Chapter Text
A birdsong twists through the air, beautiful and soothing.
It's the sort of thing that greets a person in the morning and lulls them back to sleep until the sun rays grow bolder. Or maybe the calls that encourage a migration to keep going, over land or water hundreds of miles wide. Or, perhaps, a pure melody that comforts a prisoner through a barred window.
Techno's eyes open as he thinks of the last image. It still seems to stick there, distorted in the sparkle on his wet eyelashes, yet impossible to shake away completely. Not when the song is so sweet, so soothing, and the broken bits inside of himself muffled underneath it are so, so sharp. They promise cold and darkness and shackles.
Cutting the music terribly, a fearful trill falls from Techno's lips. It wobbles, unsteady, and hurting all the way up his throat. It reminds him of how his lungs feel wrong, the strange heaviness of his tongue, and worst of all, the tearing, aching, unbearable weight pulling on his back. Pulling on all of his body, until he slips into the earth never to emerge again.
The song stops as Techno's note peaks with a horrible broken noise. Even to him it sounds like fear and pain and trouble. His own shoulders hike up at it, and the things on his back—
"Darling dove, does it hurt?" A sweet voice asks. Sweet as the song, truly.
"Please," Techno mutters.
It comes out in nearly a gasp. Something shameful, for how he is begging. But even more so in how much force it takes to even manage the word when his throat wishes to be stuffed full of the wretched distorted sounds.
The voice hums. With it, a hand slides forwards from behind him. Through his hair, past his ear, and finally to his cheek. It rests there, palm large and soft and warm. Techno's head falls against it immediately, his neck giving up any pretenses of holding up the weight of it on its own.
Not that Techno can blame it. With the weight of the–the weight upon his back, everything is far too heavy to manage. From his twitching fingers to his wet eyelids to the pained bottoms of his feet. Even sitting up among the pillows and blankets of the nest is too much.
"What is it, poor thing? You need not beg," The voice says. So so sweet, and edging on amused.
But it always is.
"Please," Techno repeats, even softer than earlier. But like all the sounds that come out of him anymore, she seems to hear him. "C-can I see the light?"
She hums. Not the music this time, but he still shivers at the consideration. It tugs the wings upwards slightly, just enough to push on the cloth around them and hurt. A pitiful crying trill dribbles out of him.
"Why don't you just rest in the nest? You need to sleep yourself better," She says.
Sleep, sleep, back into the darkness.
"Please," Techno whispers again, almost choking on it.
"Oh, just a few moments for you," The voice sighs.
Pulling back, the hand leaves his cheek to brush through his hair. The locks tickle over his face, forcing his nose to scrunch up and his eyes to close. Giggles respond to him and they sound like music too. Plucky ones, such as from a music box. Techno has one in his bedroom.
Had one. It's probably been quiet an age now. Rusted silent…
"Have you drifted off to sleep anyway?" She whispers.
Techno forces his eyes open once more, even though his vision is so dim and blurry. He slowly forces his hands to relax where they're locked around a clump of blankets. Like all blankets lately, it lays over him like a crescent moon; the bottom covering his legs and hips while the top is twisted to be clutched to his front, since he lays on his sides or stomach. His back ever exposed to her.
Slowly, she reaches down and wraps her arms around his shoulders. It's much like the peeling of a newborn bird from an eggshell, gentle and precarious. Like anything could tears the itty bitty wing bones off of his spine, or perhaps even his lungs from his chest.
Knowing it, she wraps one arm lower, around his ribs, while her other hand comes around his shoulders and holds up his jaw. Secure but not tight.
She pulls him up from the blankets and pillows. Instantly, the air feels cold to a chilling degree. A whining croon leaves Techno's chest as he begins to shiver in earnest. Though it only earns him some clicks by his ear.
"I told you, darling. You don't want out," She says, starting firm but ending in a coo.
Techno whines even more wordless than before. He tries to shake his head, though that wrenches down his back something too awful to manage. Instead, he pleads, near inaudible, but just barely there and repetitive. Weakly, the wings upon his back move.
All of his noises stop up with a gasp.
"Alright, alright. As you please," She says.
Further outside of the nest, Techno can almost see less. Perhaps because the cloth walls of the cushions around him are so familiar with time and repetition that he can simply see them even without any light to be able to see at all. Same as those stone walls, the ever unchanging metal bars. It's all the same, no matter where he is. Cold, and scary, and hurting.
Dark. It's dark.
A horrid mournful croon leaves his lips, as much hemorrhaging as blood from pouring wounds.
She coos in response, almost rocking him while still walking. The movement doubles over his brain, drags upon his wings heavily where they're almost hanging. Too much that he must gasp softly, only the squeaking edges of his calls still there.
That doesn't seem to be unintentional on her part as her noises turn to hums. At least it's better than the dark and silence.
Just the dark, just the dark.
The thick curtains are pulled aside, and even though it's slow and gradual, Techno must pinch his eyes shut against it immediately. The light that he yearns for so keenly with all of his being and might and fear of the dark horrid places. It is here.
A desperate chirp falls from Techno's chest as he leans forwards. His hands are already upon the window sill, well before he can even manage to open his eyes once more. All of his body wanting for this. Sure that it will save him.
And yet, when he wrests his stubborn eyelids into cracking their way open against the golden light, the sound cuts off with a painful tone. Held, not stopped.
The world outside the window is so wide. Too wide. Just about all of it is below them, dizzingly so. Stone buildings and halls between the few towers the manage to peak above them. And beyond the endless lines of walls, specks of buildings go out and out and out. Nearly as far as his eyes can see, truly, dipping off into the scorching sun. The world so large and open, with nothing to protect him all around.
Techno makes a fearful croon as he tries to pull back, even though he is still tucked within the arms. It just presses him further into the soft body.
His eyelashes flutter, though he doesn't let his eyes close. Still desperate for the light. Yet the outside is just as scary and cutting as the walls so close and hurting him. Everything feels like his back is open, ready for hands to grab his wings and pull. It's a maddening juxtaposition.
As his fear hiccups, he's draped in darkness once more. But this one is not from the curtains, nor walls, nor even the nest. The scuff of feathers wrapping around him whole promises that. Techno grabs at the large dark feathers with desperation. They're the only thing that's real and safe beneath his shaking hands.
The voice clicks, sending a stutter all throughout Techno. Though the hand is gentle and innocent upon his head, petting.
"Little nestlings are still too small to be out of the nest just yet, I think."
Something inside of Techno wants to plead against it. Or perhaps all of him does. His mouth certainly opens, the pressure and ache of his airway has a cutting want.
But all he can do is coo as he is carried away from the light.
From the freedom and the sight and the control of his body.
The world outside is all so close. As close as the cold and wet and dark dungeon where he is still trapped and hurting, at least according to the scared part of his mind. Everything is close enough to touch, if he could only lift a hand towards it.
And yet it's so far away. His fingers never uncurl from the black feathers.
—
Techno's hands are firm where they're closed around the edge of the sink. It is for his balance above all else, his eyes are down turned so he is not even looking into the mirror before him, but his grip is still far more tight than it needs to be. Like perhaps the polished porcelain will shatter right apart with enough trying.
"Are there not servants to help with this?" Techno asks.
His voice comes out quiet and slightly rough, run ragged from so long without proper water, followed by his weeks of crying and the strange bird noises. He wonders if it will ever return to exactly how it was before. If at least the pain sticking around the edges will fully fade.
As though in answer, the laces up the back of his shirt get tugged on sharply. While the fabric around his waist is slightly ribbed with thread meant to shape, it is not boned, so it does not cut in or hurt. Really, the action seems more teasing than anything.
When Techno glances up at the mirror and catches a smile on Kristin's face, that seems near certain.
"I don't want a stranger so close to your wings, fledgling," Kristin says. She gently reaches her fingers up to the crook between them, petting. The ever tense muscles in his back relax a smidge, slight twitters in his throat. She chuckles, before growing more serious. "What with all that happened last time."
The reminder instantly makes Techno still all over. Even the breath in his lungs stops. He is quite certain that if he exhales, the bird noises or crying or maybe even screaming will start up. And he is trying to fix his throat, so he shouldn't.
But the fear is so palpable, prickling over his wings, it's hard not to give in. Techno has given in, again and again shamefully. Weeks have begun to stretch into long months lost within it all. In a blurry blizzard of fluffy white feathers, like the snow storms that apparently happen in these high points of the Antarctic Empire. So different from his hot and dry home.
Home… Well, like he's been stuck out in a blizzard, the wings on his back have already been covered in a layer of those white fluffy feathers too. At least it looks better than the sparse bits of feathers they came out with. Bare until they slowly grew a coat.
Luckily, Techno rarely sees his wings. They're bound loosely to his back most of the time, considering his muscles are too weak to support them.
In his distraction, Kristin finishes off the lacing. It shall ensure that the bottom of his shirt will stay completely closed despite stretching only from the end of his ribs to his hips. A much shorter stretch of lacing is already closed up over the back of his neck's high collar. Both of which are necessary, since the bodice and upper arms of shirt are quite poofy, and of course the large hole in the back for the wings to come through. It is laced with brilliant red ribbon, contrasting starkly against the white shirt and white—
Wings. White wings.
Techno shakes his head before blowing out a breath. Tufts of his fluffy pink bangs flutter off of his eyes. Once more, Kristin smiles at him in the mirror. Kind, as she reaches up and tucks some hair behind his ear.
Then, she pinches his cheek.
"Aw, I could just pluck your feathers out to put you back in the nest! It's no fair how fast they grew," Kristin coos.
A shudder runs through Techno's whole body at that. The ends of his wings snap out with a jerk, hitting her front. It's a strange feeling. Not quite painful, but as though something is attached to him and spasming out from his spinal cord. Though a dull ache is left behind.
Cooing more, Kristin wraps an arm around the wings, petting them with her thumb. She quiets into laughter.
"Aren't you just the cutest flighty bird," Kristin teases.
Techno clears his throat sharply, leaning forwards. "Excuse me, kindly."
"So polite," Kristin clicks, pinching his chin. "Wilbur and Tommy would never bother. It's hard to ever get them to say please without bribing!"
Despite the nearly blush worthy prospect, Kristin laughs happily enough at her poorly mannered children. Techno could barely get out of his first tutoring sessions as a toddler still being nursed before he was taught the basics of etiquette. Not the case here, seemingly.
It doesn't sound inaccurate though, from the times Techno has been with the princes. Tommy seems to have a habit of whining and acting as annoyingly as possible until he gets whatever he wants. Wilbur almost seems more polite, but that's all a facade. The few times that Techno has tried to so much as step out of the nest, Wilbur tattled on him immediately. He gets the impression that the older boy, while a bit naive, is shockingly shrewd under all of his perfectly painted on smiles.
Techno thinks he's lucky that the princes have taken to him as opposed to being hateful or jealous. That might have been just as deadly as if their parents saw to disposing of him. Which—
"It will be so much fun to do your hair for parties! The boys refuse to grow theirs long, and yours is just gorgeous," Kristin compliments, running her fingers through it.
Contrasting the pin straight and gentle waves of most people in the Antarctic Empire, not to mention their typical shades of blond, browns, and black, Techno's mane of fluffy pink curls certainly stands out. The guards had made comments while dragging him captured to the castle, those blurry weeks. Techno gets the impression that there is a breed of dog in the Antarctic Empire with a similar fur texture and style.
Techno wonders if Kristin thinks of that while petting her hands over it.
"It needs oil," Techno mutters.
"Excuse me?" Kristin asks, tilting her head.
"My hair. To make it up for events, we use flower oils to define the curls," Techno says. He looks down at where he's still strangling the sink's edge. "Thank you, though. For the kind words."
Kristin twitters in a way that sings of lightness and amusement and joy. Techno's can't help responding with anything less than a soft croon.
"Such a darling dove. But that is grand to know, I'll send for it promptly," Kristin says.
Finally, she steps back. They slowly reenter the attach room, dark with curtains and canopies and nesting materials. Techno is gently pushed onto a low cushioned bench while Kristin forcibly does up his boots, not letting him twitch his fingers towards them. Red laces.
"Will there be… events? Parties?" Techno asks.
"Well, of course. You've gone to them before, haven't you? I know royal court life is much the same over there," Kristin says, flapping a hand.
"Yes, I would figure," Techno says. His eyes follow the woman's movements. "But I am…"
He's not sure how to end the statement. Because it is not as though he is a prisoner in the same way as before. The royal family has him sleep in their familial bed with them, for Gods' sake. Which Techno has no way of discerning meaning from, not just due to the differences between their countries, but their whole damn species. It is nothing humans would do, surely.
Except, well, Techno isn't human anymore. Apparently.
But he's also not actually Kristin's child.
The doors all lock from the outside. The guards all watch him as close as hawks trailing mice. When Techno tried to escape…
Whether or not Techno was saved by the wings on his back, illogical and painful as they were, that doesn't change so many of the things that matter. Like how Kristin is the queen of the Antarctic Empire. And Technoblade is the prince of Hypixel. They are at war and of different nations and bound to different crowns.
Nothing can change that.
"Do you know how all our kingdoms came to be?" Kristin asks suddenly, leaning close and forcing eye contact.
That makes Techno nervous enough to stutter what should be easy. "With the dissolution of the Antine Kingdom, the resulting territories were largely ruled by land owners, who were by some measures lords, and they fell into factions—"
"No, no, not those silly stories," Kristin says, flapping a hand breezily.
"History?" Techno can't help asking, raising an eyebrow.
Kristin laughs loudly. "Yes, exactly. So cute."
A faint heat rises to Techno's face, even though it really shouldn't. He knows his history well and it is nothing to degrade. But sometimes he just feels so small.
"Before all that trifling nonsense of petty rulers; what truly filled the veins of all the lines of would be rulers?" Kristin asks instead.
"Well... The myths mention the right of rulers, the Gods," Techno says, unsure even as he says it, of how it could be relevant.
"They say we're all from the same family, all of the different monarchs of the kingdoms on our continent. Distant, related blood…" Kristin says. She lifts a hand, stroking Techno's cheek. "We're family, Technoblade."
Many protests fill Techno's head immediately.
Logistics, firstly, because history is relatively clear which does disprove them all being related, even if extremely loosely. Hells, some of the Kingdoms on Hypixel's southern borders are restructurings of once foreign empires across the seas. No chances of shared blood there, no more than any other people upon the planet.
And even if it is true that many of the monarchs share blood ties—not exactly far fetched, considering that marriage is a common fate for their class—that doesn't result in true family. No more than any two people in a small village having technically shared some ancestors generations long forgotten.
Yet, Techno grew wings.
Wings, which while not totally unique to the Antarctic royals, may well as be. Those few avian family lines are far closer tracked and controlled than spanning relations of past.
Yet, Techno grew wings.
Practically no one in Hypixel are avians. Certainly not the royals.
And yet…
"Our family," Kristin reiterates, twittering proudly.
She pets his cheek. Attentive and tracing, as though she can see something below the surface. The bones and tendons. Must be.
Then, as quickly as she started, she stops. Kristin stands. Techno follows her with his eyes.
"But, of course, you'll have to do something before we can even worry about the rest. Parties, royal duties, the responsibilities of a prince," Kristin says.
Techno's almost left reeling as she walks away. She opens the door and pokes her head out, talking to someone shortly. A furrow pulls on Techno's face, seemingly followed by a ruffle through his wings. By the time his wince is through, Kristin has closed the door again.
"What do you need of me?" Techno asks hesitantly.
"Nothing difficult, darling, don't worry," Kristin says, smiling. She leans close, though still across the room, wings spreading in a way that seems to darken everything and makes his pulse quicken. "It is very important, though. You must."
As Techno begins to frown further in concern, Kristin almost literally drifts nearer to him. Like a feather buffeted forwards by the gentle waves of heat coming off of a candle. At the same time, a rounded and rumbling croon spills out of her. It fills Techno's mouth and lungs and head, all the way up until there is nothing more.
He can do nothing and be nothing but inside the heavy safety of the feeling. Except, just barely, reach out towards the swaths of dark feathers. His fingers skim the silken edges.
"You must publicly align yourself with our crown," Kristin says, near simply.
Instantly, Techno flinches backwards. Not much of him actually moves with it, but the cold air on his fingers, crunched to his chest now, shows him he did. Still, that doesn't help much with the part he needs. His head, his mouth.
"I—I—" Techno stutters, struggling to even blink.
Kristin tilts her head to the side with a coo. Finally allowing him to slam his eyes shut and breathe out roughly.
"I cannot," Techno says, voice ragged almost to nothing. "I cannot betray my people. Not ever."
This is such a reality to Techno, that despite his overwhelming fear for so many consequences and his want for the woman's wings nearer, he can say it.
Because Techno will live and die for his people, no matter what. That is just a fact.
He breathes out a little smoother and opens his eyes.
"My name, my blood, my life. It is my duty and responsibility and right to rule my people, and I shall forever hold to that," Techno says.
From how Kristin has gone still and silent, Techno feels his own shoulders draw forwards. The wings on his back try to join, but only tug at their bindings angrily. And the slight shaking at the bottom of Kristin's feathers, looking nearly like ink or deepest blood flicking off, he feels torn open all the way through at it.
Really, if Techno was offered again just then, he may well accept to have his feathers plucked out to put him back into the nest. That surely seems preferable. There, Kristin was nothing but kind and coddling, his savior…
Techno wants her to save him again. A weak, pitiful cheep leaves him, saying it all. Even as he clenches his jaw strong.
Then, finally, Kristin sighs.
And smiles.
"Loyal thing. Phil said stubborn, so stubborn," Kristin says, chuckling. Once more, she pinches at his chin. He leans into it until she cups his cheek. "What a lovely sentiment."
"It is not sentiment, it is truth," Techno whispers.
Kristin sighs once more, breezily. "I was worried of that, you know."
"They are my people. I must protect them, and you…" Techno trails off.
How does he ever begin to touch upon the fact that she, that her kingdom, that Phil— They are all at war with Techno's kingdom and Techno's people and Techno's family.
That he was only in that awful cell in the first place because they put him there!
But they saved him. Kristin saved him.
"What have my parents' letters—" Techno starts.
"Don't you care for the people here too?" Kristin says suddenly.
Techno looks up where his face had fallen down all on its own. Now Kristin is outright crouching before him, planted right before his knees. It is an odd position to see her, or any royal, in. Yet she just takes his hands and looks up at him.
"I care for all people, of course. But it is not the same," Techno says.
"No? If it was one of the people here, trapped in that cell and being hurt?" Kristin asks.
Techno slams his eyes shut before she's even finished. That only leaves the imagery stronger, though. Leaves room for heightened feelings over sights. He coos, scared and desperate and pleading for comfort. And though Kristin squeezes his hands, it's hardly enough.
Not when they're holding his hands back and hitting the pain in all over him and cutting his wings out!
With a crying call, Techno gives in and falls forwards. Against Kristin's shoulders and chest. She has a soft and strong figure, warm and safe, doubly so as her wings tuck around him. Like the tissues around his lungs, he needs it to breathe. To live. Because they'll kill him otherwise—
"I cannot—They're your people, they have you. And the princes and, and the king. My people only have me. They need me," Techno stutters.
"They have the other royals there. They are still in Hypixel with them," Kristin says.
As she says it, she runs her fingers through his hair and rocks his body slow. The motion is soothing and painfully familiar. She did it when she saved him, and she's done it a million times since. And those are the only memories attached to such a feeling, because no one has held Techno since the time he could walk, well before his memories. Very likely, no one has ever touched his hair to do anything but clean and style it with purpose. This comfort and safety is only her, cotton fluff feathers.
So though Techno wishes to straighten out and address this properly, with the dozens of solid arguments he could come up with easily, instead he whines croon-like into her chest.
"Not if something happens to them. And you want something t–to happen to them," Techno says.
Kristin hums, stilling in her motions a moment. Then she continues.
"Not the people. They shall be ours too! And when they're ours, they'll be yours once more!"
"What about until then? And the soldiers in the battlefield and those who will protect the throne—"
Kristin sighs. She pushes Techno away, even when he chirps mournfully and stiffens his spine.
"You really love them?" Kristin asks, lips almost puckered.
"Yes," Techno says firmly.
Perhaps in truth he does not know. And in truth, maybe not all of them. But they are his people, and with that comes necessitating everything for them. In truth, Techno isn't sure that he believes the stories about the Gods having any say at all with who sits upon thrones. He doubts they could all trace back to some sacred line either.
Techno thinks that perhaps royalty are just people like any others, in all the ways that count. But like the sons of a butcher take it on again and again and again, it is a skill and a duty to keep providing their life's profession.
So, because of all of that:
"Yes," Techno repeats, sounding like he means it with every part of himself.
Once more, maybe even more so, he fears for the woman's reaction. Because Techno really would rather do anything at all rather than be shoved back down below people again. To be forced onto his knees and hurt horribly, instead of someone looking up at him, making him feel better.
It wars inside of Techno until he feels like cracking. Almost like how his back cracked before the wings spilled out and allowed him to flap precariously higher. Propelled by Kristin's steadying hands. That time.
But, as always, Kristin's hands stay gentle and supportive.
"My teeth ache at you. You were made to be the perfect second son too, earnest and loyal, the people would love you," Kristin coos, smiling again. "How perfect."
The familiar sting of shame comes to Techno. Like when he's carried, or talked to softly, or bathed, or fed by hands. The sort of embarrassment that he must languish in instead of fight out of.
Fighting never frees him anyway.
"I am the heir," Techno corrects stiffly.
Kristin clicks and taps the top of his head. "Wilbur is older than you, silly goose."
His lips smooth out. It was not what he meant, nor is Kristin saying it anything of value. Because, because the Antarctic Empire is not—
"So you would protect a person from here, wouldn't you?" Kristin asks.
"Well, yes, of course. If someone were stuck in a cell and being hurt…" Techno trails off, biting his lip.
"They can be made yours. They all can. Wouldn't that be lovely? An end to the war, peace for everyone, all of the people united as one," Kristin coaxes.
"It is not as though it will be that simple," Techno says.
"Not simple. But much has happened since you were nesting, fledgling. And when the time comes where Hypixel comes under our empire's protection, don't you want to be there to help?" Kristin says.
"What all has happened?" Techno asks, worry wrinkling his brow.
"You will see, you will see," Kristin says. She stands and gently tugs him up with her, tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear. "That is for another day, though. You'll come around to see it properly. Today, you only need focus on showing off those adorable wings."
"To who?" Techno asks.
He turns his head to track her as she undoes the sashes around his wings. The change is not so noticeable in ways of tightness, but the weight of the wings hanging down certainly feels as odd as slinging irons off his shoulders.
Instantly, Techno knows that it will be impossible to keep his posture as straight as he is used to keeping it. At least not without strain that will certainly fail when he loses his attention, send the wings plopping down. They are meant to lay upon the shoulder blades, apparently, but his must be too narrow since they don't exactly stay up there.
At least until Kristin outright grabs the bend of his wings and pulls them gently into position. Techno shivers at the contact, but it does not hurt. Not if Kristin has preened the things thoroughly the night before… Or one of the others.
They are practically shining and fluffed to bits right now, so Techno only bends the smallest bit against the manipulations of the limbs. Such an odd feeling still, but the wings don't feel so much like foreign objects when it is Kristin touching them. The only time when they feel attached to him, truly.
"Do your best, darling dove," Kristin says.
Then she grabs his hand and pulls him out of the nest room.
Cold water hits Techno. The windows, the people, the cold halls. It's all so much. And as though it's a new bandage pressing against an open wound, he is reminded of the fragile edges filling him up. As is only instinct when tossed into a freezing river, such as this feels, he gasps.
A squeaking chirp finishes it.
With a short look, Kristin glances back at him. She still has a smile on her face, close lipped and symmetrical. Techno notices that her dress is boned and stiffened, her hair is half up, and a crown is upon her head.
Everyone is looking at the two of them. The few people in the halls, the guards and workers and courtiers. Then, as they walk further, people that can only be nobles.
Seeing him. This is what it was all for.
Luckily, the lifetime of being a prince—the heir, stared at by everyone within ten leagues of him, many with the urge to kill him—Techno is used to it, to an extent. Even if the fresh wings and painful memories that weaken him do the same shame here, he cannot have lost so much training. So, aside from too frequent blinks and a necessary stoop, Techno smooths his face and posture out to blankness.
All of him almost good enough to be proper. Except for the major flaw.
Kristin is still holding his hand.
It is inappropriate. Techno realizes, far more than an enemy to the crown, of which Techno should be, traversing the castle is inappropriate. That could at least be him heading to his execution, or changing cells, or even speaking with a royal for a time. After all, he was in the castle even before Kristin saved him.
But holding his hand, leading him, connecting herself to him. Techno wants to shiver for Kristin. Is it not shameful? Weak? Frowned upon and traitorous and inappropriate?
Yet it seems the world of it is no concern to Kristin. Subtly, she tilts her head up at Techno. He lifts his wings so that the tops rest on his shoulder blades once more.
That is when, roundabout, Techno notices something of the nobles.
The feathers.
At first he thinks they are wings. Many of the aristocrats have wings upon their backs too. Which must make some sense, if the Antarctic Empire is home to the most avians and Techno's own wings earned him so much. It must be a path to social climbing, families having wings. But a closer glance, which is really just a short flick of his eyes away from Kristin, shows that it is not quite the case.
While some people certainly have wings, many more than could ever be chance, they are not the same as the royal family wears theirs.
Feathered cloaks and coats, layered on top of both bare backs and winged alike. Almost all of the nobles seem to be wearing something of the fashion. It is even hard to tell the difference between avians and humans here, aside from which ones have long feathers poking out of the bottom of the pieces.
Though, those feathers are the real oddity.
They're cut.
Techno looks to Kristin's wings again, though there is no reason. He remembers them, of course. Huge, pristine, black. Nothing cut.
It is only the nobles with cut feathers. It is only the royals without cut wings.
Before Techno can process that, and take in how the eyes are all trained on his wings, burning with intensity, Kristin tugs him to a pause. Two large doors stand before them, elegantly carved, guards on either side.
They pause not a moment before opening the doors, bowing all the way. Techno still steps closer to Kristin. Wing brushing to wing.
Techno is even more grateful for the closeness, pitiful as it is, when he sees who is inside. The only people that it could be, logically. The only others he spends time with.
And yet, like always, they are a gut dropping surprise to him.
The king and princes of the Antarctic Empire. Phil, Wilbur, and Tommy.
Techno tries not to cower.
And fails.