Chapter Text
Kaboodle yawned wide enough that her jaw made a sound it probably shouldn’t have, a dull pop that echoed faintly in the quiet of the knight quarters. Morning light spilled in through the narrow window, a pale, dusty ribbon cutting across the stone floor and climbing the opposite wall inch by inch as the sun rose higher.
She rolled onto her side with a low groan, every muscle protesting the movement like it had personally been wronged. Yesterday’s training lingered in her bones, a deep, familiar ache that never fully went away no matter how long she’d been here.
Today was the day.
The thought settled heavy in her chest.
Permanent assignment.
No more rotating patrols. No more temporary placements that let her pretend nothing was final. No more being able to tell herself this isn’t forever when something went wrong.
Whatever role she was given today would shape the next several years of her life. Who she protected. Where she slept. Who she answered to. Who she might die for.
Kaboodle lay still, staring up at the stone ceiling. She traced the familiar cracks with her eyes, mapping them the way she always did when she needed grounding. There was one that looked vaguely like a branching river. Another that reminded her of a sword blade if you tilted your head just right.
She’d memorized them months ago.
Back when the idea of “permanent” still felt abstract.
She exhaled slowly, letting the breath out through her nose. Don’t spiral, she told herself. Spiraling never helped. It just made the waiting louder.
The quarters were quiet in that rare, fragile way that only happened early in the morning. No clanging armor. No shouted jokes. No boots thundering down the corridor. Just the soft creak of the building settling and the distant murmur of the castle waking up elsewhere.
Kaboodle almost enjoyed it.
Almost.
Then—
“KAAABBBBBB!”
Kaboodle flinched violently, instinct kicking in before her brain caught up. Her hand shot out, grasping for a weapon that very much was not there, and she nearly rolled clean off the bed in the process.
“Gods–!”
Magenta-yellow glasses peeked over the edge of the top bunk, followed by a familiar grin that had no business being that energetic at this hour. Squiddo leaned over the railing, hair sticking out at strange angles, face bright like she’d already been awake for hours.
“We’re getting our assignment today!” Squiddo announced, voice echoing off the stone walls. “Like. Official official.”
Kaboodle groaned and flopped back onto the mattress, throwing an arm over her eyes. “I know,” she muttered. “You don’t have to yell it like the castle’s going to forget.”
“But what if it does forget?” Squiddo said seriously. “What if they just… don’t call our names. And then we live here forever, unassigned. Like ghosts.”
Kaboodle peeked out from under her arm. “You already live here forever.”
Squiddo gasped, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. “Rude. I could totally leave.”
Kaboodle raised an eyebrow. “Name one time you didn’t get lost in the outer corridors.”
“That was one time,” Squiddo protested. “And the signs are confusing.”
Kaboodle huffed a quiet laugh before she could stop herself.
Squiddo dropped back onto her bunk with a soft thump, then immediately leaned over again, resting her chin on her folded arms. Her grin faded into something more thoughtful.
“But really,” she said. “This is it. No more guessing.”
Kaboodle turned her head, eyes drifting to the underside of the bunk above her. The wood there was carved with old scratches, names, symbols from knights long gone.
“Yeah,” she said quietly.
There was a pause. The kind that wasn’t awkward, just… full.
“You nervous?” Squiddo asked.
Kaboodle hesitated.
“Maybe.”
Squiddo tilted her head. “That’s a yes.”
Kaboodle sighed. “Okay, yeah. I just… don’t want to end up somewhere stupid.”
“Like border patrol?” Squiddo offered.
Kaboodle groaned. “Especially border patrol.”
“Hey,” Squiddo said defensively. “Border patrol is funnnn. Plus, I’d get to see the mountains.”
Kaboodle pushed herself up onto her elbows. “You hate the cold.”
“That’s what scarves are for.”
Kaboodle sat up fully, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The stone floor was cold under her bare feet, grounding in its own way.
“What do you want to get?” she asked.
Squiddo thought about it longer than Kaboodle expected.
“Something close to the castle,” she said finally. “Somewhere… important.”
Kaboodle glanced at her. “Important how?”
Squiddo shrugged, gaze drifting to the window. “Like we actually matter there.”
Kaboodle nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’d be nice.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Squiddo smiled again, softer now. “At least we’ll still see each other.”
Kaboodle looked up sharply. “You don’t know that.”
Squiddo waved it off. “They’d be stupid to split us up.”
Kaboodle hummed. “They’re very capable of being stupid. Minute probably would, just to teach us independence or some shit.”
Squiddo laughed, already climbing down the ladder. “Come on. If we’re late, they’ll assign us something out of spite.”
They dressed quickly, armor half-fastened and hair barely tamed. Gloves were accused of theft. A belt was debated fiercely.
“I swear that was mine,” Squiddo said.
“You’ve never owned a belt like that,” Kaboodle replied.
“I still have time to.”
Kaboodle rolled her eyes.
As they moved to leave, Kaboodle caught her reflection in the dull metal of her breastplate. She looked… older. More carved by time than she felt. Stronger. Sharper.
She wondered when that had happened.
…
As they stepped into the corridor, the sound of the waking castle wrapping around them, Kaboodle’s mind drifted backward.
To a day not long after Squiddo had arrived.
She could still remember the smell of rain-soaked stone, the way the training yard had been slick and miserable. She, Squiddo, and Wemmbu had been paired together for combat drills.
Wemmbu had tripped over his own foot in the first ten seconds.
Squiddo had laughed so hard she dropped her sword.
Kaboodle had yelled at both of them.
They still won the match.
Barely. Clumsily. With zero coordination and a lot of shouting.
Afterward, they’d collapsed on the ground, armor soaked, laughing breathlessly while Minute glared at them like he might combust.
“I don’t think that was supposed to work,” Wemmbu had said.
Squiddo, flat on her back, had grinned up at the sky. “Worked anyway.”
Kaboodle remembered realizing then, with faint surprise, that she trusted them.
Not because they were perfect.
But because they were there.
The memory faded as the corridor widened and the sounds of other knights joined theirs.
The castle was awake now.
And waiting.
…
The corridor outside the quarters buzzed with low conversation, the sound sliding along stone walls and vaulted ceilings like static before a storm. Knights streamed steadily toward the mess hall, boots striking in uneven rhythms, armor clinking softly as if the castle itself were breathing around them.
Kaboodle walked with her hands folded behind her back, posture straight, pace measured.
She always walked like this on days that mattered.
Some knights moved with confidence, shoulders squared, heads high, already convinced the day would reward them. Others dragged their feet, faces pale, jaws tight, eyes darting like prey scenting a trap.
Kaboodle hovered somewhere between.
Squiddo walked beside her, humming under her breath, occasionally hopping over cracks in the stone like they were obstacles only she could see. Every few steps she leaned just a little too close, like proximity itself was reassurance.
“You’re doing the face,” Squiddo whispered.
Kaboodle didn’t look at her. “What face.”
“The thinking too hard and pretending you’re not face.”
Kaboodle exhaled through her nose. “I don’t have that face.”
Squiddo grinned. “You absolutely do. Wemmbu says it looks like you’re planning three crimes and a murder.”
Kaboodle glanced sideways. “He would.”
As if summoned by name, hurried footsteps echoed behind them.
“Hey! Hey wait up!”
Wemmbu jogged into view, hair streaming everywhere, armor crooked enough to be noticeable but not enough to stop him from pretending it was intentional. One strap on his pauldron was completely undone.
Kaboodle noticed instantly.
“You’re going to lose that shoulder plate,” she said.
Wemmbu waved it off. “It builds character.”
“It builds tripping hazards,” she replied, already reaching out to tug it back into place.
Squiddo watched them with an amused smile. “If you die today, it’s because Kab didn’t fix your armor fast enough.”
Wemmbu snorted. “If I die today, it’s because fate finally got tired of me dodging it.”
Kaboodle paused.
She didn’t like that.
She gave the strap a firmer pull than necessary. “Don’t joke about that.”
Wemmbu blinked at her, surprised, then softened his tone. “Hey. I’m fine. Today’s just assignments. Not an execution.”
Yet, her mind supplied unhelpfully.
They fell into step together, the three of them forming a familiar, comfortable shape in the flow of knights.
For a moment, Kaboodle let herself pretend this was just another morning.
…
Her thoughts slipped backward again, unbidden.
A night watch, months ago.
The three of them had drawn the late shift on the inner walls, the kind where the world went quiet and the stars felt close enough to touch. Squiddo had been wrapped in three layers of scarves despite the mild weather, complaining anyway.
Wemmbu had leaned against the parapet, staring out into the dark. “Do you think anyone remembers us out there?”
Kaboodle had frowned. “Who’s us?”
“Knights,” he said. “Not heroes. Just… people standing guard.”
Squiddo had shrugged. “I don’t mind if they don’t remember. I just want them to be able to sleep without expecting someone to sneak up on them.”
…
There had been a night when all three of them nearly got written up.
A tavern just outside the castle walls. Too loud. Too crowded. A drunk merchant had decided Squiddo’s glasses were funny.
Wemmbu had stepped in first.
Kaboodle remembered grabbing his arm before things escalated, her grip iron-tight.
Squiddo had surprised them both by speaking calmly, firmly, dismantling the insult with words alone.
They’d left together, adrenaline buzzing, laughter spilling out once they were safely down the street.
“We make a weird team,” Wemmbu had said.
Kaboodle had nodded. “But it works.”
She wondered, now, how long it would keep working.
Now, walking toward the mess hall, the memories left a faint ache behind.
…
The mess hall doors loomed ahead, already thrown wide open.
Sound poured out.
Breakfast in the knight quarters was loud and chaotic as usual.
The hall roared with life long before the sun had fully climbed into the sky, a cavern of stone and sound where discipline went to be politely ignored. Torches burned low along the walls, their flames wavering in the draft stirred by so many bodies. Early daylight spilled through the high windows, painting pale gold bars across the floor.
Long wooden tables stretched the length of the hall, packed shoulder to shoulder. Benches scraped loudly as knights squeezed in wherever there was space. Laughter burst and died. Arguments flared and fizzled. Someone dropped a spoon and cursed like it was a personal betrayal.
The air was thick with bread, grease, sweat, and something faintly burnt that no one questioned anymore.
Kaboodle paused just inside the doorway.
She always did.
A habit she’d picked up early, back when everything here felt too big. A single breath to remind herself she belonged.
Squiddo barreled past her immediately.
“I’m sitting before someone steals my spot,” she declared.
Kaboodle followed more slowly, grabbing plates as she went. She handed one to Wemmbu without comment.
He looked genuinely touched. “You remembered I forget.”
“You always forget,” she said.
They sat.
Noise washed over them like a tide.
“I heard the commander already finalized the list,” someone nearby said.
“No way. He changes things last minute.”
“If I get outer villages again, I’m transferring.”
“You can’t transfer.”
“Watch me.”
Squiddo leaned in, voice low. “Do you think anyone gets requested?”
Kaboodle frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Like,” Squiddo gestured vaguely with her fork, “royalty. You think they say, ‘I want that one’?”
Kaboodle stiffened before she could stop herself.
Her mind flickered, sharp and unwelcome, to Prince Mane.
To the way his gaze lingered.
To the way he’d once said, half-smiling, You move like someone's trying to stop you.
At the time, she’d thought it was a compliment.
Now, she wasn’t so sure.
“I hope not,” Kaboodle said finally.
Wemmbu glanced between them. “You’re thinking about him again, aren’t you.”
Kaboodle shot him a look. “About who.”
“Mane,” he said plainly. “You always get that look.”
Squiddo blinked. “Wait, what look?”
Kaboodle sighed. “There is no look.”
“There is absolutely a look,” Wemmbu said. “It’s like you’re bracing for impact.”
Squiddo’s expression sobered. “You don’t think–”
“I don’t know anything,” Kaboodle cut in. “And I don’t want to speculate.”
That was a lie.
She speculated constantly.
Across the hall, laughter erupted near the officers’ table. Someone mentioned personal guard duty again, and a few knights scoffed.
“Overrated,” someone said. “Too close to politics.”
“Too close to blades,” another replied.
Kaboodle swallowed.
She remembered another flash of Mane, months back, watching a sparring match with bored interest until she’d disarmed her opponent in under ten seconds.
His attention had sharpened then.
She hadn’t liked that either.
A bell rang.
Faint. Distant.
But sharp enough to slice through the noise.
Conversations wavered.
Another bell followed, louder.
Benches scraped. Plates were abandoned. The chaos shifted into motion, like a flock turning all at once.
Squiddo pushed her plate away. “Well. This is it.”
Wemmbu rolled his shoulders. “Guess we’ll see how badly the universe wants to mess with us.”
Kaboodle stood, adjusting her gauntlets. Her stomach felt hollow, tight.
As they moved toward the doors, Wemmbu glanced back at them, grinning like always.
“Hey,” he said. “Whatever happens… don’t forget we were good.”
Kaboodle’s throat tightened.
“Don’t be weird,” she said.
He smiled anyway.
The bells rang again.
Louder.
Final.
And the castle began to funnel them toward the hall where names would be spoken and paths would fracture.
…
The doors to the castle hall stood open.
They always did on days like this, wide and welcoming in the way a mouth might be when it plans to swallow you whole.
As Kaboodle crossed the threshold, the noise from the corridors died instantly. Not faded. Not softened. Gone. The heavy stone walls devoured sound like it had never existed in the first place. Every footstep echoed too loud, too clear, ricocheting off the polished floor and climbing the walls before falling back down again.
The castle hall loomed vast and imposing, a cavern of stone and intention.
Towering banners hung from the rafters far above, their embroidered sigils catching the torchlight as they shifted slightly in unseen drafts. Reds, golds, deep blues. Victories stitched into cloth. Oaths remembered long after the people who made them were gone.
Kaboodle felt very small.
She took her place among the other knights, spine straight, hands folded behind her back, gaze fixed forward. It was muscle memory by now. Training drilled so deeply it lived in her bones. Stillness. Attention. Control.
Squiddo stood just to her left.
She rocked subtly on her heels, then stilled when Kaboodle shot her a look. Her glasses caught the torchlight, reflecting it back in sharp little glints. She leaned closer, barely moving her lips.
“This room always feels like it’s judging me.”
Kaboodle murmured back, “That’s because it is.”
Squiddo huffed a quiet laugh, then sobered, eyes flicking forward again.
Wemmbu stood two rows ahead of them, shoulders squared, chin lifted. He glanced back once, quick and subtle, just to make sure they were there.
Kaboodle nodded.
The gesture felt heavier than it should have.
At the far end of the hall stood Minute.
He was exactly as he always was. Rigid posture. Armor pristine. Expression carved from stone. If he felt pride or doubt or anticipation about today’s proceedings, it didn’t show. He held a scroll in one gloved hand, parchment sealed with wax the color of dried blood.
Near him, Prince Flame stood tall and composed, hands folded neatly behind his back. His armor was ceremonial but functional, polished to a mirror sheen without looking fragile. He didn’t fidget. Didn’t shift. His gaze swept calmly across the assembled knights, not dismissive, not indulgent. Assessing. Respectful.
And beside him–
Kaboodle’s breath hitched.
Then there was Prince Mane.
He leaned back slightly, weight settled on one hip, one hand resting lazily on the hilt of his sword as if it were decoration rather than steel. His other arm hung loose at his side. He looked bored.
Or amused.
Kaboodle couldn’t tell which she hated more.
His eyes moved through the ranks, slow and deliberate, not scanning so much as selecting. When his gaze brushed over her, it lingered.
Just a second too long.
Her jaw tightened.
She forced her eyes forward, refusing to acknowledge him. Her pulse kicked hard against her ribs, loud enough she was half-convinced others could hear it.
Beside her, Squiddo leaned in again, whispering, “Okay but Flame looks kind of cool, right?”
Kaboodle didn’t even glance at her. “Focus.”
Squiddo pressed her lips together, nodding, but Kaboodle could feel the tension radiating off her now. It wasn’t excitement anymore. It was awareness.
The hall filled completely.
Every knight present. Every breath held.
Commander Minute stepped forward.
The sound of his boots striking stone echoed like a gavel.
“Today,” he announced, voice carrying effortlessly through the hall, “your permanent assignments will be given.”
Kaboodle felt the words settle into her chest like weight.
“These roles are not to be taken lightly,” Minute continued. “You have trained for this. You have earned this. The trust placed in you today is not symbolic. It is absolute.”
He paused.
Long enough that Kaboodle’s fingers twitched.
“You will serve where you are needed most.”
The scroll unfurled with a sharp, final snap.
Minute began reading names.
The first few passed in a blur. Patrol leaders. Border rotations. Specialized squads. Each name was followed by a subtle shift as the knight acknowledged the assignment. A nod. A step forward. A clenched jaw.
Kaboodle barely heard them.
Her focus snagged on every pause before Minute spoke again. Every breath he took. Every time his eyes dropped to the parchment.
She counted the seconds between names without meaning to.
Squiddo’s hands were clasped tightly behind her back now. Kaboodle could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she held herself too still.
Minutes stretched.
Kaboodle’s thoughts began to spiral despite her discipline.
Castle watch. Training overseer. Patrol captain. Anything but–
Minute looked up.
The hall seemed to tilt.
“Squiddo.”
The single word cut clean through the air.
Squiddo straightened instantly, posture snapping into perfect alignment. Kaboodle felt something sharp and protective spark in her chest.
“You are assigned as personal guard to Crown Prince Flame,” Minute continued, voice steady, “alongside Wemmbu.”
For half a heartbeat, Squiddo froze.
Then her breath caught, and her face lit up like someone had struck flint to steel. Joy bloomed openly, unguarded, vibrating through her entire posture. She beamed, face bright behind her magenta-yellow glasses.
She glanced sideways at Kaboodle, practically buzzing.
Kaboodle forced a small nod back, lips twitching upward despite herself. Pride surged, warm and fierce, immediately followed by a spike of worry. Personal guard meant importance. Proximity. Danger.
She wouldn’t know how to live without Squiddo.
Prince Flame inclined his head slightly in Squiddo’s direction, a gesture of acknowledgment that felt genuine.
Kaboodle exhaled slowly.
Then Minute’s gaze shifted.
“Kaboodle.”
The word landed like a blade drawn from its sheath.
Here it is.
“You are assigned as personal guard to Prince Mane.”
The hall did not react.
Kaboodle did.
Her head snapped up before she could stop herself.
Prince Mane was already smiling.
Not wide. Not obvious. Just that infuriating curl at the corner of his mouth, subtle and deliberate. He met her eyes across the distance and gave the smallest nod.
Like this outcome pleased him.
Like it had been inevitable.
Her hands clenched at her sides, fingers curling into her palms hard enough that she felt the pressure through her gloves.
Of course.
Of course.
She forced her breathing to slow. Forced her posture to remain perfect. She would not give him the satisfaction of reaction.
Beside her, Squiddo’s excitement dimmed instantly. Concern flickered across her face as she looked between Kaboodle and Mane, then back at Kaboodle, silently asking are you okay.
Kaboodle didn’t look at her.
She couldn’t.
Minute continued reading names, voice steady, indifferent to the fracture he’d just created. Assignments followed assignments. Futures spoken aloud and locked into place.
Kaboodle barely heard them.
Somewhere beside her, Squiddo squeezed her arm. The gesture was small. Grounding. A reminder that something familiar still existed.
Mane’s grin widened.
Flame turned his head just enough to observe the exchange, something unreadable flickering behind his calm expression.
Wemmbu glanced back once more, brow furrowing as he took it all in.
Assignments given.
Paths set.
The hall began to stir as knights processed what they’d been handed. Some whispered. Some stood stunned. Some smiled.
Kaboodle remained still.
As Prince Mane turned away, already acting as if she belonged to him now, Kaboodle understood something with chilling clarity.
This wasn’t just an assignment.
It was a fracture line.
And everything she loved was standing on the wrong side of it.
…
They were dismissed in clusters.
Not ceremoniously. Not with trumpets or dignity. Just Minute rolling the scroll back up like he was done arguing with it, and suddenly the hall exhaled. Boots scraped. Armor clinked. Conversations snapped back to life like someone had flipped a switch.
Squiddo didn’t move.
Neither did Wemmbu.
Kaboodle stepped out of line when signaled, posture straight as a drawn blade. Clean movements. Sharp turns. Too sharp. She didn’t glance back. Didn’t roll her eyes. Didn’t mutter anything devastating under her breath.
That alone was unsettling.
Prince Mane slid into step beside her like gravity had always intended it that way.
Squiddo felt it immediately. Not a thing exactly. More like the vibe in the room shifted sideways. Kaboodle walked a half-step behind Mane, eyes forward, expression unreadable in a way that felt… new.
“That’s,” Wemmbu murmured, squinting, “weird.”
Squiddo nodded. “She didn’t even insult him.”
Mane leaned down, clearly saying something under his breath. Kaboodle’s jaw tightened. Just a little.
She still didn’t respond.
“Okay,” Squiddo whispered. “Now I’m concerned.”
Prince Mane grinned like he’d just won something intangible and irritating.
Before Squiddo could overthink it further, Flame stepped closer to them, hands clasped behind his back, utterly unbothered by the social chaos unfolding ten feet away.
“Alright, bro,” Flame said casually, nodding toward the east corridor. “You’re with me. We’ll get you two settled before someone gets lost or starts a duel in the hallway.”
Squiddo blinked. “That feels oddly specific.”
Flame shrugged. “Experience.”
Wemmbu straightened immediately. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Flame waved a hand. “Relax, bro. I don’t bite. Usually.”
Squiddo snorted before she could stop herself. “That’s… reassuring?”
They started walking, Squiddo casting one last look over her shoulder. Kaboodle was already disappearing down the opposite corridor with Mane, his hands moving animatedly like he was explaining something unnecessarily.
“She didn’t even glare at us,” Squiddo said softly.
Wemmbu frowned. “She always glares.”
“She lives to glare,” Squiddo added.
Flame glanced sideways at them. “You talking about your friend?”
“Yes,” Squiddo said immediately.
“Extremely,” Wemmbu agreed.
Flame hummed. “Yeah, bro, she looked… focused. Not mad-focused. Like… paperwork-focused.”
“That’s worse,” Squiddo said.
They walked in silence for a few steps before Flame spoke again. “If it helps, Mane’s annoying but not malicious. Think… aggressively smug.”
“That does not help,” Squiddo said.
Wemmbu muttered, “He stood too close.”
Flame laughed under his breath. “Bro, that’s just Mane. He stands too close to furniture.”
Squiddo believed that.
They reached a junction where the corridors split. Flame stopped, turning toward them. “Alright. East wing. My room. Short stop. Then we do the boring walk-everywhere-and-wave-like-I’m-not-exhausted tour.”
Squiddo perked up. “Ooo, waving. I’m good at that.”
Wemmbu deadpanned, “You wave like you’re apologizing.”
“It’s polite!”
Flame shook his head, amused. “You two are gonna be fun. Don’t make me regret this.”
“No promises,” Squiddo said cheerfully.
As Flame continued on ahead, Squiddo slowed just a fraction, staring down the corridor Kaboodle had vanished into.
“She didn’t squeeze my arm,” Squiddo murmured.
Wemmbu glanced at her. “She always does.”
Squiddo swallowed. “Yeah.”
They followed Flame in silence for a moment before Squiddo sighed. “We’ll check on her later.”
“Definitely,” Wemmbu said.
Flame glanced back. “If this is a dramatic ‘friend check’ thing, just say so. I’ve had worse interruptions to my day.”
Squiddo smiled, but it felt a little thin. “Thanks. Hopefully it’s nothing.”
Wemmbu didn’t say anything.
Because if it was nothing, Kaboodle would’ve already said something sharp, sarcastic, and impossible to ignore.
And the fact that she hadn’t?
That was the part that didn’t sit right.
Not alarming.
Not dangerous.
Just… off.
Like a joke that didn’t land when it should have.
…
Wemmbu’s boots echoed along the polished corridors as he fell into step behind Squiddo, the sunlight flashing off his armor like it had beef with him personally. He didn’t comment on it. The castle already had enough opinions, expressed entirely through clinks, clicks, and echoes that bounced off stone walls old enough to remember worse fashion choices than his helmet.
The assignment ceremony still clung to him like a bad aftertaste.
Personal guard.
The words rattled around his head every time he thought about Flame. About Mane. About how the day had split cleanly down the middle and taken Kaboodle with it.
He’d been paired with Squiddo and Flame. That should have felt like a win. A calm post. Predictable. Manageable.
Instead, his attention kept snapping backward, down the corridor Kaboodle had disappeared into with Mane. Not because he thought she couldn’t handle herself. She could. She always could.
It was Mane.
Squiddo bounced a few steps ahead, adjusting her glasses and muttering to herself. “…scarves are impractical, armor polish smells weird, and if I trip on a rug today I’m blaming the castle.”
Wemmbu watched her automatically. Then flicked his gaze back down the hall.
“She’s fine,” he told himself, for the hundredth time.
His gut did not agree.
They rounded a corner and the east wing opened up ahead of them, sunlight pouring in through tall, narrow windows like the castle was trying to impress someone. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air. Everything smelled faintly of candle smoke and oil.
Clean. Too clean.
Not uncomfortable. Just… intentional. Every surface polished. Every banner perfectly hung. Wealth and order on display, but not warmth. That lived somewhere else. Somewhere louder.
Squiddo skipped up to Flame’s door and knocked twice before pushing it open. “Home sweet extremely important royal room,” she announced quietly.
Wemmbu followed her in.
Flame’s chambers were… not what he’d expected. No dramatic clutter. No unnecessary flair. Just clean lines, practical furniture, and a weapon rack so meticulously arranged it almost looked decorative.
Flame himself stood near a desk, flipping through scrolls with the relaxed efficiency of someone who’d done this a thousand times and would do it a thousand more.
Wemmbu’s eyes flicked immediately to the window.
Beyond it, the east gardens stretched green and orderly, dotted with statues of kings who looked very serious about being remembered. Everything out there was just as calculated as everything inside. Beautiful. Untouchable. Like a painting no one was allowed to lean too close to.
He shook himself internally.
Focus. Duty. No sightseeing.
“Earth to Wemmbu,” Squiddo said cheerfully. “You’re doing the stare thing.”
He grunted, adjusting his gauntlets. “I’m focused.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, already drifting toward the weapon rack. “You looked like you were about to write poetry about the window.”
He ignored that. Focused meant observing. Noticing the faint smirk at the corner of Flame’s mouth as Squiddo inspected a sword. Noting how calm Flame was. Predictable. Steady.
Safe.
Exactly what he wanted.
Still, the thought of Kaboodle lingered, tugging at the edge of his awareness like a loose thread. Same wing. Different path. And something about it didn’t sit right.
He didn’t know how deep her rivalry with Mane went.
He just knew it wasn’t shallow.
…
By the time patrol checks were assigned, Squiddo and Wemmbu had already looped the east wing twice.
Doors opened to quiet libraries, training rooms laid out in perfect symmetry, lounges designed for comfort but not personality. Squiddo hummed as she moved, tapping walls, testing bannisters, checking weapon placements.
She had a system. A rhythm.
Wemmbu let her do her thing. She always functioned better when she could impose order on chaos. He liked watching her work, the way she catalogued details mentally, adjusting and recalculating as she went.
She looked like she belonged here.
And somehow also like she didn’t belong anywhere else.
He followed in silence, eyes sweeping constantly. Something about the morning felt… heavier than it should have. Like the air had thickened just enough to be annoying.
He found himself thinking about Kaboodle.
Her laugh. Her awful pranks. The way she always stepped in when Squiddo got too far ahead of herself. The way she grounded people without even trying.
She’d been gone for hours now.
With Mane.
The wrongness in his stomach deepened.
…
By mid-morning, Squiddo finally noticed.
“You’re wound tighter than your sword belt,” she said, flipping a dagger lazily between her hands. “Let me guess. Kaboodle.”
Wemmbu hesitated. Then sighed. “She’s… somewhere she shouldn’t be relaxed.”
Squiddo blinked. “Oh.”
“And Mane,” he added flatly. “Mane’s Mane.”
She grimaced. “Yeah. Okay. That’s fair.”
They moved toward the main courtyard for drills. Sunlight spilled across the open space, targets lined up neatly, practice dummies waiting patiently to be abused. The walls felt just high enough to keep things in.
And just low enough for trouble to climb over.
Wemmbu’s steps were steady, scanning automatically.
And then he saw them.
Kaboodle and Mane. Laughing.
Not her usual laugh. Not easy. Sharp. Quick. The kind that slipped out when she was caught off guard.
Mane was smirking, of course. Like he always did.
Maybe he was just teasing her.
Wemmbu’s chest tightened anyway.
He shifted his weight, instinct screaming to step in, to interrupt, to make sure she was okay. But Kaboodle didn’t signal. Didn’t stiffen. Didn’t look for backup.
She was still herself.
Just… tilted slightly off center.
He stayed where he was.
Watching.
Not knowing what to do.
And hating that more than anything.
…
The rest of the morning blurred together, not because it lacked substance, but because every moment demanded attention. Drills bled into inspections, inspections into quiet strategy discussions that happened while walking, standing, or pausing at windows no one else seemed to notice.
Wemmbu stayed close to Squiddo, close enough that he could hear the soft click of her armor plates when she shifted her weight. He spoke rarely, but when he did it was low, precise. A warning here. A note there.
Mane was clever. Mane was smooth. That much was undeniable.
And Kaboodle… Kaboodle was walking the edge of something she hadn’t named yet.
He saw it in the way she moved. Not reckless. Not sloppy. Too controlled. Like she was holding herself together with clenched fists and pride alone. Mane walked beside her with infuriating ease, posture relaxed, attention split between her and the world around them. He was enjoying himself. That was the problem.
At lunch, the group fractured naturally, like water finding its own channels.
Flame was pulled aside by advisors. Mane drifted toward one of the central tables, Kaboodle following with the stiff resignation of someone fulfilling a duty they resented. Squiddo lingered, plate in hand, smile just a bit too bright.
“You’re not eating,” she whispered, glancing down at Wemmbu’s untouched food.
“I will,” he said automatically.
She raised a brow. “You said that an hour ago.”
“I meant… eventually.”
Squiddo huffed softly but didn’t press. Her gaze flicked again, traitorously, toward Mane’s table. Kaboodle sat stiff-backed across from him, arms crossed, jaw tight. Mane leaned back in his chair, speaking animatedly to someone beside him, clearly aware of Kaboodle’s tension and choosing to ignore it just enough to irritate her further.
Wemmbu’s stomach twisted.
A memory surfaced unbidden.
Sunlight in the outer courtyard months ago. No armor. No titles. Just the three of them building a ridiculous wooden fortress out of target boards and crates. Kaboodle yelling at him for setting a barricade crooked. Squiddo laughing so hard she dumped sand on both of them. Bruised knuckles. Burned shoulders. That easy, thoughtless joy.
Now the castle felt like it was holding its breath.
Kaboodle wasn’t laughing.
Wemmbu pushed the food away.
He didn’t know how much longer he could keep pretending distance was enough.
Flame resumed his circuit shortly after, moving through the castle with that same measured inevitability. Every step felt intentional, as if the castle itself adjusted to his presence. Wemmbu took his place a pace behind Squiddo, eyes scanning instinctively.
Flame didn’t rush. He never rushed.
People moved for him anyway.
Squiddo trotted alongside, arms full of scrolls she’d insisted on carrying herself. She matched Flame’s pace easily, though Wemmbu caught the way she leaned forward just slightly whenever Flame glanced her way. Protective. Attentive. Nervous, but hiding it under enthusiasm.
Flame stopped near the fountain in the first courtyard, water spilling over stone lions worn smooth by centuries.
“Keep your distance,” he said lightly, glancing back at Wemmbu.
The tone was calm. The meaning wasn’t.
Wemmbu stilled. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Flame nodded. “I prefer guards who blend into the rhythm of the space. Looming disrupts more than it deters.”
Wemmbu didn’t argue. He simply adjusted, becoming less presence and more perimeter.
Squiddo leaned toward him, whispering, “He’s… kind of terrifying, right?”
“Objectively,” Wemmbu murmured.
She snorted quietly.
“I’ll show you the less traveled parts of the castle today,” Flame said as they resumed walking. “You can’t protect what you don’t understand.”
That wasn’t advice. It was a test.
…
The northern towers were narrow and winding, staircases coiling upward like stone spines. Flame climbed effortlessly, barely winded. Wemmbu followed, checking above and behind, while Squiddo hovered between them, curiosity sparking in her eyes.
At the top, Flame paused, overlooking the land beyond the walls.
“The north wall took damage during the last storm.”
Wemmbu moved immediately, scanning the stone, fingers brushing near cracks without touching. “West corner’s compromised. Not dangerous yet. But it will be.”
Flame nodded once. “Agreed.”
Squiddo brightened, clearly pleased. “See? He’s good.”
Flame glanced at her. “Do you prioritize speed or perfection?”
She hesitated. “Perfection.”
“Good,” Flame said. Then, softer, “Just remember speed saves lives too.”
Squiddo absorbed that like a stone dropped into still water.
…
They passed through kitchens thick with warmth and yeast, Flame greeting bakers by name. Through libraries where he lingered, fingers ghosting over spines like old friends. Through training yards where he corrected stances with minimal movement and maximum effect.
Wemmbu watched it all.
Politeness without softness. Authority without cruelty. Control without arrogance.
And still, his thoughts kept drifting.
Kaboodle and Mane moved together across spaces like mismatched blades. She was sharp, contained. He was relaxed, irritatingly competent. Their banter crackled low and constant.
“Do you always inspect things this obsessively,” Mane asked near the stables, nudging a gate hinge, “or is it just when I’m nearby?”
Kaboodle didn’t look at him. “If you died from negligence, I’d never hear the end of it.”
Mane grinned. “Touching.”
Wemmbu leaned toward Squiddo. “They’re going to kill each other.”
Squiddo tilted her head. “Or become best friends.”
“That’s worse.”
She laughed.
At the training yard, Mane demonstrated a maneuver. Kaboodle shadowed him with crisp precision, irritation sharpening her movements. Mane nodded faintly when she executed it perfectly.
She didn’t acknowledge him.
But she didn’t slow down either.
…
By afternoon, the castle felt smaller. Familiar.
Flame paused at a balcony overlooking the city. For just a second, his shoulders tensed. Squiddo noticed.
“He’s… human,” she whispered.
“Yes,” Wemmbu agreed. “Which is why this matters.”
Kaboodle and Mane stood nearby, the city spread beneath them. No smiles. No sniping. Just quiet acknowledgement.
“Not bad,” Mane said finally.
Kaboodle exhaled through her nose. “For you.”
He grinned, softer this time.
As the sun dipped, they turned back toward their wings.
Flame glanced back at them. “Today went well. Try not to get lost.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Wemmbu replied.
Squiddo flushed.
He already knew she had.
..
“Do you always have to walk like you’re personally offended by the stones?” Kaboodle muttered, eyes forward, boots striking the corridor in sharp, even beats.
Mane glanced down at the floor as if considering her question seriously. He slowed half a step, studying the stonework with exaggerated scrutiny. “Only the stones that deserve judgment.”
She scoffed. “Every stone in this castle deserves it. Crooked, uneven, polished to hide cracks. And don’t think I haven’t noticed you smirking at me all morning.”
“I don’t smirk,” Mane said smoothly, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him immediately. “I merely appreciate the… precision of your glare. It’s very focused. Efficient.”
Kaboodle stopped short and spun on her heel. “Efficient? It’s called hatred.”
“Hatred,” Mane repeated thoughtfully, tilting his head. “Fascinating. I’d have called it admiration, but I can see how the difference might be… subtle to you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Admiration implies respect.”
“And you think I don’t respect you?” he asked lightly.
“I think,” she said, voice clipped, “that you enjoy pushing people until they snap.”
He pushed off the wall he’d been leaning against and fell into step beside her, unbothered. “Correction. I enjoy seeing how much pressure people can take before they break. You, for example, have impressive tolerance.”
“I am rigid,” Kaboodle said flatly. “And proud of it. I’d rather be rigid than reckless.”
“Reckless?” Mane echoed, feigning offense. “That hurts. I prefer unpredictable.”
She cast him a sideways glance. “Unpredictable and annoying are not mutually exclusive.”
His grin sharpened. “And you’re neither?”
She halted abruptly. Mane, mid-stride, nearly collided with her.
“Are you trying to get under my skin?” she demanded.
“Not at all,” he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “I simply observe. For instance, you tense your shoulders every time someone coughs behind me. Very attentive. Almost endearing.”
“That’s called vigilance,” Kaboodle snapped, stepping past him. Mane adjusted seamlessly, keeping pace as if he’d anticipated it.
“Mm. And here I thought you were worried about me.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” he replied easily. “Still, if we were ever on the same side in an actual battle, you might be… useful.”
She stared at him. “Might be useful? That’s the closest thing to a compliment you’ve ever given me.”
“Don’t mistake it for kindness,” Mane said, shrugging. “It’s an acknowledgment of skill. And efficiency.”
“I don’t need your acknowledgment,” she muttered, then hesitated. “But… thanks. I think.”
“Careful,” he said with a faint smirk. “Thinking too hard might ruin the tension you’ve been cultivating.”
Kaboodle rolled her eyes, but the edge of her mouth betrayed her, twitching upward for just a fraction of a second.
Mane noticed.
Of course he did.
He tilted his head, expression shifting into something deceptively innocent. “There it is.”
“What?”
“That look. The one where you almost don’t hate me.”
She scoffed. “Don’t push your luck.”
They resumed walking, their steps falling into an oddly synchronized rhythm.
“If you stop talking,” Kaboodle said carefully, “we might actually reach the next wing without someone losing their patience.”
“Or,” Mane countered, hands clasped behind his head, “we could talk. Silence is overrated. Life’s too short for it.”
“Life’s too short for fools,” she shot back. “And you’re checking that box with alarming consistency.”
“Only for the first half of the day,” he replied solemnly. “I plan to improve after lunch.”
She snorted before she could stop herself. “I’ll believe it when I see it. And even then, I’ll still be skeptical.”
“Caution keeps you alive,” Mane said, not teasing this time. “I respect that.”
“You don’t respect anything,” Kaboodle muttered, shaking her head.
But her pace slowed. Just a little.
They continued like that, barbs traded like practice blows. Each jab met with a counter. Each step measured. Kaboodle found herself reading his movements instinctively, anticipating where he’d drift, where he’d stop. And Mane, for all his casual confidence, matched her precision without comment.
They didn’t like each other.
But they understood each other.
And that, Kaboodle realized with a quiet, unsettling certainty, might be far more dangerous.
…
Squiddo nudged the door open with her foot, peeking into Flame’s room like she was breaking into a secret club instead of a prince’s chambers. Sunlight spilled everywhere, bouncing off polished floors and ceremonial armor like the room itself was flexing.
She blinked. “…Okay but why is it kind of cozy here?”
Flame didn’t look up. He was sitting cross-legged on the edge of his bed, fully locked in on a map spread across his knees, brow furrowed like the fate of the world depended on a badly drawn patrol line.
“Come in,” he said calmly. “Bro. We need to go over patrol schedules.”
Squiddo froze.
“…Did you just call me bro?”
Flame finally glanced up, confused. “Is that… incorrect?”
“No,” she said immediately, stepping inside and closing the door. “No, that’s perfect. Continue.”
Wemmbu followed her in, already scanning the corners like the wardrobe might attack. He paused mid-step when he heard it.
“Did he just say bro,” Wemmbu muttered.
Flame gestured at the desk. “Lay the scrolls there, bro.”
Squiddo practically skipped. “I brought everything. Patrol rotations, supply runs, emergency exits, contingency plans, and one extra note where I complained about how early dawn is.”
Flame nodded seriously. “Important intel.”
She set the scrolls down and beamed. “You’re really chill for a crown prince.”
Wemmbu crossed his arms. “Don’t encourage him.”
“I appreciate efficiency,” Flame said, tapping the map. “And vibes. Both matter.”
Squiddo gasped. “He gets it.” She said before looking towards Wemmbu. “He doesn’t.”
Wemmbu sighed. “I can’t believe I’m guarding royalty that says vibes.”
Flame looked at him. “You’re efficient too, bro. When you’re not glaring at furniture.”
“I glare professionally,” Wemmbu replied.
Squiddo leaned an elbow on the desk. “He glares at chairs like they owe him money.”
“They might,” Wemmbu said. “You don’t know their past.”
Flame’s lips twitched. “You two are… louder than anticipated.”
“Thank you,” Squiddo said proudly. “That’s my brand.”
Flame pointed at the map. “Tomorrow’s patrol is critical. No gaps on the northern wall.”
Squiddo squinted. “At dawn?”
“Yes.”
She slapped a hand to her chest. “Your Highness. That’s illegal.”
“Duty waits for no one,” Flame said serenely.
“I wait,” she countered. “I need sleep.”
Wemmbu muttered, “You slept through a thunderstorm once.”
“That was unconsciousness.”
Flame nodded. “Understandable.”
Squiddo gasped again. “HE IS ON MY SIDE.”
“I am on the side of results,” Flame said. “Which includes keeping you functional.”
“That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to me today,” she said solemnly.
Wemmbu snorted. “Your standards are low.”
They moved closer to the desk. Wemmbu traced a route on the map. “If we take this path–”
“-we avoid the murder squirrels,” Squiddo said immediately.
Flame paused. “…The what.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she waved. “Long story. Furry enemies.”
“They watched her,” Wemmbu added. “Judged her.”
“I was ambushed!”
“You tripped.”
“I retreated.”
Flame considered this deeply. “I’ll authorize squirrel avoidance.”
Squiddo saluted. “The prince is wise.”
Wemmbu shook his head. “I’m surrounded by idiots.”
“I can get you executed for saying that.”
“Wemmbu,” Squiddo said, offended. “You love us.”
“I tolerate you.”
“That’s knight code for love.”
Flame stood, stretching. “We’ll do a quick drill.”
Squiddo groaned. “I JUST sat down.”
“Five minutes.”
“I HAVEN’T SAT DOWN ALL DAY.”
Wemmbu adjusted his gauntlets. “You complain every time.”
“And yet I show up every time,” she said smugly. “Iconic behavior.”
Flame watched them with quiet amusement. “You’re… effective together.”
Squiddo blinked. “Was that a compliment?”
“Yes.”
She leaned back dramatically. “Bro I’m peaking.”
Wemmbu muttered, “This is a disaster.”
But he was smiling.
Squiddo bumped his shoulder. “Come on Wemmbu. We’re elite. Chaos and preparedness. Perfect combo. They tremble at the mention of our names.”
“…Mildly tolerable,” Wemmbu admitted.
Flame cleared his throat. “Are we ready?”
Squiddo snapped to attention. “Yep.”
Wemmbu sighed. “Yes, Your Highness.”
Flame nodded. “Good. Let’s go, bros.”
Squiddo froze.
“…He said bros.”
Wemmbu closed his eyes. “The kingdom is doomed.”
Squiddo laughed, bright and easy, and for a moment the room felt less like a royal chamber and more like a shared joke, a strange little trio figuring it out together.