Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Their third meeting had him grovelling beneath her heel—in the Capital City of Lugunica, Priestella, she met the young man once more. He walked with nothing behind his eyes. He was pale. His eyes were evil. Like her, he walked without care and the world obliged. He smelled like something he shouldn't smell like, talked like the fleeting whispers of a separating couple, and walked like the road was made of glass and he was the only feather alive.

He did not walk; he crossed the ground with the grace of a hummingbird in a field of ravens. He wore black slacks, black dress shoes, and a white button down with rolled up sleeves. Handsome and acceptable. His hair was slick back reminiscent of the story books of a maiden falling in love with a retired criminal.

Attached at his hand with hate for the world, a Great Yin Spirit. “Betty hopes you do not intend on stopping us forever, in fact.” Puffed cheeks filled to the brim with annoyance and hate. The scorn of a Great Spirit meant death. “Spit it out before Betty’s patience runs out.” And what about Subaru? He gazed absentmindedly like Priscilla didn't exist. 

She held her fan in front of his nose and glared at the man unwilling to give her anything important. “Admire me.” Eternally exhausted, the man frowned. “Live for my cause and only my cause. Given your state, you have reached a status to satisfy mine self. Admire me—” The man sighed. “Feeble Man-swine, you will act as I so—”

The Great Spirit lifted her hand. The wind billowed around her, and with great reluctance, Subaru covered her small hand. “She's fine.” Far softer than what was expected of him seeing as he looks like a killer who knows how to clean blood. “Thanks for the offer, Lady Bariella. But I'm not into that stuff anymore… It's been good seeing you again.” The Great Spirit scoffed.

“Just as deplorably delusional as the rumors have told—dare Betty say, all women are the same. I suppose.” She grumbled as she was dragged along. “Still, Betty does not—”

“Beako, seriously.” He rested his hand on her head. Rumors of a man with the power to temper the hate of a Great Spirit. Their footsteps are silent. They distrust everyone else's… For a second, Prisca Benedict allowed her mind to ponder… And the absolute absurdity of the situation—The Lion Tamer, dare to turn his back on her. 

She scoffed. Sneered. “Commoner.” She called. The duo stopped. The Great Spirit groaned. Subaru didn't turn fully. Turned enough. Just a glance—half a look, really even half of thag—cast over his shoulder with all the ceremony of someone recognizing a distant echo of a name they'd once known. 

A tipsy smile. “You want my admiration?” He murmured with brittle lips and fleeting blinks. He looked forward. “I’ve run out of things to admire—maybe another time.” As if to mock her, a breeze slipped between them forming a wall. A barrier that didn't exist.

The wind caught the end of Beatrice's dress and the fan in Priscilla’s hand. Heavy silence hollowed out with fears and memories. Reminiscent of something missing that had never been owned in the first place. 

Beatrice didn't look back. Her scowl kissed the end of the alley. “Betty recommended finding someone else to parade in front of—Betty’s Subaru is not a jester, in fact.” Oh, Priscilla remembered when he grovelled. Then again, rumors whisper that he once showed to royalty. That he once begged. That he once burned for someone else's dream.

But now he stands with the posture of a dead person. Walks with eyes that no longer look up. And now, for the first time in weeks, Priscilla felt heat crawl across her cheeks—not from desire, nor anger, but insult. A sneer.

[He wouldn't admire her. Not because he couldn't. But because he deemed her as someone unworthy of his admiration.] 

Her voice cut through the air like wine spilling, staining, and ruining her dress. “Commoner.” She hissed. He glanced just as the end of the alley swallowed them whole… She hissed to herself. “Commoner.” As if saying it twice would fix the fact that he didn't care to hear it.

Their footsteps resumed, softer than breath, already vanishing into the city’s defiant hum. Though, the silence in the alley, once hanging roughly, didn't last long.

Straightening, Priscilla slipped her fan back beneath her dress with deliberate slowness. Rejection stung, always have, always will. It twisted inside her strangely—not the welcoming fury she expected, but something else familiar. A tug. A spark. A flame. A pull. Like a lion drawn to a lioness it could not conquer.

He hadn't denied her admiration.

He looked at her like thunderstorms.

A moment.

Not a marvel.

“Damn him.” She muttered with scorn, low and sharp. Carefully cutting at the silence until he grovelled beneath her heel. “That insolent, damned swine-like Commoner.” She could admit in the gallows of her mind.

Her words sounded less like condemnation and more like confession.

…

And ahead, not too far ahead, Subaru’s footsteps did not reach the Great Spirit's ears. They walked slowly beneath the canopy of flickering lanterns illuminating the street. With an angry scowl, a tug, and all the displeasure the Great Spirit could muster. She sneered. “Betty does not like her.” She doesn't like anyone. She doesn't think anyone's good enough for him.

“She is noisy.” Everyone is. “Foolish.” Compared to Beatrice, even Subaru looks insane. “And clings far, far too much.” Her pout did little to persuade him. Comically exaggerated. “Betty truly wishes you would stop letting her follow us, Betty’s Subaru.”

And as if he did not find this amusing, his shoulders sagged with a buff. “It’s late, and I'm starving. Way too drained to deal with her.” His eyes were tired, shadows etched deeper than the city’s night. He spoke softly. “She is persistent… Maybe she's curious.”

With an adorable huff, Beatrice tugged his hand once more. “Curious like a cat chasing a mouse; we'll bite back when she leasts expects it—”

He smirked. “Curiousity killed the cat… Just wait.”

…

Behind them, closing the distance with cautious determination. She did not run, nor sprint, or stroll. Her steps were gauged to shorten the distance with every measured clack of her heels. Every now and again, she'd find herself stealing glances at the close figure of the man who refused to kneel, who wore exhaustion like armor, and carried a spirit girl like a shadow at his side.

She did not intend on following. The world moved for her, not the other way around. But he lit dichotomies she never questioned and forced her to question. “Why does he…?” She whispered to herself. She could not hear herself, but she could feel the way her lips danced.

A smile. “Why does he make me want to know more?” Because he came out of nowhere, walked into the Capital, and laid waist to the strongest of them—Archbishop of Greed, Regulus.

Beatrice dared not hide her glares. She attempted to burn holes into the side of her face the moment Priscilla stole one more glance.

…

Subaru, too early to care, allowed a faint tug to pull Beatrice's eyes. He smiled down at her gently. “Let her come.” He said it with her eyes before opening his mouth. “Maybe even lions need company sometimes.”

Chapter Text

If he had a grain of sand for every time someone came back, he'd have a beach. Betty stood in front of him with her arms crossed and a frown etched into her cheeks—bile rose in her throat and clogged the moment his hand rested on her head. “Betty believes it'll be best if you explain yourself, Barielle.” 

She was tired. Tired beyond reason. A month ago, they killed Greed. A week ago, they had their door smashed in by a bundle of knights and bad nobles. A day ago, they were robbed of everything they had by a group of thieves—too low on mana.

Too tired to fight back. Stripped of their gold, and now, like a magnet for bad people, a Princess stood in front of her. Demanding. Always demanding. Never giving. They always took. And took. And stole. And watched him break apart, but none of them dared to point at the cracks.

She hated it. Her heart spills every time she's left to coddle him. Every time, she's the only one he can rely on. 

He doesn't sleep unless she's in his arms. He doesn't eat unless she's sitting at the table. He doesn't breathe if he cannot see her. He doesn't live without her. He grovels and falls apart. He hates it. He sneers. He scowls—and when Greed took her…

For an hour at best, he tore apart that mansion and laid waste to every one that tried to stop him. And now. After all of that, they cannot rest? 

A Princess. Subaru told her the stories. Once, he begged. Once, he pleaded for her help. Once, he believed. Once, he trusted. “Betty’s Subaru wants nothing more than to rid himself of—” He shook his hand through her hair.

“I can talk for myself.” He could not imagine a future without her alive. He would let the world burn if she wasn't his. He could not eat without her, but he believes he could talk for himself? Betty did not question it. He killed Regulus. 

“Betty knows Betty’s Subaru can talk for himself; however, Betty believes he should not waste his breath on someone undeserving of his attention.” For a reason Beatrice could not find, the Princess did not speak. She stared at Subaru. “The Princess is undeserving, in FACT.” 

Like a lion, she bared her fangs. With great precision, he brushed his hand through her curls, no longer locked into spirals. Her fingers gripped the end of her black, checkered dress.

“By that logic, no one but you is deserving of my attention.” She huffed and nodded. Her anger was cute, but her love was addicting. He could not imagine a world where she frowned—when the Margrave told him of the spirit in their walls… Perhaps a story for another time. He looked at the flushed princess, far too focused on someone else. Entirely unlike her. Where was her bodyguard? Where was her knight? Where was her entourage? He lost his luster. His shine.

His eyes, black and vibrant, gave out. He frowned. “I asked you for help.” He started. He took in all the old memories. “On my knees. I would have given everything I had if you helped me—you didn’t help me.” The princess frowned. “You kicked me in my life, threatened to kill me, and mocked me for trying to help.” 

He looked down at the spirit separating the two of them. “Maybe another time, Barielle.” Feeling his eyes, Betty looked up at his black eye bags. She frowned harder. “She’s a magnet for bad luck, huh?” Betty sighed and returned her gaze to the mute girl.

“Betty does not suppose that you are deaf, mute, and pompous too, I suppose?” She uncrossed her hand and pointed at the lady. If her scorn was poison, Subaru’s eyes were the cure. But he didn’t look at the princess. His hands played with her curls. Her curls were laced with black and white ribbons to match his appearance. “To follow Betty’s Subaru with the intention of forcing him to act—” And then the smell of the witch stung her nose.

Her jaw tightened, feeling Subaru’s fingers slow. Her body hummed with mana. The stars shimmered. “Betty believes it’ll be best if you linger no longer, in fact.” She lifted her hand of latent wind mana. A vision, now, punctures the air. Without care, she sneers in disgust. Something was going to come for them. “Al Fur—” 

Subara’s hand gently covered her mouth and let the wind simmer—killing her did not benefit them. So she lowered her hand. “Well, seems like I have time—” Priscilla scoffed.

“Time—haven’t you been informed? Time waits for mineself and mineself alone.” Beatrice clenched her fist, and Subaru stroked her cheek to quell her anger. She wanted to curse the women and return the princess’s gate to Od. “You, Lion Tamer, have been given by the world the chance to make amends, per se, for your actions—” With hate in her actions, Beatrice sneered. “—admonishing my—”

“How dare you?” The stars shimmered with furious hate. “HOW DARE YOU?” Beneath her heels, the stone tile cracked. But a sigh from her contractor softened her anger. Her eyes burned with tears as she turned around. “She acts like you’re required to—” He smiled… She dropped her arms like heavy lead. Tears rolled down her cheeks—Cor Leonis stole her sadness.

But her tears don’t stop. He took her into his arms and comforted her. “Come on, Barielle.” He mumbled while turning around. “We don’t live too far from here.” He died. Killed by a knife to the throat. Cultists will swarm a week from now. They’re surrounded by them. Under his watchful eye, Priscilla Barielle dies. “We’ll talk. Somewhere private.” He did not command but talked. In his arms, Beatrice wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her checkered dress.

The tears clung to her cheeks like spite refusing to let go. She hated crying, showing weakness. She hated that she was the one forced to hold his world together every time the people tried to break his world. And yet—without care for the people trying to snip his feathers—he held her now. As if she were the one at her limit.

“Betty can walk.” She whispered out fleeting cracks. 

He nodded. “I know.” He did not let her go. 

They passed through alleyways where moonlight couldn’t reach. They blended in with the shadows as the cobblestones shivered, remembering the blood. The air smelled of rust and wine. Behind them, clinging to their shadow, Priscilla did not follow immediately. She stayed in the empty square, eyes burning on the spot Subaru’s shadow had just vanished from. “He smiled at mineself like mineself was nothing more than a guest in his life.”

And the shadows talked. “You are, Princess.” From beyond a corner, a voice silenced her thoughts. “And he doesn’t take kindly to uninvited guests anymore.” She turned—no knight, no attendant. Just a shadow with no face, a memory in motion. But Priscilla didn’t flinch. She simply exhaled, composed and cruel. And walked.

…

Their house wasn’t far. A couple of turns away was a crooked little home nestled between too forgotten buildings, flowers blooming defiantly through cracks in the wall. A busted doorknob. The hinges creaked. Beatrice was set down. She didn’t want to let go. “Beako.” He mumbled. “I’m still here.” 

She huffed and let him go. “Shoes off.” She flicked her hand across the room and lit the space with fireflies, warm and golden. Subaru kissed her forehead. “I suppose.”

“Of course.” He leaned down and untied her black shoes. She slipped her heels free. He untied his shoes and set them beside the wall opposite of hers. The fireflies spun in slow circles around the wooden beams overhead. They were alone, but only in body. “She’s still there.” As if asking for permission, Subaru muttered.

Beatrice didn’t turn. She didn’t have to. She entranced his eyes with the dancing fireflies. “Betty knows. She’s been staring at the door for five minutes.” Subaru exhaled and crossed to the nearest window. He cracked the shutter to peek past the curtains. She stood beneath a crooked lamp; its flame flickered orange light across her black and red clothes. She hadn’t knocked. She didn’t move. “She’s waiting for something, in fact.”

“Permission.” Subaru closed the shutters. “She never needed it before… Maybe this time, she doesn’t want to walk into the stink.” He attempted to joke, but Beatrice’s eyes flicked towards him. She frowned.

“Yours?”

“Yeah, mine.” Subaru didn’t flinch. The silence wasn’t thick. It was light and uncomfortable. Beatrice crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. 

“It’s stronger.” She glared at the ground. “As strong as then—”

“Mmmm,” Subaru hummed. He licked his lips. “Four times.”

She clenched her tiny jaw. “You didn’t tell Betty.”

“I didn’t want to.” Another beat of silence. Then, reluctantly, Beatrice walked towards the door and opened it. The creaking groan of the hinges called out like an old ghost. And as if the world whispered in her ears, Priscilla was already standing at the foot of the steps. She knew. “Right.”

“You may enter,” Betty mumbled with all the horrific regal disdain of a queen tired of thieves and invaders. Perhaps. Priscilla stepped inside slowly, like a woman testing the depth of the shadows and the brevity of Beatrice’s patience. Her eyes lingered on the floor, the fireflies, and then, on him.

“No guards.” Subaru stood behind Beatrice. Like a knight. An older brother. A Father. Like—like something. “No sword. Just you.” Priscilla’s scorn grew.

“You think mineself needs a sword to speak with a corpse—” The Great Spirit’s home is a domain. Her territory. Her domicile. So Beatrice stepped forward.

Between them. “Betty needs to remind you, Bitchy,” she bit. “That Betty’s so-called ‘corpse’ crushed Regulus Corneas and cracked the floor of the Dragon’s Palace without a sword.” Had she been the size of her words, Beatrice would have towered over the moon.

Ignoring the jab, Priscilla’s gaze never left Subaru’s face. “What have you become, Lion Tamer, Subaru Natsuki?” He didn’t answer her right away. He turned his eyes towards a small table in the small kitchen. He pulled out a chair and sat down—Beatrice didn’t move from his side. She did not trust the Princess to keep her mouth—or her mana—to herself. Priscilla finally took a step forward and spoke with uncharacteristic silence.

“Lion Tamer… Mineself did not come to scorn you. Not this time.”

“Are you here for a lecture, an apology, or another kick to the teeth?” He ignored her words. “Why?”

“Because there are rumors.” She tilted her head. “Voices. Whispers too loud to ignore. The ones who once followed your scent in reverence now hunt it like bloodhounds.” If there was care behind her words, he wouldn’t believe it. “And when they come for you… they’ll burn everything in their path.”

Betty’s eyes narrowed. “Then Betty suggests you leave before they do.”

“Not until I say what I came to say.” All the calmness shattered just briefly. Priscilla snapped with clenched fists. “The others—the fox, the Duchess, and the Priestess—they think you’ve become something monstrous.” Her eyes were fleeting. “A harbinger. A shadow of what you once were.” 

“They’re not wrong—” Subaru spoke, and Beatrice bit back her words.

“They say you see fragments of doomed futures. Act before blood spills. You predict threats before they form. The world says you’re cursed.” Priscilla looked at the dainty walls. Betty will curse the world. “Others say you glimpse beyond the veil—the Witch Cult calls it… cheating fate.”

“They’re not wrong.”

Priscilla studied him. The dark under his eyes kissed his cheeks. The way he unconsciously shifted Beatrice into his lap. How tired he looked—and still refused to fall. “But I don’t think that’s all of it…” She met the spirit’s gaze. “I saw the way you held her.” He rested his chin on Beatrice’s shoulder and looked forward to nothing in particular.

“You’re still fighting for something.” Her lips were quivering. “And as much as it disgusts me to say it—” she hesitated, teeth clenching, “that means you might still be useful—” Betty’s anger reached its limit.

“If you finish that sentence.” Her butterflies turned to moths. Her face was calm. Subaru’s kisses against the back of her skull did not quell her heart. They always want to use them—him. Always him. “Betty will not offer you a painless death—”

“Not if the Witch’s Children get to me first—”

The world was black. “Betty will not be so merciful.” Priscilla could feel the pain… She did not bother registering it.

“Beako.” The world lit. Betty’s calmness gave out. Fear struck her eyes.

“You care too much.” Priscilla whispered. Then quieter: “It’s infuriating.”

“The cult is moving again,” she told them things they already knew. “Quietly. Smarter. Not like before. And this time, they’re not just after the half-devil… They want your corpse—they say it remembers how to live again.”

“I know.” Betty did not know he knew.

“If the world burns.” Priscilla did not falter beneath his eyes. “Would you reach for me, like you would for her, too?” In a second, Betty understood. The qualms of her heart were laid bare. Her anger diminished. Softened. And turned into something else—understanding. Her eyes widened and let the light in. Lost without her knight. Her crown. Her kingdom…

In some sense, the girl was no better than them, a nomad. Her dress was clean, but it wasn't as expensive as it could have been. “Where's Al?” Subaru questioned.

“He could not support me forever.” She was a Princess who was forced to flee from her kingdom. A Princess whose knight’s in the forest killing cultists. A Princess loved by the world, and the world led her to them… Subaru looked at her. “I can't give you what you want—what if you die?”

“What if?”

“How long, in fact?”

Subaru closed his eyes and hugged her tight. “Eight days.”

“Eight days for what?”

Subaru looked at the Princess once more. Weight in his eyes. “Eight days until the Cult raids Priestella.” He said it so casually. “We're heading there tomorrow morning—”

“To die.”

Beatrice lost all that patience she gained. “Regulus Corneas was not the last.” Subaru hummed. “With nothing more of value, you can leave. I suppose—”

“Stay the night. Might not have a bed for you—”

“She wants nothing more than to use you, Subaru.”

“Mineself intentions are not so fickle, Great Spirit.”

“Fickle or not, Al helped us.” Subaru patted Beatrice's thighs. She crossed her arms and glared. “There's a room at the end of the hall… Stay the night. Unless you—”

“The world has brought me here.”

“She's crazy.”

“Seriously, I can talk.” She huffed. He sighed. “There's a room at the end of the hall, Barielle. Bed's a bit creaky, but it's better than nothing.” 

“Mineself will—”

“Stop talking like that. In fact. Betty does not like it.” Priscilla looked down at her… And walked. Left to find the room. Not out of earshot, Betty talked. “I hate her, Betty's Subaru.”

“To be frank, you hate everyone.”

“No one's good enough for you.”

“But you?”

Beatrice smiled. “Precisely. She has feelings.” 

“Al is dead.”

“She is confused?” Betty asked.

“She's clinging.” The door clicked closed and left them in the silence of the small dining room. “Are you tired?”

“I love you.”

“Mmh-hmm.” He kissed the back of her head. “I love you too.”

“We have no bed, in fact.”

“Maybe not… I'm not tired.” He's always tired.

“Betty will keep you company.”

“Always.” In seconds they find themselves on the ground. He hugs her close… She surrounds them in seals worthy of Puck’s anger. She has a week to save him; he has a week to solve the problem.

…

She needed to feel wanted… But she came to the one man who did not want. That silent realization—everything is gone. Her world is gone and the only thing left is a man she once scorned. 

She huffed and buried her head in a pillow that shouldn't bring her comfort. “Commoner.”

Chapter Text

Steady on the outside like his body was made of obsidian and his blood was liquid metal. She does not like how willing his is to accept the world wants to break him—she barks and yells. “Betty supposes…” she mumbled, resting her cheek on his shoulder and glaring at the faint scar around his neck. “Betty is tired of being the only one who's angry, terrified, and protective of Betty’s Subaru.” She didn't need to sleep.

She didn't need to rest. She did not need to rest. If the moment called, she could stay awake for four hundred more years—he wasn't THAT person. He was a thief who… Story for another time. “But alas, someone has to do it, in fact.” She scratched the edges of his patchy cheeks. “Betty is tired.”

He hummed and scrambled the eggs. “I'll wake you up when the food's done. You're staying up too late these days.” Not necessarily. They were free for the week before the Princess came. He spent all week letting her rest, pampering her, and loving in ways only she could appreciate. “You'll be wrinkly straight out of school.”

She softly turned his face towards her. She kissed his cheek. “Betty is here. Betty will always be here.” Her voice croaks as sleep chokes her words. “Betty loves you… but Betty can no longer stave off exhaustion.” Grumbling like an old, reluctant mom. She covered his nose with her small hand. “As much as Betty loves when you breathe, Subaru breathes loudly, in fact.”

“I vaguely remember you complaining that I needed to breathe louder.” Because sometimes he stayed still for minutes without moving an inch. He didn't want to scare her, so he breathed louder. “I vaguely remember complaining that you need to walk louder—”

She huffed. “Don't blame Betty on her weight. Betty could not—” she yawned. Her breath danced across his hair. The loose strands not held by a ribbon—he spent the last hour before breakfast teaching her a hundred different ribbon ties—waves beneath her breath. She smiled and buried her nose into his neck. “I'm tired.”

Far too tired to exhaust herself. “Subaru will do his best—”

“Dare I say, his best is enough.” 

He nodded off mutely. She nodded off literally. Her small hand dropped. He feared that she wasn't with him. But she subconsciously tightened her arms until she was sure he could remember her love. His heart slowed comfortably. She is here. He can feel her breath. “I love you, Beako.” Just as the words left his mouth, the Princess walked in.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Priscilla came across a domestic scene that almost felt normal. A young man humming and dancing across the kitchen with a sleeping kid on his shoulder. The sound of birds. The distant hums of footsteps. The smell of eggs, rice, and bread drift throughout the house. For a second, Priscilla thought she dreamed last month.

For a second, she thought she woke up safe. But then he looked at her with the exhausted scorn of a man, not a boy.

He's fine. Far too fine for her liking. She didn't like his jokes, gentle and ironic. He acts fine—too fine. Making breakfast. Speaking softly. Not depressed. Not broken. Even worse—he’s fine. 

“Not much in the pantry.” His sleeves were rolled up and he and Betty had fingers of flour. White dust absently filled the mess on the counter. They even baked together. “But we’ve got enough to pretend we're civilized.” She walked across the kitchen and settled uncomfortably at one of the chairs at the table.

Only two. A black one covered with sparkles, ribbons, and pink things. Betty's Subaru's Chair! Another. A pink chair covered in knives—a small throne made of swords. Beako’s Badass Iron Throne! She did not need to be a scholar to know whose chair was whose. Cute and quaint, she took Subaru’s chair.

“You're quiet,” he questioned. Perhaps her silence was because of the sleeping kid. There was a peace in the room that made her sick. She looks down at their decorated table. Like a mini war. Armed figures crafted from the remnants of popsicles. Subaru made a house and painted it black. Beatrice made a cannon aimed at his house. The day after, only then did Priscilla notice how decorated their house was.

Their walls were painted wildly. Most of the walls were blue, but one wall was halfway painted because the painter could not reach the top with her brush… Another wall had their names on it. Betty’s Subaru! A large stick figure with a huge head and small features. 

“Mineself has nothing to say.” Subaru’s Beako! A small stick figure beside him with large proportions; however, the head was painted deceptively small. Like a pebble on a granite statue.

She glanced back at the man wearing a pink robe. “That's new.” Not this past month, no. She hasn't opened her mouth to many. Felt, Reinhard, him and his spirit, and the reflection in the mirror. “Don't know why I'm asking this, but do you eat bread?” She didn't reply with her words; she replied with her actions.

She nodded. “Makes sense… You know, back in my hometown, I knew these girls that wouldn't eat bread because they thought it was making them break out. Then they found out that wiping mangos on their face fucked them up.” He sounded angry. “Man, then some dickwad ate a bat. For two years, everything closed. No stores. No stocked shelves… God, no mayonnaise.”

He shivered. A steaming bowl of rice topped with eggs and fresh bread was placed in front of her. A small plate of cut appas sat beside it. A long minute of silence. “...You didn't have to.”

Smiling, he set a glass beside her. No doubt his own. It was black and lined with ribbons tied to spell: Betty’s Subaru's Mug. She touches it first. The smell simmers in her nose and reminds her stomach that she hasn't eaten since yesterday morning… It tastes like tea. Cheap tea. Not smooth. A bitter after taste. Deep red. Entirely unassuming. 

But she licks her lips and absently wipes thumb beneath her eyes. She does not cry. “I know.”

“...it’s not terrible.” He goes back to humming. Holds his Spirit up in his arms and struggles to set her bowl in front of her seat.

“Don't make it a habit… Beako.” He mumbles while setting her down. She clung. “Beako, breakfast is ready.” Where Priscilla had appa slices, Beatrice had onge slices with the thin film safely unpeeled to better allow the fruit to burst. Perhaps the spirit didn't like the film.

Shultz sucked the fruit and spat out the remains. “Subaru, stop trying—kisses will not help—” In a moment of weakness, Subaru shoved a slice onge in her mouth. She paused and slowly chewed. Her eyes lit. Her exhaustion faded. “You peeled them.”

“Always.”

Beatrice noticed the lady sitting across from her. A mug that shouldn't be there. Eyes that aren't his. A dress in that chair. Breasts… Not Subaru. She lost her sheen. She frowned. “Betty sees someone that isn't Betty's Subaru sitting in Betty’s Subaru’s chair that is obviously labeled Betty’s Subaru’s Chair—IN FACT.” He kissed her cheek and watched her pout. “Kisses and head pats have yet to be proven an effective method to stifle Betty’s anger!”

Priscilla bites back her words. “Well, Betty’s anger is adorable.” She flushed. “Seriously, Beako, where else would she sit—don’t answer that.” He saw her open her mouth: the floor. “Would you rather her sit in your seat?”

“Yes.” Because Betty decorated that seat for Betty’s Subaru. “Betty did not make that seat for her.”

“I made your seat… You want her to sit on your gift?”

“The floor is always available—where will Betty’s Subaru sit if she is taking his seat, I suppose?” She yelled. “See. Betty would rather die than allow Betty’s—” Until his hands reached beneath her arms and lifted her up. “Betty supposes this is fine.” She settled back down on his lap. He reached for his own cut appa slices. 

And for a minute, none of them speak. Because there’s nothing to say.

Beatrice breaks.

Not loudly. Quietly. Passive-aggressively. “She might hurt you.” Neither cares that she's sitting across from them with her eyes planted on cut fruits. Beatrice tried to sip her tea, but her hands boiled the liquid every time she held the cup. 

“Maybe.” He hugged her, closed his eyes, and hummed. 

But she's done pretending she's okay. “You're humming.” Beatrice said without looking from Priscilla. Subaru hummed. “Betty didn't know corpses could hum.” A small flinch. Imperceptible. Fearful. Priscilla ate. Subaru stopped humming. Beatrice's tea didn't stop boiling over until Subaru hugged her tighter.

“I'm not dead.” Betty does not cry. Subaru does not hum. Priscilla feels wildly out of place. She hates him for it. She hates how he carries it all. How he smiles through it. How he lets her scream and still holds her like she’s the fragile one.

“Betty supposes, in fact.”

“...” Priscilla confesses nothing—but her silence says it all.

She sits without makeup. Hair slightly messy. She eats slowly. Her posture is perfect, but her clothes are wrinkled. She says nothing because anything she says would break her mask. No one answered that knock in their heads.

Beatrice acknowledged what she didn't want to. “Subaru.” He hummed. Beatrice set her fork down and licked her lips of tidbits of rice. She turned her head to the man already with his food—he started eating last, but he finished before them both. “You're planning something.”

That catches Priscilla's thoughts. “Tomorrow.” She dares.

Subaru smirked. “Yeah, tomorrow we’ll scout Priestella.” But he knows deep down. “We're not ready… doesn't mean we'll ever be.” Priscilla set her fork down. She couldn't finish the rice. Fresh bread filled her stomach. At least she could put the food down and keep it down.

“You're not enough—” Betty’s glare hit softly. “Not with her… mineself.”

“I know.” At the end Beatrice wants him to rest—and he won’t.

Subaru stands. Put the dishes away. Begins packing a bag with their tiny provisions.

Beatrice grabs his wrist. Firm. Furious. “You don’t get to die for this.”

“I’m not planning to.” He smiled.

“But you’re not planning to live either!” 

He doesn't answer. Priscilla watches them. Unmoving. Then finally, she finally whispered. “He smiled like that once before… the day he begged for mineself’s help.”

Beatrice sneered and looked back at the lady. “And your knight died because you said no.”

“I was a fool—”

“No one said you stopped, Barielle.” Subaru took her bowl, emptied the remnants into the trash. “Anyways. We're going to pack our stuff and head off tonight—there’s a few knights that owe me. I'll get us a carriage—”

“Mineself is a Princess—”

“With a kingdom of cultists.” Beatrice grumbled on the counter Subaru placed her on. 

“But a Princess nonetheless. Mineself can procure a Dragon Carriage come noon.” 

“What if you're going to die?”

“Mineself has no Knight. No people. Mineself’s kingdom has been taken over by the Witch’s Children. If the world believes it's best mineself to not live to turn twenty-one, then mineself shall die. The world wills it.”

“You deserve it.” Beatrice snipped. Subaru shrugged.

“And you deserve to stop talking.” He lifted her into his arms. “Breakfast is done. Let's go buy some shit.” He looked at Priscilla. “You coming?”

“Mineself will come across you when—”

“Are you coming, I suppose?”

“Just come on. What if you get stuck in the middle of nowhere in that dress? You need more clothes. I'm not Al, so I’m not really going to beat around the bush. You look like a hot mess.” She didn't respond. “Barielle—”

“Priscilla… Mineself has deemed you worthy of using Mineself’s name.”

“Who are you to decide what Betty's Subaru is worth?”

“Let's just go. We won't be back until later tonight, and I don't think you want to be stuck in here. It gets stuffy after eleven.”

…

In a few minutes, they're walking along the road. Food. Clothes. And miscellaneous items. They float behind Beatrice.

Priscilla has always been the voice of reason, so she spoke when the world kissed her ears. “The middle cities aren't allowed to mingle between them…” Because the world’s going to war. “The Priestess—”

“Don't call her that.” Subaru chipped. “Not here. People are watching.” 

Chapter Text

Anxiety plagued the air. Knights aimlessly polluted the streets with drawn swords and listless spirits. Priscilla noticed the way they towered over everyone else but hid from the scorn of the Great Spirit. The knights walked through the crowd without fear—and through them, the Lion Tamer cleared a path. The Tamer and his Spirit were revered… Rumors. Whispers. So she followed. 

“Betty doesn't like repeating herself. In fact. If Betty tells you what to do, you listen. Be they a failed princess,” Betty spoke with annoyance and hate in her words. In front of Subaru stood a knight with imposing shoulders. He looked down at the man. “Or a knight who doesn't know their place—”

The man sneered down at him. His metal shined in the metal. A man worth his weight in gold. A knight. A Royal Knight of the Church; Sanctum Draconis. Above his heart, etched in metal, a dragon swallowing a cross.

The Church of the Priestess. “To restore Lugunica…” The knight leaned down with mocking slowness. “The land must be purged of heresy and wild magic—Lion Tamer.” Subaru smiled softly. He nodded and held Beatrice's hand before her power could consume them all. Huffing, Priscilla stepped in front of the two. The knight scowled.

She pointed her fan, covered in flames, at the knight. “Man-swine filth.” Subaru tried not to pay attention to the familiarity of the term. “How dare you stand in mineself’s way?” Beneath the sun, she could take the knights and start a war between a Spirit and her Benefactor and a Priestess in charge of a church… “Mineself’s patience is thin.”

Without her knight, the Bloody Bride’s named the Forsaken Sovereign. The edges of her blade slowly replace her outstretched fan. A hilt. A handle. Shining.

A blade. “Clear a path!” She barked. Maybe it was because the man flinched. Maybe it's because she knew what her actions could lead to. Maybe it's because she had nothing left in this world and a civil war was the only thing the world wanted—maybe it's because her blade was half formed and her lips were quivering.

Maybe it's because she was crying when she yelled, and the Princess does not cry—so he stepped beside her. Not completely.

His Spirit wouldn't dare, but the sentiment stands. The Lion Tamer and his Lion stand beside the Bride. A war. A battle. Subaru does not falter. He pushes through them, and the knight tumbles gently. Stunned… Beatrice held Priscilla’s free hand and tugged her along. “Betty—”

“Leave her alone,” Subaru commanded and left her no room to say otherwise. “Pester her another time.” 

“Betty did not intend on pestering her.” She looked at her black shoes framed by their shadows. “Betty simply intended on making her realize that Betty is immune to her tears. Betty still hates her, in fact.” Subaru smirked, shook his head, and ignored everyone else watching them. “Did you see this too?” She wanders aloud.

“Maybe.” He slowed his steps and turned his gaze to the Princess. “That's why we don't talk about the Priestess.” Priscilla rolled her eyes, huffed, and scratched her tears. “She sends them out of nowhere.”

“Mineself does not fear—”

Beatrice scoffed. “You should.”

“She’s right…” He tried not to grit his teeth as they passed the onlookers. “You might be on the toilet, sleeping, or somewhere else doing something else, and it'll only take one slip for them to come.” Still, Priscilla held her hand as her confidence kicked in the walls. Subaru, with Betty in his arms, turned down another alley far too long, far too dark, and far too hidden.

“Reinh—”

Beatrice's sneer stopped her once more. “Don't say his name either—they’re in cahoots—” What they meant by that, Barielle never pushed for an answer. After all, every time she caught the path of the Sword Saint, he seemed different. Felt, the pug dressed like a lion, too was far too different.

She felt old. More mature… But she's nothing but a war maiden now. An outlet for the Priestess. Felt’s word is equivalent to law to people far too fearful to say otherwise… And those that do? The Merchant and the Duchess clean up.

But knowing that, Subaru shook his head. “Not necessarily.” He shut down their thoughts. “He's just not trustworthy. He's a good guy, but he's way too—give a kid a cookie, but he might not tell the truth. Give a kid a hundred cookies and he'll tell everything—”

“Explain yourself—”

Like a suffering intrusion, Subaru’s answer came quiet, almost muttered but sharp enough to harm—to cut. “There's the one who holds the book.” She hears him, and she nearly makes the mistake of giving too many details. Fortunately, he continued. “And there's the one who swings the blade… You give a sermon, and the other enforces it.”

“So you claim the Holy Knight is a vassal?” She licked her lips behind her fan to quell the quivering. “Mineself cannot believe it—”

“Because your own beliefs matter?” Betty snipped and sneered. “Your own beliefs matter to no one but yourself, in fact.”

Subaru smirked and nodded bitterly. “That's the thing too. Beliefs—he doesn't believe he's serving anyone… He thinks he's serving everyone. A kingdom, a dragon, and a dream. But someone else is telling him what's heresy and what isn't.” His eyes drifted toward the end of the alley once more…

Across the armored men standing at its entrance doing little to hide their own eyes. He turned back and continued walking. “And he follows along like it's gospel—he’s no better than the cultists.”

Beatrice huffed, her arms tightened around his neck. “Then the sermons are daggers, I suppose. If one reads, the other stabs.” Subaru hummed.

“Even better. You can preach about cleansing the land all you want.” Like the knights that just disappeared behind the corner. “But it doesn't mean anything without real steel to back it up—there’s no steel sharper than his.” Slowly, Barielle walked beside him with her eyes on the stone. “She speaks; he acts. Her words are nothing without a Saint to spill blood for it.”

The words themselves were dangerous; even whispers carried risks—how many times did he die to tell all of this without dying once more? And because of that, silence lingered. Until Priscilla broke it first. “So he has become a weapon… A blade in her hands.” She licked her dried lips. “A holy dog in a leash—”

“Not that he's ever seen it like that.” Subaru’s smile twisted as Beatrice's hand scratched the small stubble strands. “Hell, I've seen him smile at you while cutting you down… He's a heretic, more like it. Thinking he's protecting you. Protecting everything.” Beatrice’s lips landed on his cheek.

“And that's why Betty told you not to speak their names.” She looked at Priscilla with possessive eyes laden with anger. “If you calm them, they come.” Mockingly, Betty looked back at her Subaru. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and stared without closing her eyes.

…The alley seemed to stretch,but it wasn't quiet—rumors crawled and spread like mold. Mushrooms bloomed in the back of people’s minds as the Priestess’s propaganda infected their thoughts. A pair of mothers whispered together and pulled their children back inside their doorframes. Subaru walked with too much confidence. The Bride held her own gaze. Beatrice hummed away in the crooks of his neck.

Priscilla flicked her fan shut, trembling ever so slightly… No knights. No nobles. No suns. No fanatics praising her—the world showed her something, the Lion Tamer, and the Priestess showed her resolve… Resolve not loyalty. Blind faith.

Faith, her skin crawled, was worse than fear. “They will hound us,” she murmured, voice unsteady. Gently, Subaru’s arm rubbed hers. She held her words, and in turn, he gave her his. 

His steps mimicked hers. “Assuming that they aren't already…” She looked away. Beatrice tightened her arms.

“Even if we,” Betty lifted her head to the Bride’s words—we, she says. “Burn this street to ash, they will come back.” We… Beatrice closes her eyes… They always come to take, but the Bride is willing to hold the burden. “And again. And again.”

“That's the point—”

“Is it though? To be chased? To fight… To make me worry… Explain yourself, I suppose.”

“They don't need to win—" he looked at his spirit, more like a sister he never had, and smiled. Sharply, far too sharp. “They just need to make you bleed. Once.” He looked back forward. “Make you trip.” Barielle stumbled gently. “Make you run.” Citizens his away in the alley cracks. “That's all it takes for her to preach that you're weak. Vulnerable.” 

Beatrice closed his eyes and scratched the scar on his neck. “Then the people believe it, and believing it—”

“Faith,” Priscilla corrected. “Blind faith.”

“Blind faith is worse than a wound.” He chuckled, short, bitter, and entirely deranged. “Fuck, half the time you don't even need a wound. A rumor’s enough—”

“They call you the Lion Tamer.” Her fan sagged in her hand. She thought of the streets—one lively with appa sellers and playing kiss—and how dead they are now. “Rumors… So even victory becomes loss.”

“Keep on figuring things out; you're getting better by the second.” His eyes, not darting, slowly drifted to the rooftop shadows that vanished too quickly. “If we fight, we lose. Run, we lose. Die, then you really lose.” Beatrice lifts her gaze, so Subaru softened the blow. “But the trick isn't to win.”

Her nose nuzzles him. She located her eyes and breathed out. “It's to make them lose first.” Even smiling and burning, her voice was low, and her grip around his neck was fierce. “Betty doesn't like that tone—it reeks of the devil again.” Alluding to the witch.

“And here I thought I was doing better.” She leaned back to stare at him. Subaru shrugged. 

She sighed and laid her cheek back down. “She’s far too close for comfort… Listening.” She frowned without mercy. “And the sermon hasn't even started yet, in fact.”

“Better late than never.”

Priscilla noticed that outside of their house, they don't talk as much as they do. Without many details. Too little explanation. Too little detail. “I suppose…” And just like that, in the back of a long crack in the city, they turn into a store. A door in a brick wall—

Lights, ugly yellow lights and the smell of thick quilts—a grey haired merchant and a hundred thousand bugs scattered about. But Subaru walks, so she stalks behind him. “Suwen.” He calls, and the young man stands up from behind a desk with bundles of supplies surrounding his alcove. The young man held scars in places where scars shouldn't exist.

His hair was oily, and his eyes were dark and deep. He smiled with cracked lips. He stared with unnerving caution. Poisonous beetles hovered above them—a sliver and they'll die in seconds. 

Cautiously standing up. “I used to be an adventurer like you.” Suwen mumbled, Betty groaned, and Subaru smirked.

“Until I took an arrow to the knee.” The beetles disappeared up into the ceiling. He walked forward without fear. “We’re heading to Priestella—” Suwen scoffed.

“To die.” 

Betty frowned. “I have yet to understand the reason you let him cling—usefullness aside, his hesitation is disgusting, in fact.” She hugged him. “Betty’s Subaru will not die.”

“Yeah, yeah. Change of plans, I need some clothes for her.” Suwen looks at her finally. Recognition. Danger. He frowns. The beetles swarm. But before they get close, they turn purple beneath the Spirit’s glare.

“What are you trying?” She questions. Suwen’s up, about to run, but he doesn't move. Not yet.

“Heresy—”

“Otto.” Resolute. A silent command. Otto sits down. Fearful. “We are leaving. Tomorrow morning. Tonight… We're leaving.” He looked around the shop for supplies. “They're raising Priestella.”

His nose curls. “That's not within my jurisdiction—she doesn't trust me. She knows I know you… I'm on a thread.”

“Then cut it—”

“I can’t, Su-san.”

“I wasn't asking… She needs some clothes. Nice ones. Something worth her. And that's all. You've done it before—”

“Because she—” He frowned. “That's not the same. This isn't the same… She’s not her—”

“Treat her like her.”

“Su-san.”

“Otto.” Otto groaned and hid behind his hands. “And then you're free—”

“So you're going to die?”

“No.” Beatrice said… Unnaturally, Priscilla kept her mouth closed—if the world advised her, she would talk without remorse… But she couldn't form her sword. Her hair’s slick. She smells like a day old. Her fingers are clammy. Her cheeks are flushed. Her breath is sporadic.

“He's not going to live.”

“That doesn't matter. I'll be back in a few hours. You'll have the things by then.” He wasn't asking. He was telling…

The Lion Tamer; Priscilla stared at his back—larger than life… Like All, but Al is dead. Permanently. Gone… She looked at Otto or Suwen or whatever he's called. “I'm going to need information. She's not satisfied anymore.”

“We'll figure that out then—Bariella.” She looked at his face as he looked at her. “You'll be with him.”

She sneered. “Mineself does not care for your intentions. Mineself does not care for your actions—”

“He'll never love you.” Beatrice shuts her down. 

“I can talk for myself… I'm going to come back, pick you up, and we'll be gone. But he's getting stuff for you. Go with him.” Again, he wasn't asking. He wasn't willing to wait. He didn't care…

He left behind the door with a Spirit who held too much of his life—Otto, Suwen, or whatever his name is, staring. Angrily. Annoyed. And tired. “Fuck.”

He dropped his head on the table. “Blessed by my presence, yet you frolic like a coward—”

“Coward?” He sneered in disgust. “You're no better than me. Not when he's around. Not when he's talking—you listen. I've seen him do worse to people who’ve done less.” He stood up… Taller than her. Wide shoulders, but he looked like a dead man walking.

A skeleton with muscles. “Come on, Barielle.” He said her name with scorn. “The least this coward can do is put you in something… nice.”

He pulled a cloak from a rack and tossed it at her without ceremony. Dust clings like fire, heavy from storage, but still rich enough for the nobility to wear without shame. “Put it on,” he mumbled, not bothering to watch if she obeyed. “At least then,” his finger dragged across the counter, knuckles pale, “if they drag you into the street, you'll look presentable.”

Priscilla bristled. Shook. “Mineself is no doll for you to dress—” Otto glared 

He snapped his eyes towards her and barked louder than he meant to. “You are EXACTLY that.” He mocked. The beetles stirred, wings thrumming like knives against glass. “That's the only thing he wants from you. A doll. Something to shove into the right clothes so the world doesn't eat him alive before he makes it to Priestella.”

For a second, her hand tightened on the fan as she thought to strike him—the words clung as heavy as the dust on the cloak. He turned his back once more and let his shoulders say. His voice got lower, and in turn, his beetles swarmed violently. “You think you're special.”

He let it simmer. “Different. Unique—I’ve known nicer, more important, more special, and so much better than you. But the moment they slowed him down, they were dropped. That's what he does to ‘special people like you’. That's what he does. Leave people.”

Silently, the beetles crawled back into the cracks of the ceiling, silently watching. He finally looked at her.

Oily, greasy, and skinny. The yellow light didn't help. “So dress yourself. Smile if you can. And pray to whatever god you worship that he doesn't decide your dead weight—”

And to jab once more, he tosses her a dress. “Put that on.” Because to him, she's not a lost princess, but a doll to be paraded. “Less you'd rather be—”

“Mineself isn't deaf.”

Otto shrugged. “I planned on killing you… Guess I still might—”

“And what of the Lion Tamer’s scorn?”

He shrugged. “Assuming I haven't killed for less.”

Chapter Text

“You shouldn't have left her there.” She stood with her arms crossed and her frown standing like it was there the entire time—”he might kill her.” Subaru hummed, and he continued to dig through a drain just a turn from the oily shop. 

“He might.”

Beatrice never intended on caring, and she still doesn't care… But Subaru’s hers, and she's not willing to compromise a possible future where his burdens can be shared. “She was useful—crude, unwanted, delusional, but useful nonetheless. What if you need her?” He smiled and sat up with muddy fingers.

A metal cylinder as long as her arm’s pulled from a crack. “Then she won't die—” Betty frowned. “Four times—” She frowned harder.

“Don't say that so easily, in fact. Death might be commonplace to you, but Betty has yet to witness such a thing.” He waved her concerns off. “If she died, Betty’s not willing to imagine a future where Betty’s Subaru’s burdens are hers to bear—”

“All roads lead to Rome.” She scoffed. Subaru smiled. “Beako.” He didn't use that phrase often. She didn't know what Rome was. Who they are…. But the phrase made sense. If Rome was a place, and him saying all roads lead to Rome, could be equivalent to saying that no matter what he does, the same thing happens… 

She frowned. “Betty’s muscles, fragile but exquisite, aren't capable of holding so much for so long—Betty wants to share.” Her voice softened. “Barielle sees you in Al—Al in you.” She corrected herself. “She assumes that if she sticks enough, you'll grace her with normalcy.” 

She crouched down as he pulled open the metal cylinder. A black blade stumbled to the ground, the blade cut even the stone until the width of the hilt stopped it. She lifted her hand and sealed it away in the back of her mind. “Lust?” He nodded. “Change the topic, Betty thinks not—Betty remembers how heavy Betty's Subaru talked about Barielle's bountiful breasts—”

His cheeks flushed. “At the time, I was young and dumb, plus her and Al were mixed, you know.” He stood up, dusted his hands on his pants, and went to pick her up. “That's like going out with someone's girl the moment they go to jail—” 

Betty rolled her eyes, set her cheek on his shoulder, and frowned. “Al is dead.”

“Even worse—”

“You sent him to die,” Betty chided. “Less you forgot.” They don't talk about his death with guilt… He went out with a bang. He, alone, nearly walked through all of the Sloth’s fingers… until, in one mistake, Gluttony found him. Devoured his soul. And put him to rest… and then she exploded, and he took the Gluttonous twins with him.

“Yeah, well he totally enjoyed it anyway. Remember that letter,” Subaru rambled with a smile on his face. Betty smirked, shook her head, and listened. “He literally sent so many books that we were banned from sending letters… Hell,” his smile softened, “at least he enjoyed himself. Went out letting go without having to worry about anyone else… sounds like heaven.”

“Ah, Betty supposes she is no more than dead weight?” 

“Yep.” He smirked.

“Perhaps if Betty had the bountiful breasts of the—”

“Alright, alright. Speaking of the Duchess, we might as well go give Otto something before he goes crazy.” She shrugged. Subaru smirked. “Honestly, if you were as heavy as Barielle, I doubt I'd be able to carry you like this.” Betty wiggled, comfortable and contemptuous. 

“If Betty was still Betty, then I doubt Betty’s Subaru will refuse to carry her even then.” Subaru shrugged, smiling as she hummed cutely. Betty closed her eyes, smiling, falling slowly. “Betty wonders sometimes if Betty’s Subaru will ever find himself a worthy maiden… If Priscilla Barielle ever turns away her pride, Betty can not think of anyone more worthy than Betty herself… But Betty does not want to see Betty’s—”

“At this point,” Subaru grumbled, annoyed as she rambled, “you're just blabbering. My love life is—”

“Betty will eventually want grandchildren. Though to do that, Subaru would need to have children… And if you haven't noticed, eighteen with no—” She paused as he opened the door to Otto’s store. “Eighteen with no children is worrying enough. What's Betty supposed to say when Barielle’s bountiful breasts are right—”

“Holy crack, that's enough from you.” Subaru set the little aloof spirit down. He eyes Priscilla, staring for a second with his eyes flicking across what she wore. A black and red, puffy dress similar to what she wore before. Deep red slip ons, and gilded bracelets laden with rubies. 

She stood still, evading their gaze. Betty sighed, staring at her breasts without fault. “See, even now, Betty’s eyes are drawn to Barielle’s bountiful—”

“Enough, Beako.” He mumbled, no longer ready to play around. He looked at Otto, sitting on a stool looking as oily and unsafe as always. He chewed his nails without end, and glared like an addict trying to get clean. Subaru eyes dimmed. Beako, ever present, stood beside him with her fingers holding his hands. “What do you need from—”

“Don't give me that,” he spat. “You know what I need, same thing as always.” He stood up, scratching his neck. “Stop playing these games… Information or—”

Betty stepped forward, stopping whatever ill intentions the man harbored for them—in an instant, hundreds of beetles suddenly appeared in the air—frozen purple. Beatrice smacked her teeth. Subaru sighed… He grabbed Priscilla's wrist, pulled her behind him… For now, he'll keep her safe. “Or what?”

Betty mocked. “Usefulness aside, what good is a broken wheel? Sure, it helped to get us here, but now that we are here—Barielle is dressed… You have no use.” The beetles fell to the ground like purple amber jewels.

Otto never faltered. “Give me what I want—”

Betty tilted her head, mocking him as she crossed her arms. She smiled, egging him on. “And what is—”

And in an instant… Subaru lost the little patience he had left. He frowned, nose curling in disgust—not even a second after Subaru smacked his teeth, was the man across the room, hand constricting Otto’s breathing—the Greed Witch Factor…

Taking time from whomever dares to speak against him—”I told you to watch yourself last time,” he pulled the taller boy to meet his gaze. Sure, there were beetles crawling, swarming the walls, and blitzing for him. But nothing got close. Not even remotely…

Had anyone else came, they would have died before Otto blinked. But this is the Lion Tamer. “You're out of your league—” 

Otto chuckled, laughing like a madman. His voice cracked, blood oozing from his eyes—”out of my league?” Suddenly, his face hardened as his hands gripped Subaru tightly. His body bulged, ants and worms crawling from his pores. “Out of my league?” His voice deepened. 

The beetles buzzed the sound of distorted trumpets—the Pied Piper—filled the air. “I’m the Carrion Piper!” His face was red and purple from asphyxiation. “This is my—” a vicious, dirty snap took Priscilla’s breath away. His neck snapped, and Subaru let his body go—the bugs were pierced by spears as thin as hair, and killed.

Betty nodded, frowning but agreeing. “What a shame, in fact.”

Subaru shrugged, “either now, or he would have told the Saint.” He wiped his hands on his pants, and looked at Priscilla—she met his eyes, nervously staring. Subaru smirked, “now that you're ready, we're going to eat, and then head out… Is there anything you want?”

She opened her mouth, but lost her words… The Great Spirit scoffed, held the lady’s hand, and looked around the room. “Betty knows a place where they sell really good churros.” She returned to normalcy. She looked up at the Sun Princess. “Betty does not suppose that you changed your mind, Barielle? If so, Betty offers an easy death—”

Priscilla scoffed, but the only thing that kept her normal was her pride. “Mineself’s mind is unchanged… I've faced death before.” She met Subaru’s gaze. “The world guided mineself here—by your side is mineself’s place—”

Subaru looked away, indifferent. He leaned, picking Beatrice up. “Welp… What are we thinking about food wise?” He mumbled, kissing Betty’s cheek as she held the Bride’s hand to keep her head clear… Priscilla never looked away, squinting at him… She only looked away when he met her eyes. “I sent Al to die—”

“You speak as if I was not already informed,” her voice comes out in a whisper. The Great Spirit is holding her hand, and she doesn't know why. The Lion Tamer is soft, and she doesn't know why. “Lion Tamer… Mineself will not leave for something so mundane—”

“Betty wanders when you'll break.” Beatrice admitted truthfully. “Perhaps when death encroaches on your dream, will you realize that his side is a death wish.” She squeezed Priscilla shaking, cold hand. “Fear has no place in revolution.”

“Minesefl disagrees,” Priscilla whispered as goosebumps flared… “Fear gives birth to revolution. What comfort can you find if living becomes a commodity only the wealthy can afford.”

“Betty does not agree, but Betty cares too little to bother.” She closed her eyes, humming as they left the alley. They were being stared at, but such is commonplace with the Lion Tamer and the Sun Princess in one place. “This is enough.” She lets the Sun’s hand go. “Betty believes you're capable of walking on your own, Barielle.”

Slowly, the cross stalls, buying small snacks and snipets… Priscilla does not speak… Her shoulder, ever so slightly, rubs against Subaru’s… He's a lot like Al. Tall. Wide… Soft spoken, and quite often speaking in riddles. 

And ever so often, Barielle finds the Great Spirit’s fingers clawing for her palm—Bettt squeezes her hand, reassuring her.

…still, Priscilla doesn't know what changed in that hour they were gone. Before they left, the Spirit wanted nothing to do with her.

Yet, here she is, humming, and holding her hand. “Beako,” but the moment Subaru’s voice hits her ears, to Beatrice, or at least in Priscilla's mind, the world disappears for her. Subaru is the only thing the little girl can think about. “What time is it?”

A mundane question. “12:37, in fact.” She cuddles in his arms… “Betty does not suppose that Subaru is thinking about resting? What about our carriage?”

“You need not worry,” Priscilla spoke up. “I will obtain any of the necessities needed for our trip. From carriage to driver.” Subaru glances over at the lady whose hand did little to hide her shaking. “Set your worries aside.”

“Who are you to give Betty's Subaru orders?” She grumbled, opening her eyes.

Subaru sighed. “You're overreacting—go back to sleep, Beako.” And in turn, the little girl closed her eyes, frown frozen.