said they didn't let non-direct royals wear crowns, during supper. Was that so surprising to you?" 

Simon snorts. He shakes his head and raises it up, resting his chin on his arms crossed over Wille's chest. "No, that was expected. It's nothing really, but it's the way you said that."

Frowning, Wille hums, expecting him to elaborate a bit. "Usually, when you talk about the Svealands, you call it 'home'. You didn't, this time. And you didn't use 'we', just now. It surprised me." 

Now that Simon points it out, Wille lets his head rest against the pillow. It's true, what he said, and it's equal parts terrifying and exciting. The conclusion comes easily. "I think… I think it's because I don't think of it as "home" anymore." 

He looks down at Simon, to find him already looking back at him, his eyes shining with unshed tears, crinkled with the wide smile on his lips. "Does that mean you're starting to feel at home here?"

Wille shakes his head, and before Simon's smile can falter more, he explains: "No, not here , specifically. But with you. I feel like anywhere could feel like home, as long as it's with you." 

The way Simon sobs and giggles at the same time makes his stomach flip, but he doesn't have the time to study the feeling, as his lips are captured by his fiancé, who doesn't let him go until Walter knocks on the door. 

This time, Wilhelm leaves with a proper goodbye, and he's confident he has every little bit of strength he needs to be able to face his mother. The light but reassuring weight of the juniper charm in his pocket is there to remind him of it.

During the trip down to the Svealands, Wille finds Nils to be surprisingly tight-lipped. Several times, he tries to ask for more details surrounding Leonora's death, the funeral arrangements, or even Erik's state. Each time, Nils eludes the question, says he hasn't been trusted with more information than what he gave in the throne room, or simply ignores it, pretending he didn't hear him. 

So Wille quickly abandoned any attempt to get more answers. Instead, he counted on Walter to distract him from the boring ride; his valet had amassed enough knowledge about the Noorlands and its traditions to entertain him and give him more food for thought. 

Nils stayed mostly quiet during these exchanges, occasionally side-eyeing them or rolling his eyes when he was sure Wille wouldn't see him. He made no effort to hide his disdain for the Northerner ways, but still tried not to be too obviously dismissive of his prince's interests. 

Henry, too, kept silent. That one fact was more surprising, as it was usually hard to shut him up. On the third night, while Nils had gone to sleep, leaving Henry and Milo, one of the two Northern guards that escorted them, to take the first watch, Wille discreetly approached him to ask about his silence. 

"I don't know, really." Henry had murmured, his eyes flitting to where Nils disappeared under the tent he shared with Walter and him. "There's something very wrong with all this, but I can't seem to put my finger on it." 

Henry's wariness didn't help with putting Wille's feelings at ease. And the more they approached the coast, the more his anxiety flared up. His nails were bitten raw by the time they crossed the doors to the city on the seventh morning of their trip, after riding all night because of Wille's insistence that they take advantage of the never-setting sun to try and get there as soon as possible. 

Exhausted, with wrung-out horses, they're escorted by the city guards to the high castle gates. There, they're welcomed by August, Wille's cousin, who must've been awakened not long ago, judging by the way his long, dark hair is not as carefully styled as usual, some loose curls peeking out around his ears. 

"Welcome back, Prince Wilhelm!" He greets them with less enthusiasm than what Wille is used to, which is preferable, given the circumstances of his return. He barely nods, feeling his eyes sting with the lack of sleep. 

"The Queen is waiting for you, if you'll follow me." He offers, dismissing the rest of Wilhelm's escort with a wave. 

"Surely, she can wait a little more. Where's my brother?" Wille demands, and frowns when he sees the way August glances behind his back at Nils, then at the guards. 

"She expressly asked for you to come see her, I'm just following orders there, Wille." He tries with a lower voice, and something in his expression makes Wille's stomach churn. 

"Alright." He relents, thinking that whatever his mother wants to tell him, the faster she's done with it, the faster he can be with Erik. 

He follows August along the somber corridors of the castle: no candle has been lit, and most of the guards and servants are wearing dark or plain black clothes: a clear sign of grief, but a bit overkill since Leonora wasn't yet a royal. Something's wrong. 

August doesn't lead him to the throne room, but rather to his parents' apartments. Wilhelm has rarely been there, spending most of his time in his and Erik's aisle of the castle, the rare family times they shared taking place in the more formal rooms or one of their own sitting rooms. He doesn't understand why he's headed to his mother's parlor. Something's definitely wrong. 

Once in front of the room, the guard knocks and announces both Wilhelm and August, letting them in when Kristina's voice comes from the other side. They enter the room, and Wilhelm stops at the door at the sight of his parents, sitting around the small ornate table near the large windows. They're both wearing black, and Wille realizes just now that August is, too. While August being overdramatic is not unusual, Kristina showing any kind of grief for someone is completely out of place. Something's very, very wrong. 

The Queen finally looks up at him after what feels like an eternity, her eyes bleak and carrying a sadness Wilhelm never thought he'd see in them. 

"Wilhelm." She croaks out, her voice slightly hoarse. "Sit, my boy." 

She rarely uses any kind of endearment term, and that compels Wille to obey immediately and sit on the vacant chair across from them. August stays up next to him, and Kristina reaches out, holding an open hand towards Wilhelm. 

He doesn't know what to do. His mother is not one for physical contact. That is more of Erik's domain. His absence from this sort of meeting is rubbing him the wrong way, and he reluctantly puts his hand in his mother's. 

Silence stretches between them, with Kristina clutching at his hand, tracing the lines of his knuckles with the tip of her thumb like she's never held her son's hand before. And maybe she hasn't: Wilhelm can't really remember. Finally, she breaks the silence. "Ludvig, I can't." 

His father takes a deep breath to her left, and his clear blue eyes land on Wilhelm, his jaw tense and his back straight. "Wilhelm. I need you to listen carefully, son. This is going to be difficult to hear, but I trust you to stay strong." 

Wilhelm doesn't like it. His mother's hand feels too hot against his, like the burning feeling of everything being so, so wrong. 

"Erik has passed away. This is why we've called you back here." 

It's like the words physically attacked him. Like a dagger, slowly plunging through his heart, tearing the flesh apart in its wake and nestling there, sharp and so, so painful. The wind is knocked out of his lungs, and he tightens his grip on his mother's hand, suddenly thankful for the anchor into reality the touch provides. 

But it's not the touch he needs. 

The one who would be able to comfort him is the one who's missing. 

"How?" He manages to ask, his voice shaky around the lump in his throat. 

Ludvig closes his eyes and exhales sharply. "A fire. Happened in Hillerska's military base. He and his fiancée both perished." 

In the flames. 

That's what Ludvig doesn't say, and what Wilhelm hears. His brother burned to death, and Wilhelm's imagination supplies him with terrible images of what he thinks Erik's last moments looked like, felt like. Like terror, pain, anguish. 

Wilhelm wants to crumble down, to scream, to break everything because how did that happen, and-

"Wait." He freezes, taking his hand back and shaking Kristina from her trance. All three pairs of eyes land on him. "Why didn't Nils tell me back in Svartafell? Why hide it from me?!" He almost yells the last words, looking between his parents helplessly, a new sort of panic slowly creeping inside him. 

Kristina rubs at her eyes, shaking her head before she walks to the window to take some deep breaths. Ludvig looks at her before focusing back on his son. "Because we didn't wish for the Northerners to know yet why we called you back." 

Wilhelm frowns. Why would they keep that from- oh. 

"Wait, are you expecting me to-"

"Of course we do, Wilhelm!" Kristina's booming voice startles him. "You can't possibly think you'll keep up this charade with that little Northern runt! Your place is here, you're my sole heir now!" 

Wilhelm's heart sinks. 

Until then, he didn't realize that losing Erik also meant losing Simon, and he suddenly feels very foolish. That doesn't keep him from asking the obvious: "What about the pact then? You'd need to renegotiate-"

"To hells with that pact!" She yells again, and Wilhelm physically recoils this time. There's rage bubbling inside her now, fueled by her grief. She's not rational, and that scares Wilhelm more than the prospect of never seeing Simon again. 

"But the peace-"

"There's no peace to be had with these barbarians, Wilhelm." She seethes, gripping the back of the sofa near her. "They're responsible for this, so they'll pay the hard price, and I'll personally see to have their three heads on spikes!" 

Wilhelm's eyes widen, and his blood runs cold. Why would she want to lash out at the Noorlands? That's completely insane, uncalled for, and highly dangerous. Helplessly, Wilhelm glance at his father. He has a somber expression, staring at his joined hands. 

"I don't understand… How are they-"

"May I explain this to the Prince, Your Majesty?" August pipes up before Kristina can launch into another fit of anger. 

She must've realized she lost her cool, because she takes a deep breath and nods at August, turning to the window again. 

"Your Highness, the Crown Prince's passing is no accident. After a thorough investigation, it's obvious that the fire that caused his death is of magical nature. Draconic nature, more precisely." 

Wilhelm stares at August. He doesn't like where this is going. The faint image of the terrible creature of his nightmares appears in his mind, and he wishes it away, sinking his nails into the plump flesh of his palms. "And…?" 

"Dragons don't attack humans unless attacked first. Unless they've been ordered to by a trusted human, or if they're a shifter." 

Wilhelm closes his eyes, but that doesn't stop August from delivering the final blow: "Witnesses talked about a huge creature, a creature that flew back in the direction of the border. A shifter would've shifted back as soon as possible, so it was a real dragon. And the only known dragon 'owners' are-"

"The Erikssons." Wilhelm breathes out, finally opening his eyes. 

He needed to put the words on it himself. August's right. There's only one active dragon that they know of. The one Simon said was faithful to his family. The one who interacted mostly with Simon. 

"Exactly." August winces, putting his hand on Wilhelm's shoulder. "We believe they orchestrated this, taking advantage of the Crown Prince being close to the border. If we'd told them we already knew and wanted you back, they would've wanted to keep you as an hostage."

They didn't. At least, Linda didn't. She wasn't hard to convince to let him go, and she even arranged for him to leave as soon as possible.

Simon, on the other hand, argued against it, accused Nils of using magic, tried to insert himself into the trip, and was all over him all night… Simon, with whom he allowed himself to be so open, so vulnerable, so relaxed. Simon, who told Wilhelm clearly about that dragon who obviously had a preference for him. Simon, who acted very weirdly since the end of that trial, pretending that he used the flare that Wilhelm had clearly seen him throw into the lake. 

The conclusion is crystal clear. Simon had called up the dragon, somehow, and used its flames to call out for help. Maybe it was at this very moment that he also ordered it to attack. Maybe he didn't even expect it to find Erik, maybe it was a simple warning, a show of power. 

Wilhelm abruptly stands up and runs out of the room, not bothering to excuse himself. He ignores August calling after him. He ignores the guards trying to stop him. He runs, his vision blurry with unshed tears, his legs working on their own, guiding him through corridors he knows by heart for roaming them over and over again, playing hide and seek with the brother he will never be able to see again. 

He barely makes it to their aisle of the castle before he doubles down and retches, the sparse contents of his stomach landing on the floor with wet, disgusting sounds. He heaves several times, trying to keep his tears at bay. He doesn't want to cry, not yet, not until he's safe. 

Safety, for him, is Erik's room. Into which he barges after he managed to walk again. His shattered heart breaks a little more when he realizes the door isn't guarded: there's no need, its occupant won't come back here. 

Wilhelm takes his shoes off, and stops in front of the bed. He's about to let himself sink into it, hide under the covers in the hopes the warm embrace of those Erik-scented linens will shield him from reality. But something's wrong. 

He takes the small bag of dried juniper leaves from his pocket. The charm that Simon supposedly made him to chase the nightmares away. Ironic, since he's now responsible for making his life a literal nightmare. 

Wilhelm hurls the bag to the other side of the room, far away from him. He doesn't even look when it lands, already snuggling against Erik's pillow. He couldn't get in and bring Simon near this sanctuary. He couldn't taint Erik's memory with Simon's betrayal. 

Everything's a blur around him. He doesn't know exactly how many hours, days, have passed since he learned about Erik's death. He just knows that his familiar, comforting scent is slowly fading from the sheets he's hiding under. He's barely aware of the various comings and goings into the room. He's used to the lack of privacy in this castle. Bitterly, he thinks that's something he'll miss from the North. 

There are a lot of things he will miss, if he's being honest. But most of them are now tainted by the sour taste of betrayal. 

He can't think back of the lush gardens without picturing Simon's clumsy attempts at picking up flowers. He can't think back of the rides with Sara without wondering if she had any idea of her brother's plans. He can't remember the gentle way Linda always addressed him without thinking of her as somehow responsible for her son's crimes. 

He can't relish in the memories of his banters with Rosh without wondering if the girl helped Simon in his endeavors. He can't picture Ayub's laughter without imagining the ways he could've helped Simon conceal his true objectives. He can't think of Simon, at all. It hurts too much. 

It hurts to think that the one person Wilhelm has felt at ease with, shared so much of his fears and deepest thoughts, has been deceiving him. And in such a gruesome way. Wilhelm would've preferred for him to declare open war, to use him as a hostage, to sacrifice him, even, rather than attacking the single most precious person Wilhelm had. 

It's hard to think of Erik as someone who doesn't exist anymore. Hard to think he won't ever hear his laugh again, won't ever be held, safe in his arms, won't ever feel his eyes on him, watching carefully. No, Erik is gone. The first and only person who has ever loved Wilhelm unconditionally is gone and never to return. And it's Simon's fault. The first and only person Wilhelm has loved enough to let him in and see under the shell he put up around him. 

It's like the past few weeks, during which Wilhelm thought he was beginning to understand what happiness really was, were just a fluke. 

The worst part is that Wilhelm is not even sure he doesn't love him anymore. 

That simple fact is enough to send him into a spiral of despair and hot, searing guilt. Because he can't help but miss him. Miss his smile, his voice, his warm gaze. He can't help but yearn for what they had, the comfort, the love, the tenderness. Hell, he can still feel Simon's fingers tracing patterns on his arms, his back, his cheeks. 

Thinking of Simon touching him almost sets his body ablaze, and makes him sick at the same time. He hates himself for thinking of him. He hates himself for not feeling only pure hatred when thinking of Simon. He hates it, he hates it, he hates it and hates, and he needs to get it off him and he rubs at his skin furiously, until he draws blood and stops because he stained Erik's sheets with his blood and he's tainting it-

"Wille? Wille, oh!" 

He blinks one, two times, hot tears sliding down his cheeks. He looks up, only to find a very concerned Henry looking back at him. He's holding him by the shoulders, his grip firm, and he kneels in front of him. Wilhelm doesn't even remember falling to the floor. He remembers the blood and-

The sheets are still stained. 

An ugly sob wrecks his body. His hands close over nothing, and he feels the urge to tug at his hair. He can't, however, because Henry pulls him against his chest, holding him tight. His right hand settles in his hair, firmly keeping him against him. The other rests on his shoulder blade. "It's okay." 

Henry's murmur is enough for Wilhelm to let go. He cries, even if he thought he couldn't anymore. He cries, relieved to find some sort of comfort. He cries, soaking Henry's shirt with his tears and snot, but Henry doesn't move. He simply holds him until Wilhelm's cries slowly die down. 

"Go get some bandages and ointment." He hears Henry order. He doesn't know who he is talking to, and he doesn't care. He simply stays there, limp in his squire's - his friend's - arms. 

"I've tried to get Felice here, but it was too much of a mess." Henry tells him then. Wilhelm nods absentmindedly. Felice's presence would've been a great help. She always knew what to say to make the pain easier to bear. 

"Your mother wants everyone down in the courtyard. Will you be able to stand?" He asks, and Wilhelm nods again. He doesn't know what the Queen wants, and frankly, he doesn't care. He just wants to lie down and wait for the pain to go away. Henry doesn't make him stand right away, instead making sure he drinks a lot of water. 

He barely registers Walter coming back with supplies to take care of his scratches. Some are quite deep, and the ointment Walter applies is welcomed, because once Wilhelm pays attention to them, they sting a whole lot. His forearms are wrapped in bandages, as it's where he scratched the most. 

He then lets his valet and squire help him out of his dirty travel clothes and clean him up hastily. If he were paying attention, he would see Henry's worried eyes often travelling up to his face, and Walter's lips twist in a nervous grimace. 

He's helped into fresh clothes. He notices the black color, and understands they're burying Erik officially. He dry heaves, his body jerking forward. Walter hurries to hold his hair up, but nothing comes out of his system. 

Wilhelm's laced into his costume, and notes that his vest is not as tight as usual. Walter doesn't have the heart to constrict him. His boots on, Henry is the one to finish preparing him by equipping his belt with a quiver containing two arrows. 

He follows them down to the courtyard. There, almost all the castle's occupants are busy running around, finishing to prepare the procession that'll lead them to the shore. Wilhelm is led to his parents' side. He faintly registers the quivers on both his parents' belts, as well as August and some other noble men and women, most of them more or less close to either Erik or Leonora. Amongst them, Felice. She sends him a sad, tired look, and mouths a promise to talk to him after. 

When everyone is placed accordingly to rank and closeness to the deceased, the procession starts. Two riderless horses walk in front, leading the way down the path to the beach below the castle's walls. Kristina walks first, then Ludvig, and Wilhelm. Behind him, he doesn't really know. He doesn't look back. He doesn't care. 

On the beach, the two flat-bottomed boats are ready to go. On each of them, a wooden coffin, covered in hay and flowers. With a pang to his heart, Wilhelm realizes he hasn't offered a flower, too deeply lost in his grief to actually partake in the departure ceremony. 

He stares at the boats while they wait for all the attendees to fill the beach behind them. When the last person has taken their place, the priest starts talking. Wilhelm doesn't listen. In that boat lies his brother's body, about to be sent off to the afterlife. 

Then, squires and servants move along to hand a bow to each person equipped with a quiver. Henry gives Wilhelm his, and lingers a second more to deposit something else in his hand. Wilhelm looks down at his palm. Inside, a small sheaf of forget-me-nots. Henry has thought about the flower, and Wilhelm thanks him with a shaky nod. 

He loops the flowers around the head of his arrow while the boats are pushed into the calm waters. They wait, then the priest orders them to knock their arrows. A servant passes with a torch to light them. They draw their bows, and shoot. 

Wilhelm looks at his arrow. It traces a perfect curve over the water and lands right in the middle of the coffin. From where he stands, he can see the flowers burst into flames. Both boats are ignited, lazily dancing along the waves. 

They're supposed to stand until the boats are consumed, but Kristina walks a few steps forward, and turns around. It's unusual to have a speech at this point in the ceremony, so Wilhelm pays attention. 

"Thank you all, for being there to bid my eldest son and his fiancée a last goodbye." She starts, her voice firmer than when Wilhelm last saw her. She's holding her head high, and Wilhelm recognizes the fire in her eyes. The one she has when she's taken a grave decision. 

"Tonight, we mourn my son, but his death is no accident. It's an affront, a declaration of war. The Noorlands have broken our trust one too many times, and tonight, I answer to their provocation. Bring the prisoners."

Wilhelm's head whips to the side. There, two of his mother's personal guards are bringing the two Northern guards who escorted Wilhelm back to the Svealands. 

Bound by heavy shackles, dirty and clearly beaten, the two young men are attached to two wooden poles. While Milo stares at his shoes, shaking from head to toe, Ole is holding his head high, staring directly at Kristina. 

"Wilhelm, come." Kristina beckons him over, and he obeys, walking the few steps to stand next to her. "With Erik gone, Prince Wilhelm is now your future monarch. He's to stand in my stead when I choose to abdicate. Usually, him acquiring this new title of Crown Prince would warrant a ceremony. But this is no celebration. Instead, he'll perform his first act as my official heir tonight, and shoot the first official arrow in that new war that will oppose us and the Northern barbarians." 

Wilhelm's blood runs cold. Suddenly, he's hyper-aware of the lone arrow still sitting in his quiver. He hasn't noticed before, but he's the only one who's been given two. One for Erik, and one for one of the prisoners in front of him. 

Looking back at Ole and Milo, he finds Ole staring at him, Milo still shaking on his right. Ole's eyes are cold, laced with some kind of pride, anger? Wilhelm doesn't know, and doesn't want to linger on it. Instead, he glances at his mother. 

Her face is closed off. There's no way for him to argue against it. She won't change her mind. Tonight, either Ole or Milo will die by his hand, the other will rot in the dungeons or will probably be sent home with his partner's body. For that, Wilhelm already knows which one he has to shoot. 

Closing his eyes, he knocks his arrow, and takes a deep breath. 

Wilhelm has never killed anyone. 

Hunting animals is no different, right? 

Wrong, animals are not tied up, waiting to be sacrificed in front of a crowd for a conflict they didn't ask for. 

He draws his bow. 

If he wants at least one of them to survive, he has to aim. 

He opens his eyes. 

Before his head, his heart, and his gut tell him to stop and refuse it, he shoots. 

The arrow goes right through Milo's skull. 

War is on.